Jon Kaplan’s Blog

I walked with some conviction toward the burning ghat of Manikarnika.

I stared up at the ceiling fan, unable to fall asleep.

Being outmaneuvered by a chick humbled me.

Each night, after the last sitting I make my way down the hill to fold the kitchen laundry.

Arms reaching out blindly for nourishment.

The Taxi Driver I held out all my remaining kyat1 bills in one hand as my taxi driver looked them over.

Carrying my mattress pad in hand, I opened the door to my room at the monastery.

If I find the right type of song, I have a habit of listening to it repeatedly while exercising.

A row of hands, holding offerings of food The monk approaches the first hands Iron bowl at the ready A spoon moves deliberately, From the rice bowl to the monk's bowl From the quinoa bowl to the monk's bowl.

Everyone has their own unique path in this life and I don’t expect yours to resemble mine.

This blog exists firstly to organize my thoughts and get them out of the head.