January 16th, 1982

I remember years of lying in cluttered filthy apartments— depressed, hungover, hysterical, broke, lonely. Today I sit in the cozy warmth of my Village apartment— ordered, homey, comfy. Content and peaceful. Sadie naps by the radiator. The washing machine hums in the kitchen. Allan watches television in his room.

Last night Wes and Andrea came to visit. Such old friends— and yet we’ve just met. they helped me put up an altar in my bedroom for chanting. We had dinner— crab quiche and green bean salad and apple juice— fresh bread from Balducci’s. They look through photographs from the past— cannot believe how much I have changed (no mustache, super short hair). For dessert we have cream puffs shaped like swans and spearmint tea. We chant together and they leave.

Today I wandered around the village shopping for furnishings for my altar. A wonderful Chinese shop on West 4th Street. I buy incense, candle holders, a gong and a water bowl. The Chinese lady was kind and joyful about my beginning to chant. I came home excited and put the altar together and chanted. It makes me feel centered and focused and stable. I’ve not really tried to analyze or organize my feelings about indulging in a religious practice contrary to my long-held religious beliefs. The chanting twice a day is a way of concentrating and clarifying my energies. It makes me feel good. And the association of one’s inner self with the concept of life-energy— flow— force— is a source of great peace to me. I am chanting because it feels good and makes me feel serene. I will come to intellectual grips with the religious aspects of Buddhism later

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