Tracy Cochran

2 months ago | parabola.org | Tracy Cochran

“What was that?”“I think he’s saying, ‘Blessed are the cheesemakers.’”“What’s so special about cheesemakers?”In the 1979 film Monty Python’s Life of Brian, the eponymous British comedy troupe portrays the people in the very back of the crowd at the Sermon on the Mount. They are straining to hear these timeless teachings, which is funny partly because we can relate to the difficulty. The word they mishear is “peacemakers,” and they were to be the children of God.

Dec 24, 2024 | tricycle.org | Tracy Cochran

Head down, hugging a grocery bag, I hurried past gutted buildings and empty lots, back to my ex-boyfriend’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. It seemed like a good idea at some point, having dinner together as friends. But the little Spanish market on the corner of Ninth Avenue and West 35th Street was the only pocket of light and warmth for blocks. Ahead there was nothing but deserted streets and a cold wind blasting in from the Hudson River. Manhattan in the 1980s was a gritty place.

Oct 25, 2024 | parabola.org | Tracy Cochran

I longed to get away. I yearned to get in the car and drive up into the Adirondacks or maybe the Berkshires. I wasn’t longing for a particular destination—some little town with a view of the mountains that was good for walking around—I was seeking myself. I told people that I felt the poignancy of summer slipping away. But really what I was feeling was grief at the way my life was passing seemingly without me. I ached to pull myself out of the river of time.

Jul 31, 2024 | parabola.org | Tracy Cochran

For about a thousand years, the Buddha was revered as a Christian saint. From the eighth century onward, the legend of St. Josaphat, as the Buddha was known, was told and retold throughout the Christian East, Africa, Europe, and Britain. The story of the Buddha was greatly beloved by all kinds of Christians, from peasants to popes.

Jul 3, 2024 | dailygood.org | Tracy Cochran

Head down, hugging a grocery bag, I hurried past gutted buildings and empty lots, back to my ex-boyfriend’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. It seemed like a good idea at some point, having dinner together as friends. But the little Spanish market on the corner of Ninth Avenue and West 35th Street was the only pocket of light and warmth for blocks. Ahead there was nothing but deserted streets and a cold wind blasting in from the dark Hudson River.