Meditating F*cking Hurts

Screaming Knees, Epiphanies, and…HOW MUCH LONGER?! A 60-minute meditation. Fuck. A lesson in Einsteinian relativity. When you sit with a nice girl for two hours you think it’s only a minute, but when you sit in meditation for a minute you think it’s two hours. Now imagine 60 minutes. But when a monk commands you to meditate, you do. I’m not new to meditation. I’ve done it countless times. I pride myself on some of my meditation spots — mountain tops, beaches, the

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Frozen in Time

The father and the son stroll through the dawn and the dust and the peaceful silence of the village—passive spectators. Behind them the sun peaks tentatively over the horizon, piercing the acrid smoke of the coal fires with sharp beams of gold that cast their long meticulous shadows across a waking world. The very earth seems to stir as the sound of their footsteps and the crowing of the roosters mingles with the clang of pots and the mellifluous giggling

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