J.D.’s Columns

Zen Rattler      Deep in the dry, khaki hills of inland north-central California is a hot springs compound with a pool, a few cabins, a dining hall, and a meeting space, Tassajara, owned by the San Francisco Zen Center for retreats and general get-aways.       Fifty years ago, I left a hired man’s job in the high country of Idaho and bunked in the houseboat section of Sausalito because I had been asked to edit an edition of The Coevolution Quarterly, a biproduct of the Whole Earth Catalog where I worked for a few years and which won the National Book Award in 1972, my fifteen minutes of fame.     It was a tough transition from pulling calves out of “open” heifers in a snowstorm to herding authors like Brautigan, McGuane, Crumb, and Brando into some cogent form. I developed editorial constipation, a more acute version of writer’s block and needed to retreat to some neutral corner for a recharge, so I got in touch ...