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.

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