The Beauty Of Being Foreign Is That

What More Could One Ask Of A Companion? To Be Forever New And Yet Forever Steady, To Be Strange And Familiar All At Once, With Enough Change To Quicken My Mind, Enough Steadiness To Give Sanctuary To My Heart. The Books On My Shelf Never Asked To Come Together And They Would Not Trust Or Want To Listen To One Another. But Each Is A Piece Of A Stained-glass Whole, Without Which I Wouldn’t Make Sense To Myself Or To The World Outside.

I Loved The Quiet Places In Kyoto, The Places That Held The World Within A Windless Moment. Inside The Temples, Nature Held Her Breath. All Longing Was Put To Sleep In The Stillness, And All Was Distilled Into A Clean Simplicity. The Smell Of Woodsmoke, The Drift Of Incense; A Procession Of Monks In Black-and-gold Robes, One Of Them Giggling In A Voice Yet Unbroken; A Touch Of Autumn In The Air, A Sense Of Gathering Rain.

Home Is Not Just The Place Where You Happen To Be Born. Its The Place Where You Become Yourself.

More Than Any Religious Figure That I Can Think Of, Dalai Lama Goes Out Of His Way To Attend Interfaith Conferences; Religious Harmony Is One Of His Urgent Priorities In Life.

We Have More And More Ways To Communicate, As Thoreau Noted, But Less And Less To Say.