That that the day of your death is written is the kind of idea I would normally reject straight away as not only un-Buddhist but unattractive. That is until you think about it more deeply.

A few, non-linear, reflections on the meaning of death, and therefore, the meaning of life.

Looking back on our lives, we find a landscape of death. How and when it happens is different for each of us, that it does happen is something we all share.

Anastasia Pottinger’s pictures bring to mind the beauty of ancient olive trees. Why is it harder to see beauty in the human body?