The Day of Silence

The morning sunlight that spilled through the curtain bathed my bed in its early glow. I opened my eyes to the chirping of the birds and the rustling of the leaves faraway. Nobody worked in the

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How to Begin from the End

In We Wanted to Be Writers, John Irving said that he wrote a novel by writing the last line first. “I work my way backward from the end of the novel,” he says, “which is the first thing

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When Meditating Feels Hard

When meditating feels hard, I watch a candle or an incense burns in silence. I fix my gaze onto the flame, the glowing dot; following each movement and noticing each moment of changes; no matter how

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