An invitation from author, Mark Nepo

This book is meant to be of use, to be a companion, a soul friend. It is a book of awakenings.

To write this I’ve had to live it. It’s given me a chance to gather and share the quiet teachers I’ve met throughout my life. The journey of unearthing and shaping these entries has helped me bring my inner and outer life more closely together. It has helped me know and use my heart. It has made me more whole. I hope it can be such a tool for you.

Gathering the insights for this book has been like finding bits of stone that glistened on the path. I paused to reflect on them, to learn from them, then tucked them away and continued. After two years, I’m astonished to dump my bag of broken stones to see what I’ve found. The bits that have glistened along the way are what make up this book.

Essentially, they all speak about spirit and friendship, about our ongoing need to stay vital and in love with this life, no matter the hardships we encounter. From many traditions, from many experiences, from many beautiful and honest voices, the songs herein all sing of pain and wonder and the mystery of love.

Sample from February 9: The Thing in the Way

"We tend to make the thing in the way the way."

We were up early, eager to walk the Botanical Gardens of Montreal, where they have the largest bonsai collection in the world outside of Asia. We strolled toward the Chinese Temple Garden, a lush yet simple retreat from the streets that covers acres, a place of renewal originally constructed in the 1600s in China and moved stone by stone to Montreal in 1990.

As we approached the massive gate, it was locked. I panicked, ready to demand entry after driving 400 miles from another country to see this. Robert calmly, like an Oriental sage himself, treated the situation as if it were a koan, a riddle to be entered until its very assumptions shifted.

He began to walk the outer wall of the Garden. It seemed insurmountable. I was frustrated. He kept walking slowly along the high wall. Since the Garden stretched for acres, I wondered if we would have to walk its entire perimeter. The thought made me cranky. He kept strolling.

Suddenly, when we had walked farther than was originally in our view, the walls disappeared. It turned out that the Garden had no walls, save for the facade at its entrance. So we simply walked through the open grass to a path that welcomed us.

How many thresholds that seem blocked or barred or locked only seem so from their initial viewing? How many opportunities for true living are barrier-free, if we can only remove ourselves and our minds from their traditional points of entry?