The first of a series of extraordinary spiritual manifestos written by the anonymous Wei Wu Wei.

A Zen story speaks of not mistaking a finger that points to the Moon for the Moon itself--a topic explored in photos, words, and paintings by the author. 50 photos, 30 in color. Line drawings.

Fingers Pointing Towards the Moon was the first of a series of extraordinary spiritual manifestos written by the anonymous Wei Wu Wei. Like a master instructing every reader who has the dedication to read this book, the author maintains direct and unrelenting perspective, giving Fingers Pointing to the Moon its status as one of Zen Buddhism's essential classics. The depth of understanding evinced by Wei Wu Wei places him with Paul Reps, Alan Watts, and Philip Kapleau as one of the earliest and most profound interpreters of Zen.

In Finger Pointing to the Moon: Talks on the Adhyatma Upanishad Osho draws on the ancient wisdom of this Upanishad to reflect on God, religion and the liberation of the self. Religion for him is not worship, devotion and prayer, but mumuksha, the deep longing for freedom from the fetters of everyday life that can lead a seeker on the path to enlightenment. When one reaches this state of kaivalya, the abode of truth and eternal bliss beyond mind and speech, one becomes unified with the God within oneself. Then one achieves true knowledge and true mastery over the self. These seventeen talks that Osho delivered at Mount Abu, Rajasthan, make this book a truly enriching guide for those seeking to look within and find answers to the enigmas of human existence.

This unique and intensely personal memoir is about spirituality, not about religion,and it is alive with the raw energy of a journal and polisjed with the skill of the master storyteller.

The well-known Zen Buddhist phrase 'the finger pointing at the moon' refers to the means and the end, and the possibility of mistaking one for the other. Trevor Leggett says, 'the forms are the methods and they are very important as pointing fingers, but if we forget what they are for and they become, so to speak, the goal in their own right, then our progress is liable to stop. And if it stops, it retrogresses.' On the other hand there are those who say 'with considerable pride, "I don't want fingers or methods. I want to see the moon directly, directly . . . to see the moon directly . . . no methods or pointing." But in fact they don't see it! It's easy to say.'With many varied analogies, stories and incidents, Trevor Leggett points to the truth behind words, behind explanations and methods. Indeed, the book itself is like 'a finger pointing at the moon'.

Never underestimate the power of friendship. When Colie goes to spend the summer at the beach, she doesn’t expect much. But Colie didn’t count on meeting Morgan and Isabel. Through them, she learns what true friendship is all about, and finally starts to realize her potential. And that just might open the door to her first chance at love. . . . “A down-to-earth Cinderella story. . . captures that special feeling.” —The New York Post Also by Sarah Dessen: Along for the Ride Dreamland Just Listen Lock and Key The Moon and More Someone Like You That Summer This Lullaby The Truth About Forever What Happened to Goodbye

Reverent and profane, entertaining and bruising, Four Reincarnations is a debut collection of poems that introduces an exciting new voice in American letters. When Max Ritvo was diagnosed with cancer at age sixteen, he became the chief war correspondent for his body. The poems of Four Reincarnations are dispatches from chemotherapy beds and hospitals and the loneliest spaces in the home. They are relentlessly embodied, communicating pain, violence, and loss. And yet they are also erotically, electrically attuned to possibility and desire, to “everything living / that won’t come with me / into this sunny afternoon.” Ritvo explores the prospect of death with singular sensitivity, but he is also a poet of life and of love—a cool-eyed assessor of mortality and a fervent champion for his body and its pleasures. Ritvo writes to his wife, ex­-lovers, therapists, fathers, and one mother. He finds something to love and something to lose in everything: Listerine PocketPak breath strips, Indian mythology, wool hats. But in these poems—from the humans that animate him to the inanimate hospital machines that remind him of death—it’s Ritvo’s vulnerable, aching pitch of intimacy that establishes him as one of our finest young poets.