Poetry as Buddhist practice Draft article for Lion's Roar For months in residence at a Soto Zen temple, I woke before dawn to meditate, observing the sunrise in shadows migrating on white
August poems Tea leaves Breathing in, I sip my jasmine tea Connecting me to the lands of ancient ancestors Tea plantations in china, earth fragrant with fallen blossoms Grand ancestor, did you
A gathering of trees Draft imagining of an engaged Plum Village sangha blending "Beloved Community Circles", Wake Up, and BIPOC sangha aspirations
Building MLK's beloved community The draft of my talk for the Engaged Buddhism panel at "The Future of American Buddhism" conference June 2-5
A letter to the white man at the hot springs To the overly friendly white man who spoke to me on five separate occasions in five hours at a clothing-optional hot springs resort on the morning of my birthday, You
Full moon, blood moon birthday Happy birthday, dear Melanie. In the waning hours of your birthday, soak in the healing red glow of the full blood moon.
Golden sunflower yellow Celebrating this sunflower yellow skin passed down from my early kin name is Melanie Anne Gin given by my mother and assimilation ancestors dreaming of gum saam this gold mountain
An ocean of belonging Step into this ocean of belonging. Around you there are beings who accept and love themselves. They float, welcoming the rising tide, accepting the ebb and flow of water with
There is no wasted time This morning I found myself in a familiar loop, worrying about whether the grey weather would limit my enjoyment of the regional botanic gardens, whether I’d be cold and miserable.
Creating cultures of liberation Reflections from second web3 dialogue How does enlightenment arise in the body? For a moment, I return to the meditation cushion past midnight, the singing of the frogs accompanying me.
Naming our ancestral stories Reflections from first web3 dialogue The stories of our ancestors are at the root of our suffering and provide us a path forward into the light of liberation. Where do
Resting with Thay My root teacher Thich Nhat Hanh taught me to rest. Once a week at his monasteries, monks and nuns would schedule a lazy day — a day without plans, formal practice,
To my anxiety, with love Sometimes, I know it's hard to find a way out trying to escape fear or anger or discomfort, you doom scroll the news or swipe on the apps
when the monopoly takes me off the map I fear the day when the monopolies which govern my utilities – the massive electricity distributor, the internet service provider – decide to take me off the map How quickly the internet
on thay's passing My teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, has died. In the Plum Village tradition we say “continued in new form” or “transitioned” to avoid the delusion of “life and death”.
Returning to wholeness in 2022 Sink into the spring of healing. Slowly bathe this human body in attention, soft fingertips caressing scalp so tenderly we weep.
A wedding blessing (for Ellen and Earl) Ellen is the sister in my chosen family The one I turn to when I forget who I am In her face I see the fullness of our collective journey,
Let’s be human together. As the holidays approach, I'm celebrating all of the little things that have gone well for me this week. Doing my best to offer grace when it’s
sand towers I stand on the beach watching a child kneel down building with their hands mounds of sand like towers overlooking the ocean. They build, she builds three, four piles of
spoken word at 31 I want to speak in poetry, where the silence means as much as the sound — where silence is sound. Let this silence be stillness, the listening of this body to the creek passing through worn rocks on a journey downstream.
celebrating the harvest I want to learn to take up space that arises out of confidence and faith in my own song, a space that is expansive and immediate, grounded in the present moment, alive.
daring That moment of clarity - I am not afraid of you You standing towering over me, daring me to be afraid Yes - my legs are shaking, adrenaline is flowing
Stilling the ocean Meeting sorrow and disappointment in the midst of ongoing acts of violence against Asian people, particularly Asian women I touch into my anguish and fear of inhabiting this Asian body
Grandpa My grandfather built the San Francisco Library With his bare hands, climbed ladders soaring into the sky To balance on steel beams, hooking and unhooking Metal from machine. He’d
Nihao A white man sent me an email the other day With the first words, Nihao. What is the first thing you see of me, white man? Is it my Sunflower
