In this book's epilogue, Jensen recounts the story of what happened during a Christmas truce that occurred spontaneously in World War I in 1914. The British and German soldiers sang carols, shared cigarettes and gifts received from home, played soccer on the field where they had been gunning one another down, and even helped each other bury their dead. Reluctant to resume combat, the soldiers, threatened with punishment and even death by the high commands, dug in and went on slaughtering one another for four more years. Jensen describes the United States as no less dug-in than the soldiers in the trenches in World War I. He says, "In our greed and arrogance, we have so alienated the peoples of this earth that we dare not relax our guard for even an instant." This author of the amazing memoir, Bad Dog, now gives us an account of his experience as a peace activist. Zen teacher Jensen began sitting in 2004 for an hour every day on the downtown sidewalks of his home in Chico, California, with his sign which says, "Peace Vigil," "Nonviolence," "Justice," and "Mercy" and identifies him as a member of the Buddhist Peace Fellowship. He tells of his encounters with those who show support in various ways and those who are terribly angry at his silent presence. He understands his practice as an expression of his love for his countrymen and fellow humans. Here is how he states it: "I will sit right here on the pavement, and offer you the visible presence of my dismay and grief over the brutality our nation is engaged in. I offer my rejection of our country's claim that it is acting on our behalf. . . You may acknowledge me or ignore me as you see fit, but I am here, nevertheless, to remind us both, you and me, that something has gone drastically wrong in our nation, and I'll be back tomorrow to remind us again." I find Jensen a great guy to hang out with as he sits on the street and reflects on what happens there. His four-page chapter "When It's best to Bow Down" is the best exposition on bowing I have ever heard. Here is how he connects his pavement sitting to bowing: "I don't feel docile, submissive, or insignificant sitting there on the sidewalk. And while I'm barely on a level with the hubcaps of passing cars, I don't feel diminished by those who are seated behind the steering wheels. What I do feel is vulnerable, a kind of softened availability. And I feel that I'm where I want to be and where I do best."