The clock has struck.

In India I came upon a beggar woman
covered in dust and grime
seated at the side of the road.
Someone had given her a plate of food
which had attracted a mangy and growling mad dog.
He too was hungry
And without hesitation she shared
her only food with him.
He ate and then lay down at her feet.

Locked in their respective kammas
there was still room for kindness.
And if I could speak her language
(I spoke unilingual affluence
and she all the dialects of abject poverty)
I would beg her to tell me
how her heart can shine so brightly
beneath the dust of her life.
-Ian McCrorie

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Bringing in the new year with vipassana is such a wonderful and inspiring way to do it. If we are destined to live as many lives as there are ways to suffer, then let mine be full of Dhamma, let me at least learn what real virtue is. And let me learn it clearly enough that next time I will remember it at least as quickly as I did this time.

a server confronted me in the bathroom late at night, wearing her emotions as her nightgown, eyes a little misty. earlier on in the course i had noticed a few people being short with her, maybe not exactly short, more like, unfeeling. and she is fragile, and was then too, and took it badly, and it festered. she was asking me how i felt about the kitchen, if it seemed dhammic, to which i replied, "no, not really". because it didn't, in comparison to other places and other times. and i told her about my memories of serving, of having an experiential understanding of applied dhamma, and her face lit up and she scrunched up her nose and she seemed generally relieved. this was new year's eve and then we went to bed, both with renewed hope for how this practice can do us real good.

the excoriation of the self.