I Washed Clean Dishes and Met an Annoying Monk
The origins of my meditation journey
“Okay,” my mom said brightly with one foot out the door. She seemed excited for the evening ahead with my father. “We’ll be home around ten. There are plenty of left-overs for dinner.”
I was being granted an evening alone in the house with no competition for the TV and an unmonitored fresh gallon of vanilla ice cream—com…
