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Soul Full: The Jar of Life and Death

PART 1 A wandering soul was walking through a vast field in summer sunshine. The field was covered in knee high grasses that swayed playfully in a soft, warm breeze. Patches of wildflowers dotted the landscape in a pattern that the soul recognized as mandala-divine, like that of a pine cone or a sun flower. There were no clouds in the deep blue sky. There were no other souls in view. It was just the soul, the field and the sun. The soul had no memories. It knew no time, nor spiky happiness or sadness, want or aversion. It simply existed, content, grateful to be. As the soul walked in the great field, it noticed a large, crystal clear, gallon-sized jar laying on the ground. It was labeled, “M

Game Time and Our "Practice"

No one ever got into a sports hall of fame by having consistently good practices; it's all about game time. I'm an unapologetic sports fan. I don't watch much of it, but I'll check in with my favorite sports talk radio host, Colin Cowherd, almost every weekday. So I stay up with it. My favorite sport used to be professional football. It's been that way as long as I can remember. I don't like it as much anymore, with all the odd rules and hyper-contracts. I liked the days of Dick Butkus, Jerry Kramer, Mean Joe Greene, Jack Lambert, and Ronnie Lott. Something about the way those men went about their work was akin to an extreme sport. Like Soul - or any institution - you put too many fences (ru

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