HeyJaredBuddhist Journal
Buddhist practitioner, meditation instructor, and interfaith chaplain’s online journal.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Sep 23, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Aug 2, 2026
Latest issues
I was raised with no religion…or so I thought (opens the original)
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My mom’s ancestors were orthodox Christian, my dad is Jewish but not religiously so. There were no trips to church or temple, there was no scripture or prayer or God at our holiday tables. They taught us the golden rule, but not out of the bible or other scripture, just as a way of doing good in the world. I thought I had no religion.I learned how to meditate because my dad starting meditating when I was a kid and it seemed good. I started reading about the dharma as a teenager because my parent
The path back to the beginning (opens the original)
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There is a vine in my home that grows out of a potted plant. It’s just one long vine and we’ve hung it up so that it encircles the top of the small octagonal room perched at the edge of our apartment. I meditate in that and it’s where we do most of our reading and writing so I keep a close eye on the vine. It has reached the end of the window frames that it has been slowly tracing since we moved in a year ago. Now there’s one end of it that is diving off of the curtain-rod into the unknown of op
Meditation as a modern-day sacrifice ritual (opens the original)
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A few days ago, I woke up and my clock read 4:44am. I was sweating and had the residue of a desperate scream on my tongue. I woke up the man laying next to me and asked him to hold me as my mind raced with worries and strategies about what was going on and how I could make it stop. The next time I woke up it was 6:15 and my alarm was buzzing. Time to get up. I got ready for the day and then sat down at my altar in front of the dewy morning sun. My long-ago ancestors, when in a state of tamé, or
The S word (opens the original)
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“We’re afraid he’s going to hell” my new boss said, recounting her most recent visit with a family after their son had died by suicide. We were debriefing in our tiny, musty basement office after a long day of visiting patients at the community hospital where we work. I had seen two men that day who were painfully alive, laying prostrate in their hospital beds, no emotional tenor to speak of besides the tears that would occasionally fall from their eyes onto dry, just-beginning-to-wrinkle cheeks
Liberation after the work is over (opens the original)
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We spend much of a Buddhist life concerned with the mind—getting familiar with it, understanding it, learning to still it, and learning to see deeply into its true nature. It takes a lot of work (the fourth of the six paramitas is in fact “joyful effort”), but it is far from the whole of the path.Walking down the bike path on the way to the library where I like to sit and write, a seed sprouted in my mind. The thoughts slowed, and then stopped, and the world became magnificent in its mundanity.
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