We read about how our dreams can give us meaningful experiences, such as through a visit with a loved one who has passed. My father died in 2003, and I recall having a visit from him within a year of his death. He was dressed all in white, and the room was white and unadorned. He seemed happy, or maybe that's not the best word. He seemed settled. Content in a Buddhist monk kind of way. He and I visited in that room as if we were driving in the family car; he at the wheel

The other day, as I was finishing up "Siddhartha" by Hermann Hesse, I continued to be touched by the well-described phases of the protagonist's life. Toward the end of the book, Siddhartha realized he could not keep going on the path of a wealthy merchant. He abruptly left the life he had made and headed into nature, finding himself by a familiar river. It was the one he had crossed when he left his family home. Standing at the edge in deep despair, Siddhartha was a breath