Kiran Joshi

Our Connectedness* There are moments when I find myself wishing that in my next life, I might be gifted a body that is not so riddled with health issues. I was caught in the grip of just such a thought the other day, sitting quietly on my mat, waiting for yoga class to begin. The peaceful atmosphere was suddenly broken by a new attendee. He sat down noisily at the front of the room and immediately made a phone call, announcing to whoever was on the other end that he had, in

The timeless poem of Spanish poet Juan Ramón Jiménez, Yo no soy yo (I am not myself), is below as my English translation: I am not myself. I am this shadow pacing by my side, unbeheld, whom I sometimes seek, and sometimes let fade. He who keeps his peace, serene, while I speak, he who offers grace, tenderness, when I hate, the solitary one who wanders where I am absent, the one who shall stand tall when I depart. If you reflect on what Jiménez is saying, it may mean that my e

It is 2 am. ` And I am wide awake. The only other creature awake seems to be the daddy longlegs. The house is silent. There is nowhere left to hide from my own thoughts. Almost without thinking, I find myself chanting the Japanese phrase that translates to: "I am the heir of my own karma." Another teaching from an Indian saint enters my mind: "Feed Everyone. Love Everyone."* Such simple words. Only four words. Yet they feel impossibly large. Could I truly feed everyone? Perha

As the morning light broke one day during this Father’s Day week, I watched my partner step up to my car to say goodbye, having just unplugged my vehicle for my daily commute to work. In that simple moment, I was struck by what a treasure he is. He expresses his love, not in words, but in the steady, beautiful language of doing. It is the aroma of fresh coffee waiting for me when I wake, the quiet preparations that make my mornings easier, and the refrigerator stocked with no

Happiness Now! From time-to-time, I reflect upon the dilemma of the desire to possess something. And when I get what I want and without even enjoying it, I have moved onto the next desire. Do you feel that about yourself sometimes? This reflection captures one of the most persistent paradoxes of the human experience. It is the classic "hedonic treadmill": the realization that our suffering often stems not from the object of our desire, but from the grip we have on the outc

When I look back at my unkindness towards others, I justify it by putting it into a context such as, “I was young and foolish. I have grown.” When someone has hurt us years ago, we begrudge them forever by freezing them in that moment for ever by denying them the very evolution that we claim for ourselves. This is the ego’s survival mechanism. It seeks to keep "I, Me, and Mine" on a pedestal by pushing away others. Sometimes, we hold onto old grudges because these give us a

The Nature of Consciousness While in Kathmandu, I witnessed a sight of human bodies being cremated on open funeral pyres. As the flames rose, I could not help but think that just moments ago, these bodies could feel the heat and now they are on fire. What changed? We may never fully unlock the mysteries of birth and death, but this experience drew me toward exploring the nature of consciousness, that process of "knowing" or awareness. The Luminous Process As a seeker, I s

Nirvana: Here and Now Inside four walls my body wakes at dawn, the mind already restless. I step in the yard. Clouds drift. Mist falls softly. A bird shrills from the top of the Italian spruce. A crow flies off to begin his day. A ruby-throated humming bird sips quietly from the feeder. The garbage truck rattles past With yesterday’s remains. And still—the apricot tree blooms, the Buddha sits beneath it. In that stillness, nothing is missing. Nirvana?

Inside four walls the body wakes at dawn, the mind already restless. I step out in the backyard. Clouds drift. Mist falls softly. A bird shrills from the tip of the Italian spruce. A crow flies to begin his day. A ruby-throated hummingbird sips quietly from the feeder. The garbage truck rattles past with yesterday’s remains. Yet, the apricot tree blooms, the Buddha sits still beneath it. In that stillness, nothing is missing. Nirvana?

Sit and know you are sitting! As 2026 begins, many of us turn toward familiar resolutions such as eating better, exercising more, resting deeply, and spending less time on screens. Yet this year, my deepest resolution is about aligning more fully with the Universe. When We Resist the Flow Over time, I have learned that when I am not aligned with the Universe or with the flow of life, I suffer. That suffering arises when I cling to a particular outcome for myself or for thos

Mount Everest to the Left Challenges are a natural course of life. And at times, life feels like we are constantly climbing mountains. Well, recently we really did climb a mountain up to 15,500 feet and got very close to the iconic rock at the Everest Base Camp (EBC) in the Himalayan Mountain Range. We had the good fortune of clear skies the first week of our EBC trek as we attempted to reach the rock located at 17,500 feet, but nature had its final say when we got blasted wi

This body, my temple, a temporary shelter for a grain worth of universal soul. Built on shifting ground, it cracks, it fails, yet with it I have tasted wonder and learned to wake up. I sweep it with mindfulness, tend it with compassion, to make it useful for the path. Some days, it feels like a prison, aching, failing regardless of care. Some days, when this grain of soul rests in itself, the prison bars disappear, and I fly. This falling temple will one day return to

📚 From the Flatlands to the Mountaintops: Why Myla and the Mountain is a Must-Read for All Ages What do you get when a sleepy stork, a curious baby goat, and a mountain adventure come together in one beautifully illustrated book? A heartfelt journey that took two years to create—and a story that speaks to every generation. Myla and the Mountain is not just a children's book—it's a joyful, whimsical reminder that courage comes in many forms, and that friends can help us see

Recently, I watched the documentary My Octopus Teacher . As its story unfolded, I was carried by a tide of emotions—gentle waves of warmth for the filmmaker’s tender heart, gratitude for his reverence toward life, and awe at his ability to simply witness without disturbing nature’s rhythm. The octopus herself—delicate yet fiercely intelligent—became a luminous guide, even beyond her passing. In her grace, I saw the truth that wisdom is not bound to the human mind. Her fluid

The Hummingbird and the Pot of Plenty In the shade of our backyard orange tree hangs a small hummingbird feeder. Each day, delicate wings...

Let the scale tip in your favor—not through accumulation, but through stillness, gratitude, and grace. Living in Silicon Valley, we are...

Sit and Know You are Sitting. Do you ever have those days where nothing feels right—where every step seems to meet resistance and even...

We’ve likely heard the Japanese word Satori —a sudden moment of deep insight or awakening. In Zen Buddhism, this experience is seen as a...

A young disciple, weighed down by sorrow, came to his master one evening, eyes filled with tears and voice trembling. “Master,” he said,...

As our beloved puppy lay in the final moments of life, his breath became strained, labored—a raw and silent testament to how vital, how...