This book. This beautiful, beautiful book. Damn, I’m glad I picked this up. I’ve never read such a wonderful combination of sensual reverie, raw but fThis book. This beautiful, beautiful book. Damn, I’m glad I picked this up. I’ve never read such a wonderful combination of sensual reverie, raw but fading lust and something damn close to Zen enlightenment. Cohen is a good, perhaps great poet, but he was also a practicing Zen monk when he wrote these poems as well as a long standing pilgrim in faith of the holiness of the body. For every poem extolling the benefits of Zazen and mindfulness you’ll read another of fruitful and unalloyed appreciation of the female form and the female mind. What makes this book so joyous is that these inspirations are in no way dichotomous but are just different strands of the spiritual sustenance Cohen finds, and delivers back through his poetry and music, in this wonderful, broken, fucked-up and beautiful beyond belief world. The wonderful volume is greatly abetted by Cohen’s warm, sensual, witty drawings and captions. This book joins my short shelf of books that entertain and inform but also show subtlety and with great depth of feeling and craft what it means to be human. To be human and stumbling towards meaning, purpose and sacred union with others while the world teeters on the cliff-edge of Apocalypse.