Long Quiet Highway: Waking Up in America

by Natalie Goldberg

The author of Writing Down the Bones and Wild Mind recounts her journey of awakening with the help of a Zen master, describing her suburban childhood, her fifteen years as a student of Zen, and her moments of illumination. 35,000 first printing. $35,000 ad/promo.

Genres: Memoir, Writing, Nonfiction, Spirituality, Buddhism, Biography, Biography Memoir

238 pages, Unknown Binding

First published January 1, 1993

About the author

Natalie Goldberg lived in Brooklyn until she was six, when her family moved out to Farmingdale, Long Island, where her father owned the bar the Aero Tavern. From a young age, Goldberg was mad for books and reading, and especially loved Carson McCullers's The Ballad of the Sad Cafe , which she read in ninth grade. She thinks that single book led her eventually to put pen to paper when she was twenty-four years old. She received a BA in English literature from George Washington University and an MA in humanities from St. John's University.

Goldberg has painted for as long as she has written, and her paintings can be seen in Living Color: A Writer Paints Her World and Top of My Lungs: Poems and Paintings. They can also be viewed at the Ernesto Mayans Gallery on Canyon Road in Sante Fe.

A dedicated teacher, Goldberg has taught writing and literature for the last thirty-five years. She also leads national workshops and retreats, and her schedule can be accessed via her website: nataliegoldberg.com

In 2006, she completed with the filmmaker Mary Feidt a one-hour documentary, Tangled Up in Bob, about Bob Dylan's childhood on the Iron Range in Northern Minnesota. The film can be obtained on Amazon or the website tangledupinbob.com.

Goldberg has been a serious Zen practitioner since 1974 and studied with Katagiri Roshi from 1978 to 1984.

Reviews

[Holli Keel · Rating 4 out of 5]

I fell in love with Natalie Goldberg when I first read her book Writing Down the Bones in college. This memoir of finding her zen teacher and learning what he was trying to teach her is beautifully written. I didn't always relate to her, because she had the freedom to quit jobs, leave the world behind, and sit for weeks and months in meditation. As a person who chose to have children, that kind of freedom won't be available to me for a long time. I envy her carefree, spontaneous life, but I chose something different. So if I'm going to find spiritual enlightenment and wake up the way she did; I'm going to have to go about it a different way.

But my heart opened when I read this. I understood Buddhism just a little better from reading about her experiences. And I cried. It's a slow book, and not for everyone. But you will know who you are, and this book will amaze you, too.

[Rebecca Cook · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is perfect, perfect for? Well, despair, the spirit, believing and not believing, perfect for finding your way. My chest was shot through with light, her chest became a flower. I loved this book the first time I read it, and all the other times.

[Richard Jespers · Rating 5 out of 5]

Great memoir about Goldberg's life, her writing life, her Zen writing life. Gave me ideas about how to approach a memoir of my family life. Her idea of “first thoughts” is fantastic and makes so much sense (78, 162).

Goldberg's ideas about “success” should be read by every writer at every stage of his or her career:

“Some people write for fifteen years with no success and then decide to quit. Don’t look for success and don’t quit. If you want writing, write under all circumstances. Success will or will not come, in this lifetime or the next. Success is none of our business. It comes from outside. Our job is to write, to not look up from our notebook and wonder how much money Norman Mailer earns” (105).

[Alana Cash · Rating 2 out of 5]

I very much liked "Writing Down the Bones" - and after reading two of Goldberg's other books (including this one), I think that first book was the distillation of her best writing. "Long Quiet Highway" is fragmented and unfocused and I really couldn't say what this book is about, except that it is very much about Goldberg and while that could be interesting, she never captured my attention or emotions because the writing is so remote. I kept hoping for more depth and vulnerability.

The book is also confusing. In one scenario, Goldberg writes about being embarrassed by other girls at lunch because of the smell of the chicken liver sandwich that her grandmother made and she goes to eat it in the bathroom. She makes it seem anti-Semitic, which is annoying since she declares that her family are not practicing Jews and this is the worst event that happens to her as far as prejudice. Later on, she declares that her mother made her tuna fish sandwiches for lunch every day. Was the chicken liver part made up? Nor is it clear where she lived at what point in time as she jumps back and forth from Brooklyn to Long Island.

After she left home for college in Michigan, Goldberg doesn't write about any visits to her family except for one 6-hour visit to her grandmother who was shunted off to a nursing home in Brooklyn - a nursing home where the staff yelled at patients and the place smelled of urine. Goldberg flew to NYC, visited for a few hours and then flew away. She declared she loved her grandmother, but her actions do not imply it.

And then there is the magical realism - a tiny spot in the book where Goldberg declares that while she was substitute teaching an elementary school class, her heart just opened up like a flower. What exactly did she mean? I have no clue. She felt loving? She hallucinated? Her heart literally pushed thru her chest like a flower? I do not know. But she declares that that short-lived, non-detailed experience changed the course of her life.

The last section of the book - and I am not sure how the sections are divided up - is devoted to the death of Goldberg's Buddhist teacher Katagiri Roshi. It reads like diary entries. Goldberg declares many times how she feels about Katagiri, but she never shows it, or if she does, she brings it back to her. I felt this or I felt that does not make me feel this or that. And, although there were some details about Katagiri Roshi, I never understood her fascination.

What I understood from Goldberg's rendering of her experience with Zen Buddhism is that sitting in meditation and being present in the moment are enough for a life. Love, kindness, compassion, generosity, encouragement, support, community, those are all missing from the practice as I read Goldberg describe it.

[Kate Singh · Rating 4 out of 5]

I enjoyed this book so very much. I love her style and thoughts. She talks about her writing and her Zen practice and how the two intertwine. Writing can be very therapeutic and healing. I love the way she sees life and I will be incorporating many of her ideas. This is the second book of hers and I'm starting Wild Mind next. Can't get enough of her mind.

[Heather · Rating 5 out of 5]

Natalie Goldberg's moving memoir of her discovery of Zen Buddhism is quiet, funny, touching, and illuminative of the draw of meditation, and seeking the world to find oneself. This was a life-changing book for me because I found it as I was (finding myself - smile -), learning to meditate for the first time. Goldberg, who has written the famously delightful how-to writing book, Writing Down the Bones (as well as lesser known, Wild Mind), is poetic but realistic in her writing. She tells not only her inner experiences but also reveals the difficulty experienced whenever anyone chooses to strive for what one desires. In this case, it's the art of writing as meditation, and meditation as entry into the self. A great read, wonderful for anyone who meditates and anyone who loves. ;)

[Päivi Metsäniemi · Rating 4 out of 5]

Natalie Goldbergillä on ollut tärkeä asema amerikkalaisessa kirjoittamisen koulutuksessa jo vuosikymmenten ajan, 80-luvusta lähtien. Suomalaisille hän on melko tuntematon, mutta lukuaikapalveluista löytyy aika mukavasti hänen kirjojaan. Tässä kirjassa hän kertoo kasvustaan sekä kirjoittajaksi että Zen-oppilaaksi, ja kuinka nämä kaksi ovat täysin erottamaton osa toisiaan. Kauniisti, arkisin esimerkein, hyvin yksinkertaisesti, hän kuvaa, millaista paneutumista kumpikin vaatii. Miten kirjoittaminen vaatii uppoutumista, kirjoittamista kirjoittamisen perään, ei koskaan periksi antaen, ei inspiraatiota etsien. Ja sama pätee Zeniin, meditaatioon, istumiseen - sille on antauduttava ja sitä on tehtävä, jos haluaa ”hyödyt”. Ja toisaalta hyödyistä puhminen on vähän lapsellista, mutta en osaa kuvata sitä muuten; zen ei ole ”hyödyssä” ja sen saavuttamisessa vaan nimenomaan sen vastakohdassa.

Erityisesti kirjassa kuvataan suhdetta tärkeimpään Zen-opettajaan Katagiri Roshiin, ja sitä on tietysti perinteen ulkopuolelta ja tässä individualistisessa maailmanajassa vaikea ymmärtää - mitä tällainen mieslinjassa periytyvä, monella tavalla hämäräperäiseltä vaikuttava opettajuus voi antaa nykyaikaiselle feministille, joka Goldbergkin ilman muuta sanoo olevansa? Siihen kirja ei anna suoraa vastausta, mutta huomasin miettiväni sitä lukemisen ajan. Toisaalta kirja antaa vähän vastauksia työssäkäyvälle perheenäidille siihen, miten kirjoittaminen ja/tai meditaatio saadaan sopimaan tavalliseen arkielämään, ilman vuorilla sijaitsevia Zen-keskuksia ja mahdollisuutta istua kahvilassa pääosaa päivästä kirjoittamassa. Vastaus on tietysti nykyaikaisesta elämäntavasta luopuminen, mutta taidan olla ajautunut liian pitkälle kapitalistisen järjestelmän syövereihin kokeillakseni elämää ilman säännöllisiä tuloja.

Rakastan kuvauksia kovasta työstä, erityisesti kirjoittamistyöstä, ja olen hyvin kiinnostunut meditaation hyödyistä (mutta luen niistä mieluummin kuin harjoitan itse, näköjään, edelleen, näin on ollut vuosikymmenet…) joten ihmettelen, että törmään tähän kirjaan vasta nyt. Jatkan Goldbergin tuotantoon tutustumista; erityisesti koska huomasin lukemisen vievän hyvin rentoutuneeseen tilaan, jonka älykellokin tunnisti.

[Leonard Waks · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is an astonishing though flaws book. Not surprising, as the author is a wonderful writer and writing teacher, and she is honest and, like the rest of us, flawed.

The book describes Natalie's journey from a Jewish childhood in Brooklyn and Long Island through college and adult years through mid-life. She is growing as a writer and as a student of zen. Eventually the practices of writing and zen merge. As my wife said as I was explaining the book to her, her teacher became the channel through which the beauty of the world revealed itself to her so that she could share it with us.

Eventually, her teacher dies, and she can think of nothing other than somehow rejoining him, meeting him, sipping tea with him, sharing, imbibing him. Through the aid of another teacher (both of these teachers are famous and will be known by Goodreads readers) she finds him in the trees, the grass, the dirt by the side of the road.

The story of the death of the guru and the guru's great presence and calm in the midst of death has been told before, particularly well in "In Days of Great Peace" by Moni Sadhu. That book managed to describe a spiritual journey without getting caught up in so much personal drama. Life is long, tedious, and daunting. We know that, and perhaps Ms. Goldberg shares a bit too much of her own anguish and tears.

[Paul Griffin · Rating 3 out of 5]

I had heard about Natalie's books in meditation circles. She writes cleanly, directly, delightfully. The story is that of a Brooklyn Jew, feminist, hippie, poet who turns to the dharma and dedicates much of her life to studying with Katagiri Roshi, an old-school Japanese Zen teacher in Minnesota. The book is mostly about her teacher, and her relationship with her teacher. But there are wonderful insights throughout. In his blurb, Ginsberg says the book is "full of sentiment and anecdote." I kept thinking: Does that make for good writing? Turns out it does. Heartfelt, autobiographical, talking-directly-to-the-reader stuff. I especially appreciated the work because I feel a tension between meditation and writing in my own life. "In writing you bring everything you know into writing. In Zen you bring everything you know into nothing, into the present moment where you can't hold on to anything."

[Jana · Rating 2 out of 5]

I thought this book awfully ego centered. I believe that we need to wake up in America-but I don't think we wake up by sitting and being self centered. I have no problem with zen buddhism. I admire people who meditate-but the life she recommends I don't believe is the only or the best path to being a writer. I thought it represented a selfish little girl who grew up with out real problems and then spent her life trying to find problems with her mother sending tuna fish to school with her. Why doesn't her meditation help her understand there are so many kids who have nothing to eat. She objects violently to public education, yet felt it was a good enough place to earn a living. This main character (Natalie herself) wouldn't know an awful childhood if it bit her.

[Keira · Rating 1 out of 5]

The self-absorbed musings of a Jewish Boomer hippie who loathes her middle-class American upbringing and now thinks she’s a Buddhist. A feminist who admits to intentionally flushing her wedding ring down the toilet in front of her husband and letting her grandmother waste away in a nursing home while she dotes on her dying Zen teacher. A very strange book written by a very strange and lost soul.

Excerpt: “At that same time, my friend Michael Reynolds began his experiments with solar homes made out of beer cans and old tires. He was sitting in a pyramid he had built out in a nearby town—not on any drugs—and five wizards appeared to him and dictated information that he wrote down in a notebook. It took him many years to digest and understand what they said about time and space and energy.”

[Laura · Rating 5 out of 5]

Where do I start? I read “Writing down the bones” in high school and got a copy of “Long Quiet Highway” back then as well. I vaguely remember starting it and then somehow putting it aside and not picking it up again until 15 years later.
“Long quiet highway” is a beautiful memoir that mainly focuses on Natalie Goldberg’s practice of zazen and daily writing and her relationship with her Zen master Katagiri Roshi. It might not be exceptional or extraordinary, but I loved the style of writing and what it evokes: calm and quiet contemplation. It feels like an important book to me right now because I understand and can relate so deeply to that student-teacher dynamic she goes back to again and again in the book.
It’s weird to be an adult and be a student so deeply, to have someone you rely on give you guidance (to the extent you maybe look to them for other answers) and it’s something that I embrace but which this book also made me even more aware of.

[Guy · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved Goldberg's journey into becoming an unapologetic Zen Buddhist from her roots as an unapologetic lapsed Jewish proudly American feminist. I found Long Quiet Highway funny and moving, gentle and powerful, calming and inspiring.

It came into my and my partner's life with perfect synchronistic timing, helping her at a time of spiritual transition. Goldberg's stubborn and intelligent mind had with her parent's guidance completely eschewed religion and religious beliefs: 'If there is a God, why was there a Hitler?' was the final answer to the question of God's existence.

Goldberg's fierce intelligence and independence echo my partner's own fiercely intelligent criticisms of the social structures built around 'spiritual' and 'religious' ideas. I read and smiled often at how often Goldberg's descriptions were 'right on'. (My partner read this book on her time and finished it shortly after I did. 'That book was perfect for me,' she said, 'and perfectly timed right now. A perfect synchronicity and it helped me so much.' And she is now re-reading it.)

Goldberg's puzzling and irrational need to connect to Buddhist teachers puzzled her. Yet even more irrationally she accepted the strength of the attraction and went from one teacher to another who for no obvious logical reason had inspired in her the unshakeable desire to become still in mind, still in body, still in heart. It was undoubtedly the heart opening experience she had while substitute teaching that had her following her heart when to us and logic it made no sense or appeared to be selfish.

Her journey is interesting, with people like Allen Ginsberg and Ram Das showing up now and then.

Here is her description of, and reaction to, the Japanese Zen Buddhist monk who would become her teacher, shortly after meeting him in Minnesota:

Whether we were there [at the Zen centre meditation hall] or not [Roshi Katagiri], was there. He sat every morning at five a.m. Once he said, 'I'm not here for Minnesota Zen Center. I'm here for all sentient beings every moment forever.' This was impressive. Yet it was ordinary. There was no fanfare. He just sat. You sat or you didn't sit. There was no comment, no praise or blame. We got no demerits and no stars. This was difficult to get used to. In the first three years I was there, I was always expecting to get yelled at, for Roshi to finally lose all patience with me, grab me by my neck and the seat of my pants and fling me crashing out the window — not the door, it had to be more dramatic, glass had to break, the window frame had to shatter. But he never did throw me out.

...

Eventually my fear of being shown out faded away. I was just there. I didn't question any longer whether I belonged or not. I didn't think about it. But many times during dokusan, one-to-one formal interview with the teacher, I moaned to Roshi, 'This is no good. I can't sit still; I think all the time — my brain never stops; I hate bowing; and so-and-so makes me so mad.' Then I'd pause. 'I should leave. I don't belong here.'

He nodded. 'That's just another thought, that you should leave. Don't be tossed away by it. Continue to sit, to gassho — bow — and drink tea' (p130-132.)

Goldberg has a clear eye when she writes of the humanity of these sacred and revered teachers, and famous/infamous exotic eastern teachers.

[Chögyam Trungpa] Rinpoche traditionally came one or two hours late for his lectures. All three or four hundred of us waited, sitting on zafus, in the big lecture hall. We surmised his lateness was a secret teaching. We were naive then and thought everything a foreign spiritual teacher did had a meaning. We never thought he came late because he might be arrogant, rude, or drunk. All of the above might have been true. We know now that Rinpoche was an alcoholic; he died about ten years later of complications probably related to cirrhosis of the liver. But he was also a holder of the crazy wisdom lineage of Tibet, the elevenths tulkus of that line, meaning the recognized reincarnation of the tenth, and he knew something I could learn from. I accepted all the pomp and circumstance around him and tried to understand what he was talking about. I didn't understand — either it was over my head or he wasn't clear in his communication, but teaching in the Eastern sense is different from the Western way. In the West, a teacher imparts knowledge to a student. In the East, a teacher transmits nothing more or less than his or her being (86-7).

Yes, a very good book. I either sit or I don't sit. I either live well or I don't live well. I either react to each and every thought or I observe them, each and every one, as objects of interest, neither good nor bad and live truthfully from the observing self that I really am. From there I have the power to effectively improve myself, and then my community. Simple, but not easy. I won't be running out to find a Zen monk! However, Goldberg's deft prose has become a great addition to the support system my partner and I have around us while we deepen and expand our meditation practice and improve our power to effectively affect change. Thank you, Ms. Goldberg. (Now we will look for Bones.)

[Linda · Rating 3 out of 5]

I think I might have read this back in my young single free mid-'90s days. Or maybe I read Writing Down the Bones, or maybe I read both, I don't know, but some of these stories were quite familiar. Maybe I read some and gave up. Maybe this book is part of what put me off memoirs.

What I enjoyed about it, this time around, are her sense of places, and the ideas about Buddhism and meditation. Also, some stuff about leaving relationship volatility (which she only ever figured out after the fact). What I do not enjoy: her demanding obsession with her Zen teacher, her insistence that he still be hers, her willingness to give things up just to see him for tea again after he's dead. What the hell, Natalie.

Anyway.

I do need to be alone and to write, so I'm glad this book reminds me.

[Sheila Pritchard · Rating 4 out of 5]

A very interesting memoir of “wandering into” Zen Buddhism and where that led her. As teacher of writing her expression of detail and “the bones” of an experience came through.

[Mark Bourdon · Rating 5 out of 5]

A wonderful story of Goldberg’s journey to becoming a writer, a Buddhist, and then a Zen Buddhist; while reconciling her Jewish heritage. Goldberg discovers the importance and integration of the lessons (and love) she carries with her from her zen teacher. A great story of spiritual exploration and discovery.

[Jonna Higgins-Freese · Rating 3 out of 5]

Goldberg's writing is always fresh and vivid and full of energy, in a way that draws the reader forward, even when, as I found in this case, the subject itself wasn't that interesting or comprehensible. The overall narrative is the story of Goldberg's childhood, and how she came to Zen and writing and found her teacher. I read to gain some insight into people whose lives I can't imagine, but Goldberg's attachment to her teacher was profoundly alien to me. I just couldn't understand it.

"The real essence of a haiku is the poet's awakening, and the haiku gives you a small taste of that, like a ripe red berry on the tip of your tongue. Your mind actually experiences a marvelous leap when you hear a haiku, and in the space of that leap you feel awe . . . The poet transmits her awakening" (35).

I was interested in the way the land of Taos and Taos Mountain provided her with a groundedness, a rootedness, at the same time she was learning about impermanence in Zen. That paradox struck me.

"Each time we sit down to write we have to be willing to die, to let go and enter something bigger than ourselves. Wild mind includes writing with our whole body, our arms, heart, legs, shoulders, and belly. This kind of writing is athletic and alive" (93)."

"Some people write for fifteen years with no success and then decide to quit. If you want writing, write under all circumstances. Success will or will not come, in this lifetime or the next. Success is none of our business. It comes from outside. our job is to write, to not look up from our notebook and wonder how much money Norman Mailer earns" (105).

"'There was an old Zen master who lived in a monastery in the mountains. He was taking an afternoon nap. When he woke up, his old disciple, who had been with him for many years, walked in, placed a tray by the bed, and sat down.

"'The old roshi looked up. "Oh, hello," he said sleepily. "Let me tell you a dream I just had."

"'The monk disciple said, "Tell it to me later. Here, have a cup of tea."

"That was the end of the story. That was Zen magic. That was the Buddha dharma, which meant the essential truth of existence. No dreams. A cup of tea. There was a long silence. Zen stories were like that. They went no place"(128).

[Lindsey · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was given this book by a close friend who shares my desire to explore writing as well as my utter bewilderment when it comes to being alive, reacting to things, making a way in the world. Neither of us was sure I could get into it, because it isn't the sort of thing I'd normally read, and I continued to the feel that way all through the first part of the book, but by the second part, some kind of magic just happened. The simplicity of Goldberg's writing reveals a deep, contented simplicity in her life and her way of thinking that is as contagious as it is soothing. I even began to feel inspired, if not downright bewitched. And I realized a lot about my own history, my future, and the strengths as well as the obstacles that are an integral part of both. I thought the Zen aspects of the book were interesting, but for me the power of this book comes from the idea of using writing as a practice and as a way to enlightenment, as a healthy expression necessary to the nourishment of one's soul. It made me recognize this role of writing in my own life, and in a way I was more grateful for that than I was for the actual words, sentences, pages. It was a perfect read for this place in my life.

[rav · Rating 4 out of 5]

started off reading with such poignancy and brilliant meditative points but halfway through became a bit too much about zen / buddhism / meditation that felt difficult to relate to and understand. the first half is a must read for everyone though -- came away with so many relatable intimate points such as the idea that the things we dive deepest into are what make us feel the loneliest

[Peggy · Rating 1 out of 5]

This book was given to me by one of my friends and former writing classmate (class classmate?) because she knew I was Buddhist, and she thought I'd like it.

Somehow, though, I couldn't get into the meandering ways of the book (there was no plot; just musings about the author's life and revelations). I think part of what turned me off about the book was that she was so into esoteric teachings. Maybe I need to be more open-minded, I don't know. But I just couldn't get into the book enough to finish it. (I got to about 1/3 of the way through.)

In retrospect, having now just finished Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love," the latter 2/3 of which is similar, perhaps now I have the patience to go back and read "Long Quiet Highway." Or I'll just find a more engaging book to read.

[Ryan Monson · Rating 1 out of 5]

I am currently reading a book that I hate and it reminded me of another book I hate that I read long ago, "Long Quiet Highway". Every word drips with pretension. Every sentence oozes with ego centric drivel. The basic premise is that the author - who is apparently amazing at writing according to herself - though she can only seem to manage writing about herself - also wants to be a Zen Buddhist. She struggles with this duality of her until she comes to the realization that she is a writer (and probably one of the greatest writers of all time) and that means that she can't be a Zen Buddhist. Oh the tragedy of life what is wrapped up in the reality of who she is. Anyway, I guess the fact that I remember this book even if it is because I would identify it as the worst book I have ever read in my life, does speak to the impact this book made on my life.

[Holly · Rating 1 out of 5]

Meh. I used to love her writing, and I still have her Writing Down the Bones somewhere, but now I cannot remember why. I certainly don't want to take on her belief and meditation practice, if her advice (from one of her mentors) is not to grieve a friend's death because that's not very Zen. Screw that. Feelings about part of life. Loving is part of life. Open up a little. Be real. Including the "ugly" parts. It's ALL part of life, not just sitting like a bump on a log, refusing to be affected by anything, positive, negative, or neutral. Fucking feel it. You'll live.

[Dr. Sherry Markel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Loved it. Will love it again when I read it again

This is a book that could not be written by someone in their early 20s. This is a book about living a life, the role death plays, making sense of the choices and the life against a beautifully described backdrop of places and people all framing a beloved teacher. This book is contemplative, insightful and altogether real.

[Sojo · Rating 4 out of 5]

I don't think there's another writer that makes me feel as safe as Natalie Goldberg.

[David · Rating 3 out of 5]

normally I don't write a review of a book until I finish, I still have about 20 pages left, and will finish it but I feel compelled to write this review.
I was fortunate to read writing down the bones, when I started writing and found it practical and inspiring ie, looking at writing as practice took a lot of pressure off me, like say playing catch instead of a game and her header, Feel free to write the worst junk in America. I liked who she integrated her meditative practice into writing. Nat-lee was my teacher. that was over 25 years ago

this book I found redundant a lot of the anecdotes she'd already discussed in bones and banana rose. a big zen theme is letting go of the past and being present, but she's seems stuck. and that a teacher telling the kids to listen to the rain drops, becoming a epiphany is laughable. then she praises Ginsberg and the crazy wisdom alcoholic monk at the jack Kerouac school in boulder, but there was a really ugly incident where poet M.S Merwin didn't want to go to the gurus class where he demanded nakedness. the guru sent some goons to make Merwin and his wife attend and they had to barricade themselves in their room, Ginsberg who was in charge justified the whole incident, who come Natlee didn't speak out about it? instead of heaping praise on Crazy Wisdom.

as the book heads towards it conclusion it starts to prostylize zen more and more, like born again Christians who want to save you and this hero worship of katagiri roshi whose dying and it all gets so maudlin.

Natalie seems to allude that one must quiet the mind and become a whole integrated person in order to write but her poetry and if very zen based, little Japanese Haikuish things about snow melting on mountains land just being present and new age mumbo jumbo about just being. its dull and trite and cliche, I admit to being toxic and my poetry is vulgar and anti social and offensive but isn't that what zen is about according to her writing from your being, your truth? I think my poetry is much better and more interesting than hers even if I can't sit in zazen for 12 hours. maybe her success has gone to her head, Natlee comes off as a bit of a fraud in this one.

[Meredith Allard · Rating 5 out of 5]

For all of Natalie Goldberg's books that I've read over and over, this was one I had missed before and I'm glad I finally found it. At its heart this is a love letter to her Zen teacher Katagiri Roshi. Fans of Writing Down the Bones will be familiar with his name since his words of wisdom are found throughout that book. In Long Quiet Highway, Goldberg goes into more depth about how she met him and what he means to her. I loved Goldberg's admission that it took her a number of years to digest the heart of Roshi's teachings. Too often great teachers make it seem like, "Well I got the lesson. What's wrong with you?" Natalie Goldberg acknowledges her real, sometimes fragile humanity. As a writer, I love Goldberg's writing is because she is always so honest about the ups and downs of the writing life. In Long Quiet Highway, Goldberg shows how writing became her spiritual practice after learning under Katagiri Roshi for years. If you loved Writing Down the Bones or Wild Mind, you will love this one too.

[Lauren · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5 Stars 🌟

“The more I wrote the more vast I saw a mind could be.”

My mom sat with a woman on the train from NY almost a decade ago, and she gave her this book to give to me. It got lost in the sauce all these years, and only now, at 25, was I compelled to pull it off the shelf. It is beautiful timing; I believe this is the chapter of my life I was meant to read it.

It inspired me to be more devoted to my writing, and to see it as a practice. As Natalie says: “Practice is something done under all circumstances, whether you’re happy or sad.” She paints with her words and they are so honest, and clear. I highlighted something on almost every page, deeply connecting with her insights on the joy and messiness of writing and Zen Buddhism (and how they connect). “If you commit to it, writing will take you as deep as Zen.”

“To write I had to have my fist deep in my life - in my pain, my joy, my culture, my generation.”

Thank you mystery train woman!!!
🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

[Jules · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the kind of book you can either blow through in a few hours and not remember, or sit with for a long time forever. Natalie certainly does a lot of sitting in the book, which is much more layered and textured than the majority of Zen memoirs I have read. It is not written exactly in order of events but that's kind of beside the point. I loved her little obsession with food. There is a lot of boomer perspective in it: everyone seems to be signing up for retreats and buying houses and so on quite regularly while just teaching short little workshops, it's so cool Mick Jagger does concerts at 50, we sat and protested the war, etc. Also, and I can't stress this enough, acknowledging that your institution or organization or social circle is deeply patriarchal is not the same thing as dealing with it and does not constitute and appropriate response by itself.

[Nicola Pierce · Rating 4 out of 5]

I found this on my bookshelf last week and swiped the dust off its cover. Lord knows how long ago I bought it or where. I have never heard of Goldberg and suspect that I thought I was buying Nina Ginsberg. Anyway, on opening the first page, I was immediately transported. How in the name of all that is holy had I never read it before? It's a battered second-hand copy of a book written 30 years ago but, oh, how her voice shone through, vibrating in its honesty and compassion for the world around her and for herself too. Her writing is beautiful and simple and true. There is plenty here for anyone who writes or is thinking about it - and the same goes for anyone interested in meditation and working on their inner world. She has written two bestselling books about writing - I'll be getting them asap!

[Alessandra · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is my third Natalie Goldberg book. I’ve started to grow accustomed to her scattered sense of prose and her “write whatever comes to mind first!” style of writing, which worked well for “The Great Failure,” but this one just didn’t do it for me. It was uneventful, and a repeat of the stories about her teachings with Roshi that she had already talked about in other books.

Maybe there is genius to repetition, since she seems to live and breathe his Zen wisdom, but I think after getting her perspective on her relationship with him after she learns about his personal affairs, in “The Great Failure,” which was written ten years later, this story honestly falls flat. However, the last part of the book reeled me back in, with section about his impending death and the grief that followed afterwards. He had seemed like a constant to her, but then he was gone—and I think there is a lot of wisdom about impermanence, in that.