Letters to the Editor

On “The Question” (Fall 2025):

This article was very illuminating—so many voices of people at different places on the path. What was the commonality? I believe it was humanism. Most expressed uncertainty, sometimes great uncertainty, yet they were continuing to try to understand, to improve and be more positive. The lack of certainty contrasts sharply with what one finds when reading material from masters in the tradition, who typically are very sure that they are prescribing the way to achieve the goal. Enlightenment, buddhahood, nirvana are all waiting for those who follow the prescription, depending on the master. But the folks questioned in this article have no such certainty, and are all the more human for this lack. What they do have is caring, compassion, and humility. I think the latter quality is what is too often lacking in Buddhist teaching. But I have renewed hope from this piece that we flawed people can find a better way to live. 

–Greg Terakita

Today, there’s a new group of old hands settling into positions of leadership around the Buddhist world—or is there?”

Interesting point.

I am about to turn 58—a Gen X, if you will. I been practicing Buddhism since 1988 and have been a Tricycle subscriber since practically the very beginning of the magazine (I think I missed issue #3). Honestly, though, I have always found this publication to be entirely (almost irritatingly) boomeresque in its content and perspective. I don’t see this as the fault of the editors and writers as much as it is that the core readership was, and is, always baby boomers. And most of the practitioners are still boomers.

And, like all boomers, they have to frame everything from their perspective. They started American Buddhism. They came up with the labels for Gen X, who are essentially their younger friends or siblings; millennials, who are their children; and now, Gen Z, who are their precious grandchildren. This article was a case in point: “As a lark, let’s ask the generation we like to forget what they think, and imply that they have no leadership role in Buddhism, while we are at it.” 

I remember the mea culpa articles and hand-wringing letters in this publication, from five to ten years ago, about how much American Buddhism was dominated by boomers, and in particular, white boomers with means. So who have the boomers focused on passing the torch to? The generation of their younger friends or siblings? Of course not. They have passed it on to their children. The millennials. It has been a strange phenomenon to spend the first fifteen years of my practice feeling like the youngest person in the room, with patronizing older teachers, to suddenly being the oldest person in the room, with patronizing younger teachers. I know I am not alone in this feeling. It would be a fascinating article. All the best,

–Dave Rumsey

Your presentation of midlife Gen X career Buddhists sharing their stories on the path is wonderfully and profoundly enlightening. The unabashed candor and variety of experience across the board are powerfully insightful. We are all in the same boat as we breathe through one moment to the next—endlessly deciphering our experience within the duality of consciousness/phenomena.

I am a boomer who, more than fifty years ago, committed to a spiritual path amidst the world at large. This entry, like so many others in Tricycle, proves that there is no end to peeling the layers off the onion of the divine. There is always a new perspective to discover and insight to incorporate. Thanks so much! Peace and love.

–Malcolm Clark

“Forever a Student with Sarah Ruhl” (Tricycle Talks, episode #129) is a very inspiring discussion.

A couple of weeks ago I visited with my college English professor. She taught me in 1984–1985. She lives in Indiana, and I live in West Virginia, and I hadn’t seen her in years.

Back then, I referred to her as my second mother. She referred to me as the daughter she never had. She is now 89, writing her fourth book and walking every day to maintain her health and vigor. She is indeed a teacher and friend. During this visit, I also discovered how very human she is, something that my younger, more idealistic, self had not recognized so well.

Many things resonated in your discussion that are strongly felt and yet hard to articulate. You reassured me that I am on the right path even though I am presently unclear about where it will take me. Still I move forward . . . with a growing confidence and faith. Thank you.

–Christine Anderson

I appreciate Bernat Font’s wholehearted description of OCD and the depth of his sharing in “The Doubting Disease” (Fall 2025). It shows me that none of us can ever really know what is going on in another person’s inner world, and that we all suffer from some sort of big or small “t” trauma. Sometimes, it takes both psychotherapy and the dharma to deconstruct our own complexities without imagining an amount of time that it will take to awaken. 

–Cassie Arnold 

Thank you for “Illness Is My Friend” (Fall 2025) by Rev. Ken Yamada. I remember when I first found the path and a teacher. I was on fire. I went to the teacher and whined and complained about having no time to do practice. He patiently listened while I dumped all the excuses and justifications on him. He then said to me: “You need to meditate on death.” That was the sum total of his instruction to me. I was shocked. I did not understand it. But I did as I was told. He was perfectly correct. Death meditation is still a very real part of my sessions. My heart is now grateful. 

–Stephanie Loebs

Listening to “The Work of Not Knowing with Marie Howe” (Tricycle Talks, episode #130), with my brilliant first professor, was a joy and a journey back to my days at Sarah Lawrence College. I attended SLC late, in my 60s, to earn my master’s in poetry. Marie was so welcoming and the most memorable of all my wonderful teachers.

During the interview, I recalled one of the first poems I wrote in her class, about a valuable lesson she taught me regarding my “overwriting.” She said it is a better problem than not being able to find words.

I’ve been trying to adhere to Marie’s wisdom ever since. I have four published books now, and the interview was a great reminder for me to consider again what she told me then. Thank you.

I’ll copy here the early poem I wrote about that important lesson in “seeing” and “not knowing.” It is a poem about me watching, as a small child, my mother’s obsession with ironing.

Poetry Lesson

By Rosalind Brenner

Marie tilts her stern face
toward the imaginary child.
Her index finger marks the air,
lifts the small girl’s chin—

She looks at her,
Child, how are you?—

She turns to me
Talk to her.
Be with her.

And look at the mother.

Marie’s outstretched arms reach
toward the pair.
I am rapt.

Softer now, she says—

Look at the mother, watch her.

Watch her ironing.

What’s in the basket?

Smell it.
Write
into it.

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