Coming home after class this morning, I saw a squadron of "mitzvah tanks" parading up Sixth Ave, blaring klezmer music. Young Lubavitchers inside the vehicles (which of course aren't really tanks but large mobile homes) poked their faces shyly out of the windows. It was an arresting sight, and for a split second I expected something to explode, or someone to start shooting.
One-pointedness of attention is really what it's all about, all this meditation and yoga. One-pointed while you read, while you eat, while you write, while you talk--even when possible, while you sleep. An active attention with an open heart.
My earthly desire this week is for a white cotton oxford shirt for that sloppy prep-school boy look, so I popped into the Salvation Army thrift shop today.
I approach the S.A. like some people approach singles bars: with an unrealistic hope that the trip will prove fruitful. Then, when it turns out to be full of ratty sweaters, ring-around-the-collar'd shirts and ugly middle-management pants, thinking, "Why do I bother?" And then a few weeks later, same thing.
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