For some reason this phrase has had an abiding presence in my life lately. I don’t remember where I heard it but it keeps speaking to me. It has such a kindness. It has dignity, it has forgiveness. It’s a great reminder to myself but it’s also all of humanity speaking with one voice, saying ‘we’re only human’.

It let’s me off the hook when I’ve done something dumb but it also reminds me that life is about learning and of course, I will make mistakes. It’s because I’m human that I can make mistakes, otherwise everything would be perfect and that would be no fun at all. To feel something inside that is in harmony and calm and then to be in a world that is very complex and loud is such a contrast. I think it’s designed for adventures, so of course you’ll step in a hole, get a flat tire and bang your head on the ladder. This is considered humorous when it happens to someone else. Movies are made about it.

Throughout history, inner-directed people on the so-called “spiritual path” have had a tendency to perceive the world as maya — the fancy Sanskrit name for “illusion.”

I used to feel this way a lot.

Back in the early days of my adolescent quest for meaning, I had a curious habit of drawing lines in the sand. On one side of the line was the “inner life” — the place where God lived (or if not lived, at least vacationed). On the other side of the line was “the world.” You know — the laughable detritus of life on planet Earth: relationships, shopping malls, money, politics, ego, organized religion, high school geometry, taxes, Frosted Flakes, and anything I didn't understand, agree with, or like.

Somehow, it made me feel good to draw these lines — not unlike the way Democrat and Republican spin doctors strut their stuff on CNN after each political debate.

Memory may be about the past, but it’s also about the present. In Wired magazine, Jonah Lehrer writes, “Every time we recall an event, the structure of that memory in the brain is altered in light of the present moment, warped by our current feelings and knowledge.” It turns out that remembering is less like watching a video and more like experiencing a play, each performance of which is subtly different.

Memory problems aren’t always about not being able to remember; sometimes the problem is a debilitating memory that won’t go away. The thrust of Lehrer’s article is that one day there might be a pill to target a specific memory and erase it.

In spite of its imperfections, memory is an incredible attribute of the brain and a necessary and integral part of human experience. But how wise is our all too common and casual perspective of life as an expansive vista that seamlessly encompasses past, present and future?

I spent my early childhood in a beautiful place, a land full of light filled with wonderful things to discover each day: the Côte d’Azur, the loveliest part of Provence for those who know it! Victor Hugo paid homage to the town of Antibes not far from where I lived. It roughly translates to: “All here radiates, all flourishes, all sings, the sun, women, love, all are at home here. I still have the resplendence of it in my eyes and in my soul.”

We lived in a white villa set in a lovely scented garden filled with geraniums, arum lilies, daisies, bougainvilleas and hydrangeas that my grandmother lovingly watered morning and evening. The almond trees were the first to break into blossom in spring, followed by cherry trees, peach trees, apricot trees and fig trees, each in turn offering their delicious fruit. There was a little pond with a fountain that had small black Japanese fish, goldfish and frogs whose soothing evening song helped me sleep.

It was a happy house, where I lived with my grandparents when my parents were away. In January or February my grandmother would bring in large bunches of mimosa, its bright yellow flowers lighting up the room. We would say, “The sunshine is back!”