It was yesterday evening, and I couldn’t think of anything to write. And that was okay … I knew that sooner or later something would come. The voice inside said “Go meditate. Your answer is there.” My small mind didn’t think so, but since I love meditating I headed for my chair.

Soon thoughts became few and far between, and any urge for a “solution” disappeared. About an hour in, it felt right to stop. My longtime tradition is to caress my singing bowl with the mallet three times as I end. And so I did.

“Three. Write about the beauty of that number.” Thank you, sweet voice.

In one tradition of Buddhist meditation, the three gongings represent the Buddha, the dharma (the Buddha’s teachings) and the sangha (the community of practitioners). Lovely. I feel a sense of deep belonging in that. There’s a togetherness that creates a far more profound happiness than my own spiritual progression.

And now my own name bubbles up: Bruce. I remember as a kid asking my mom for more syllables … one was not enough. My ideal length was always three. Yesterday I watched a champion golfer do his thing. His name was Francesco. Perfect. Just call me “Francesco” from now on, please.

On the train towards Newfoundland a month ago, I was passing through Montreal. A glance to the left showed me the former US Pavilion at Expo 67. Back then, it was a radical new design, from the mind of Buckminster Fuller – a geodesic dome. Its skeleton was composed of triangles of metal tubing. Extremely stable, grounded. Hmm. Thanks to Bucky, the image of a triangle has been firmly planted in my brain.

I think again of the Buddha and me. Another threesome comes to mind: me, you and all of you. Such are the joys of my life. I sit across from you in a coffee shop and we talk about life. Around us are other you’s who need to be included. There’s a lovely balance among the three.


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