[William Blake’s Jacob’s Ladder]
My husband often tells stories about the Chan monk, Deh Chun, who lived in a one room house near his rural college—growing all of his own food, painting scenes of an idyllic land vanished before he was born, and gently caring for the young hippies who showed up at his door in search of enlightenment. That night, watching the nightly news on his tiny black and white television, my husband and his friend were overwhelmed with horror as a journalist in some war-torn country-or-other was tortured and shot before the cameras. “This surprises you?” said Deh Chun.
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