04.10.2026 Moon Joy Earlier this week, when the astronauts of the NASA mission Artemis II, were conducting their landmark lunar flyby, they were filled with what one NASA officer called “moon joy.” Although the astronauts had been well trained in the cold language of science, as they looked at the far side of the moon — the side that no human had ever before seen in real time — they slipped into the language of wonder. “I just had an overwhelming sense of being moved by looking at the moon,” astronaut Christina Koch told The New York Times. “The moon really is its own unique body in the universe,” she continued. “It’s not just a poster in the sky that goes by — it’s a real place.” Reading these words, I recalled a certain Buddhist teaching: If someone tries to tell you about the moon, he may — with his finger — point it out to you in the sky. But you should not confuse the finger for the moon. Instead, guided by the finger, you should look at the moon itself. Here, the moon represents the direct experience of truth, the true nature of mind, enlightenment itself. In contrast, the finger represents the teachings, the methods, the words and concepts a teacher uses to invite you to awaken. What does this mean? No teacher or text can give you enlightenment; awakening can only be experienced directly. Words are a raft you can use to get to the other shore, but then let them go. Ultimately, there’s no way to explain direct experience. I think the astronauts of Artemis II tasted this truth. Mission commander Reid Wiseman quipped that mission control should send him a new list of words to expand his vocabulary because he knew of no adjectives, no words, to describe what they were seeing out the window. This is just one of the moon’s many dharma lessons. For more teachings that can point you in the direction of awakening, see the three articles below. Meanwhile, in this troubled time, my practice is to cultivate moon joy. I think this is the practice of many of us right now. Maybe you and I can’t go to space. Maybe we can’t look out a window and see the moon’s volcanic plains or cratered highlands for ourselves. Yet we can look at the photos taken by the NASA team, and — if we open our hearts and minds — we can have a direct experience of these lunar images. We can see the moon as a real place, an awe-inspiring place. And we can feel the joy. –Andrea Miller, editor, Lion’s Roar magazine Reflections on Chiyono’s “No Water, No Moon” Merle Kodo Boyd responds to Chiyono’s “No Water, No Moon.” For several years now, I have kept a picture of Chiyono and her bucket on the bulletin board above my desk. It is a delicate nineteenth-century woodblock print of a young Chiyono standing in pale moonlight, a bottomless bucket at her feet, a puddle of water spreading across her path. The artist is Yoshitoshi. I was drawn to Chiyono’s verse the first time I heard it. I was seized by the words, “With this and that I tried to keep the bucket together…” But I did not know that she is also thought to be Mugai Nyodai, whose name we chant in our morning dedication to our women ancestors. She was the first Japanese woman to receive dharma transmission and founder of the first Zen Buddhist convent in Japan. ADVERTISEMENT The Moon Is Me, I Am the Moon We are all one and the same. This is the experience of Zen. So teaches Shodo Harada Roshi in his book of original calligraphies. When the subject and the object become one and the same, this is the experience of realization. When we move in oneness with the heavens and the earth, this is the experience of Zen. We see the flowers and the mountains, we hear the bell ringing, and we know it all as ourself. The river is ourself, and so is the other. We see that from the origin we are all one and the same. This experience is Zen. The moon in the deep spring is so beautiful that we are pulled right into it, and that moon itself is in a vessel that becomes the moon’s very purity and clarity. The moon is me, and I am the moon. We enjoy this world completely. How Equanimity Powers Love True equanimity, says Kaira Jewel Lingo, is not in any way detached or uncaring — it’s inclusive, and loving, and the foundation for spiritual courage. In this analogy, loving friendliness, compassion, and joy have a warm quality, like the sun itself, while equanimity is cooler, the full moon that only reflects the sun’s rays. This cooler quality does not signify a lack of caring. Equanimity is full of love. It is a face of love. What’s unique about equanimity is that it helps balance the other three aspects of love so that we don’t burn out in our caring, in expressing the other aspects of love to others. It keeps us grounded. Without equanimity, our compassion can become compassion fatigue; we can outpour to an extent that we become exhausted or overly identified with the situation. Equanimity can help keep us resourced and in our center.

How to Find Your Middle Way; Guided Walking Meditation; A Spring Prayer

 

04.07.2026 How to Find Your Middle Way Catherine Pawasarat unpacks Buddhism’s practical path of balance, opening the door to deeper insights that help us loosen fixed views and live with greater openness. READ MORE Guided Walking Meditation Practice with Alisa Dennis Join psychologist and mindfulness teacher Alisa Dennis as she guides you through a mindful walking meditation practice that can be done indoors or outside. READ MORE A Spring Prayer Shozan Jack Haubner presents a prayer for the chaotic awakening of nature that is spring. READ MORE ADVERTISEMENT A Translator’s Journey Into the Tibetan Language Ana Carla Vergara Calvar on how she found her way into translating the dharma — and how you might, too. READ MORE Buddhism A-Z: Attachment Attachment is recognized in Buddhism as a primary source of human suffering because it binds individuals to impermanent phenomena, leading to dissatisfaction and distress. READ MORE Featured Workshop Buddhist Visualization for Secure Attachment Josh Korda of Dharmapunx NYC bridges attachment theory and Buddhist practice, showing how visualization techniques rooted in 2,500 years of tradition can help us heal insecure relational patterns and cultivate the felt sense of safety we need to thrive. SEE DETAILS

 

04.03.2026 Crafting Mindfulness When I started sewing, everyone told me how useful it would be—hemming my own pants, darning a hole in an elbow, turning small inconveniences into simple fixes.  It was true, and I loved how accomplished I felt as my sewing progressed. About a year ago, after a few projects under my belt, I set a goal: for any new piece of clothing I wanted, I would try to make before buying it. It was a lofty challenge, but I hoped it would help me avoid unnecessary spending and become more thoughtful in how I consume. What I didn’t expect was how learning to sew would teach me to notice so much more beyond just the mechanics of the machine. After a while, I started asking different kinds of questions, like, How does this fabric feel? What colors am I drawn to? How does the topstitching on my favourite jeans look? What do the seams of my shirt feel like as I move through the day?  All of a sudden, I found that I was much more curious as to how everything around me, not just clothes, were made. When everything is made with intention, it becomes impossible not to notice.  Sewing, like any craft, reminds us of the power of mindful attention. Our attention has the power to turn regular moments, even deeply overwhelming ones, into moments of presence. And, as I found through my sewing practice, I know that when we practice that attention in one place, it begins to carry into others.  The pieces below explore how craft can cultivate this mindful awareness, where attention slows, deepens, and reshapes the way we experience the world around us. May they bring your mind to the small but important details of life this weekend. —Martine Panzica, assistant digital editor, Lion’s Roar One Stitch at a Time Michael Donnoe recounts the process of hand sewing his okesa, the traditional “Buddha’s robe, and the patience it taught him. All in all, the okesa measures around four by six feet, and consists of thousands of tiny little hand-stitches. The idea of completing this sewing project alone seemed an overwhelming task, almost like being asked to “empty the water from Lake Tahoe with a teaspoon.” Perhaps that was the point — this wasn’t something I could truly do “alone.” I unrolled a long section of cloth on my dining room table. I gently flattened the fabric with my hands, pressing against the wooden surface that held so many memories: my aunt’s wedding cake, family holiday meals, even my high school math homework and the tears that often accompanied it. Squinting at the intricate diagrams and measurements written for me by my sewing teacher, I remembered the “This Old House” mantra to measure twice, cut once, but inevitably still made small mistakes along the way. ADVERTISEMENT Sew Contemplative Place your mind on the needle dipping in and out of the fabric, says Cyndi Lee. If you space out, the stitches will go crooked, and that will wake you up. Our weekly ritual continued as we walked slowly through the aisles with our arms extended, fingers lightly touching the bolts of fabric stacked on our right and left. Velvet, satin, dotted Swiss, linen—when I liked the feel of something, I stopped and unfurled the fabric to see how it draped. I was comforted by the corduroy ridges between my fingers and excited by the grown-up possibilities of the cool silk and satin flowing across my arms. Nobody taught me that the way to choose fabric was by tapping into my senses and trusting my intuition. Nobody taught me that the whole process of making a garment, from cutting out the pattern to sewing on the last button, was a practice of concentration, creativity, and community. But years later, I realize that everything I know about sewing nearly matches what I know about meditation and yoga. As I see it, here are the four most important instructions for contemplative sewing. Zen Mind, Knitting Mind In the dharma of knitting, there is no past or present or future, says Jennifer Urban-Brown. Without holding on to the promise of the finished object, loop yarn, pull through, breathe in, breathe out. My knitting bag is like a portable zafu. Inside are yarn and needles and a universe of possibilities. These creative tools—simple items made from bamboo and wool—have the same grounding quality as my meditation cushion. Taking the needles and yarn in hand, feeling the familiar warmth of each, is a reconnection, much like finding one’s seat on the cushion. It’s a welcoming home. With needles in hands, my intention is set: I will use these tools to loop and knot in such a way that something useful is created, be it a hat, sweater, blanket, or toy. With the space created and intention set, I remain open to what comes. And what comes is constantly changing—stitch by stitch, row by row. In the dharma of knitting, there is no past, no present, no future, only change.