WHEN I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL, I wrote a poem titled “Why Is This” that ended with the question, Why is this? The poem was just another assignment in English class, but I still remember it because for the rest of the year whenever my English teacher would make a point, he would smile and look at me until I squirmed and then ask the class, “Why is this?” It spread like a pandemic. Soon friends (and then some) ended conversations with me by loudly asking, “Why is this?” Emotions help us remember.

“AND SEAL THE DOOR WHERE EVIL DWELLS.” This line from Alice Bailey’s Great Invocation of 1945 came to mind as I walked around the twisted steel and rubble at Ground Zero of where the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, also in 1945. The bomb missed its intended target of a bridge and hit a hospital a few hundred meters away. The line came to mind again in Okinawa, where a quarter of the civilians were killed not only by the allied war efforts but by the Japanese military that needed their resources.

WHILE ESTABLISHING AN OFFICE for my financial company, we lived on Maui—heaven on earth—for a few years. We enrolled our kids in the local Steiner Waldorf school and joined a small local church. We were consistent churchgoers, and both Amy and I became Sunday school teachers. Maybe it was our commitment to the community and volunteering that made for such a lovely, connected experience. Or maybe it was the loving community that accepted us and embraced us because we showed up. Either way, the connection and feeling of belonging was meaningful for my family.

I AM AN OLD, WHITE AMERICAN living in South Africa. In Africa, I am seen by many here as a “White,” part of an evil tribe that took the land, culture, and souls of the continent’s original settlers; a tribe that makes me privileged over the world just because I am white. Now, restitution rages as an idea whose time has come, and an increasingly common belief is that anyone with non-native ancestors and some economic status—especially white people— owes something to those whose ancestors would be considered of the local tribe. I have been asked what I think about it.

During a commuter airplane chat with a South African businessman, the current problems in the world—and the specific problems in South Africa— came up, and the businessman paused and looked me straight in the face to be sure I was paying attention, and said, “I feel hopeless.” He looked at his hands. “I pass the townships and see the poor on the streets and wonder why the government doesn’t do anything.”

I HAVE SPENT TIME WITH both Sadhguru and the Dalai Lama, and what I find interesting is they are both simply happy, and see happiness, hope, and positivity as part of their message. For Sadhguru, it’s an almost in-your-face, I-am-what-I-am kind of happy. For the Dalai Lama, it’s like he’s a kid who finds delight in breathing, having uncomfortable sandals, a pointed question, or seeing your face. Both men’s happiness is contagious, and that’s the point— or part of it.

The term “effective altruism” suggests that if you really want to do good in the world, you should go into finance and earn lots of money so you can do lots of good with it. But many don’t succeed at getting rich, or they believe they never get rich enough. Paul, you got rich and have done a lot of good even when giving was a burden—such as keeping this magazine afloat because you believe in its mission. What are your thoughts?

“DO YOU WANT TO BE HAPPY, OR RIGHT?” I thought to myself as I listened to a business colleague explain how events that had transpired would have been much different if people had listened to him. His words were meant to communicate that he should be respected, listened to, and maybe admired for his foresight.

YEARS AGO, Spirituality & Health queried our readers about what they wanted. Transformation was the common answer. A simple word like transformation attracts a lot of nuanced definitions. When I went deeper into this idea of transformation with my meditation group, the conversations bounced around a number of themes and ideas.

“Shut up! Can’t you see, Dad’s meditating,” my 11-year-old son Henry yells at his 8-year-old brothers William and Michael. The noise stops and soon I have two little boys racing to sit in my lap. A lap perfect for an 8-year-old to snuggle into. William pulls my hands off my knees and pulls them around his body. He remembers it is more fun if he has his blanket, so throws my hands off and runs to get the blanket. Michael sees his opportunity and quickly climbs into my lap. I will not be able to focus on breath alone with all the commotion pulling my mind away and I move from watching my breath to a mantra. I say to myself silently chakra sounds “La, ba, ra,” just as I learned in a funeral crypt emptiness meditation in Indonesia. All this is happening on the couch in the “office” I share with my wife, a printer, books, some storage, and a dining room table I use for my desk.