Chapter 1: Beginnings
Poor boy -- leaves
for rice-grinding. -- Basho
When you see a drop of water,
you see the nature of all the waters of the universe. -- Huang-Po
At dawn on a deserted Florida beach in 1954, the first rays of the Sun sent my father's long shadow and my shorter one rippling like kite tails across the rumpled sands. We were out early to see what had washed up during the night. In the past we'd found a gleaming conch shell that whispered surf sounds like betrayed secrets; a dark, ancient wine bottle, stout and heavy as a stonecutter's mallet; and...