Jeffji’s Big World

Last week’s psychedelic therapy journey was both more and less than I’d hoped for. Less in the sense that I had hoped to enter that well-documented realm of universal love, a place where I could plainly see that everything — including you, God, myself, even my Parkinson’s — is nothing more or less than the pure vibration of love. That didn’t happen. There was something missing.

"A heroic plunge" / Somadelic Journey As many of you know, I’ve long been a subscriber to the “Making Sense” podcast with Sam Harris. Whether you agree with his politics or not, Sam’s always been an articulate prodigy. I was first introduced to his work in the late-1980s at a poetry gathering at the home of my late friend Wes Nisker, at which Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield read a short but deeply insightful piece that Sam (then in his early 20s) had sent him, imagining a guru/disciple dialogue.

Desktop screenshot, May 2026 - West Marin photo © Steven Brock At approximately 8:30 on the morning of May 4, 2026, I ceased to exist. The morning had begun with a simulacrum of normalcy. I threw off the bed covers, moved into the living room for my 15 minutes of meditation, checked my email, and sat down at my keyboard. I thought I might start the day with a journal entry.

It has been two years and one day since I launched this Substack — with the now odd-sounding name of “Jeffji’s Big World” — and I thought I’d celebrate by doing something that I have not yet done: give myself a week off! But then my beloved friend Iris sent me this wonderful diversion and I thought I would share it with you, just to remind everybody that whether or not we’re aware of it, the Earth has our names written all over it. “Jeff” as rendered by NASA’s Earthly Alphabet You can do it, too.

In his seminal book Impro: Improvisation and the Theater, performer and teacher Keith Johnstone makes this observation: “There are people who prefer to say ‘Yes’, and there are people who prefer to say ‘No.’ Those who say ‘Yes’ are rewarded by the adventures they have, and those who say ‘No’ are rewarded by the safety they attain.” All my life, I’ve considered myself somebody who says ‘Yes.’ Yes to pretty much everything: editing a weekly paper; following a love interest to Kathmandu;...

from a Yayoi Kasuma exhibit in Los Angeles - Photo by Mike Von / Unsplash Before I distract you with the perils and pratfalls of Parkinson’s, I want to make you aware of a wonderful video interview that was recently conducted with me by Sabine Bergmann and Sivani Babu, the marvelous cofounders and driving forces behind Hidden Compass, a women-run online travel magazine with thematic issues featuring some of the best contemporary travel writing being published today.

Note: how do you illustrate a piece like this? I asked Anthropic’s Claude to try, but after innumerable prompts I was not even remotely satisfied. But Substack posts beg for visuals, so I’m using a series of random images that my friend Elliot and I created in 2024 using DALL-E. The captions were the prompts.

Mosque interior in Shiraz, Iran / Photo by Shino Nakamura, on Unsplash My previous post (Everything Must Go) wasn’t super popular – at least if you go by the “heart” count — and I think I know why. Maybe I’ve been focusing too much on journalism; trying to lead in with a cultural vignette instead of reporting on my own situation, which is what I think most people want to hear. My day-to-day life, and the challenges I’m facing along the way.

Important note to my Readers: Beginning with my next Substack, the archives to my fifty previous columns will be available only to paid subscribers. Please consider supporting my work (and health!) with a small monthly contribution to retain access to nearly two years’ worth of artful ruminations.

I’m far out of my comfort zone, on an away-mission through 10 February, not feeling especially inspired, but moved to stick with the discipline of posting my Substack every other Sunday (or so). Even if I don’t have much to say, like right now; after a day that began very early and has been very long, and will end later still in the Port Saint Lucie High School auditorium.