No, I didn’t want another teacher.īut when I finally picked up the booklet, I was intrigued. Read the words of the master, spend an evening with the master: there’s no telling whether you’ll get enlightened or herpes. Who has time for workshops? Life is so busy rearranging us already, and truth such a flirt. A booklet describing his workshops sat on my desk, unread, along with dozens of other brochures promising to unfurl my petals. I almost rushed past Stephen Schwartz, too. Yet how tempting to ignore sorrow, as if it were a beggar.
You might say I was ready for a good cry. Then my wife went out of town I didn’t want her to go. I ’d been melancholy for weeks, dogged by feelings I couldn’t name.
