As violence flares once more between nations, Guru XVI reflects from atop his mountain on the fragile nature of peace, the cycle of vengeance, and the radical power of compassion. Can we choose dialogue over destruction?

This week, Paco fell asleep mid-sentence with his snout pressed lovingly into the “Q” key, which explains why the first page of this missive was 97 lines of “qqqqqqqqqq.” I chose to interpret it as a mantra. Meanwhile, high above the valley, troubling winds blow – for when power wears the mask of immunity, the people must stay wide-eyed, lest they wake to find themselves ruled by the crown they once cast off.

Greetings, dear Seekers of the Long Path, It has been a peculiar week atop Guru Mountain. Paco, my faithful yak and confidant, has taken it upon himself to learn the ancient art of interpretive dance. Unfortunately, given his size, his interpretation of "The Dance of the Flowing River" caused a minor avalanche of teacups, spare typewriter ribbons, and one exceedingly grumpy marmot.

Greetings, dear souls of the valley and beyond, This week atop Guru Mountain, Paco and I found ourselves in a bit of a predicament. A sudden gust of wind had scattered our carefully stacked parchments, sending them fluttering like oversized snowflakes across the summit. Paco, ever the diligent yak, chased after them with surprising agility, his hooves deftly avoiding the delicate alpine flowers.

Greetings, dear ones. This week, Paco and I attempted to construct a wind chime from old soup cans, inspired by the melodic clatter of the mountain goats’ hooves on the rocks. Paco, ever the artisan, insisted on tuning each can to a different note. The result was less "symphony of the spheres" and more "percussion ensemble during an avalanche." Still, it brought a certain charm to our humble abode.

Dictated to Paco by Guru XVI, atop the Misty Summit of Guru Mountain, 5 April 2025 Greetings, friends in the valley, This week Paco and I attempted to plant a garden. I say “attempted” because, as it turns out, yaks have a rather ambiguous understanding of composting, and when your assistant thinks tulip bulbs are an exotic delicacy, progress tends to be slow.

Greetings from the snow-dappled crags of Guru Mountain, This morning, Paco the yak and I undertook our weekly expedition to the Hidden Hollow of Harmonious Hiccups, a spot so serene that even one’s digestive anomalies emerge in time with the wind chimes. Paco brought along his ukulele — an instrument he plays with an intensity usually reserved for chewing cud. I brought my thoughts.

Greetings from the Whispering Heights of Guru Mountain, It has been a most peculiar week up here, my friends. Paco, my noble yak companion, spent three entire days attempting to befriend a suspicio…