I have sometimes pictured, for you dear reader,
the image of these words, these postings, this modest effort…
as a spreading of seeds of a sorts.
The intention of the imagined dispersal was not to convey randomness or carelessness or anything cavalier or condescending. Now, that’s not what I was attempting to communicate.
I was letting go of control.
What’s in me is flowing
pouring – streaming –
out of the bag of my years of sincerely seeking
and a small portion has found these pages and these words.
I have no idea if this is true, but it feels totally loving.
I’m not in love with writing or words.
I love one or some of the words I’ve used, coming from a loving search for how better to love all, might.
However, I do believe that words can unlock our locked-ness,
and that’s a mystery,
and I love that, too.