When in Rome – The Way Seeker’s Manifesto
—A reflection on blogging, death, and the art of living—
What motivates me to be a blogger? It is the need to tell my stories—my experiences, my trials and tribulations—as I walk this life from beginning to end. It’s the yearning to make sense of the nonsense I’ve encountered, to ask: Why? What am I meant to learn from this? Is it all worth it? These stories, these memories, are what define me—who I am, and sometimes, who I am not. They are the record of every step I’ve taken, every challenge I’ve met. They reveal my character, my strengths and resilience, my weaknesses and bad habits—the things I could have avoided and those I might have nurtured.
It’s been nearly fifty years since I began keeping an ongoing journal. It started as an art-journal during my Independent Studies program at the University of Wisconsin, Green Bay. It was 1978, and I had just embarked on my first field trip as part of my curriculum—an artistic journey on the road, beginning with England. That trip birthed the habit of keeping a travel sketchbook, which evolved over time into this blog. With the rise of the Internet, the sketchbook faded, but the journal never stopped.
The Journey of a Thousand Miles...
According to the latest blog stats, Ramblings of the Cheeseburger Buddha has 813,803 reads. Not particularly impressive, perhaps, considering the 2,702 posts since I began the blog in 2005. But if these numbers represent real people—those who’ve found a bit of wisdom, humor, or resonance in my writing—then I am grateful. If my stories have helped anyone find clarity, or at least a moment of reflection, I’ve achieved what I set out to do as an artist, a spiritual seeker, and a blogger.
Looking back, I can say I haven’t wasted my life. It’s been a rollercoaster, no doubt, with all the highs and lows. But then, isn’t that what life is for most of us? Our personal narratives shape who we are today.
At 75, I live in relative comfort—thanks largely to the generosity of my children. In return, I try not to waste my time. I cook, clean, shop, drive, and do my part to ensure things run smoothly. In my small way, I contribute to the betterment of the Whole.
The Concierge at St. Peter's Hotel
"I am Whole, Complete and Perfect.
I am Strong and Powerful.
Loving and Compassionate.
Harmonious and Happy.
I can do what I will to do.
InshaAllah, so help me Lord."
This has been my affirmation for decades, ever since I discovered it in The Master Key, the first philosophy book I ever read. I was in my early twenties when it found me, and it became my constant companion when I left for the U.S. at twenty-five. These words have been my anchor, a tool to reclaim my self-esteem, and a salve for the deep wounds of childhood.
These days, I feel the benefits of such practices. I find myself slower to anger, quicker to pause. I often greet potential conflict with a quiet “As-salamu alaykum” – peace be upon you – and am surprised by the calm it brings me. These are small, almost imperceptible changes, but I feel lighter in mind, body, and spirit.
The Pianist at St. Peter’s Hotel
Now I approach the final phase of my journey: how to face death.
It would be dishonest to say I’m not afraid. I am. The Internet doesn’t help—it’s full of horror stories dressed as doctrines, each offering conflicting visions of the afterlife. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. But for a seeker of truth, not knowing is not an option. The study of death, paradoxically, keeps me alive. It sharpens the mind, stirs the soul, and reminds me of the elixir that lies within.
That elixir is found in the little things—how I live, why I choose to continue, and what I can offer in return for the time I’ve been given. If I’m to be granted more years, I ask: What good can I still do? What beauty can I still create?
The Way Seeker at the Colosseum
So again I ask myself—what drives me to blog? Why keep a journal, post after post, year after year?
Maybe it’s saved me from confusion and chaos. Maybe I’ve just been killing time. Or maybe, deep down, I’ve known that this—the telling of my story—is the most honest thing I can offer the world.
Without this blog, I might still be drowning in the debris of unresolved memories and old pain. With it, I’ve charted a map of where I’ve been, and perhaps even glimpsed where I’m going.
Life and death walk hand in hand, like me and my shadow. What could be more pressing than understanding how I’ll end—and why I was alive to begin with?
When in Rome...
I am here. I am still writing. I am still walking.
And I am grateful.
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