Writing Can Teach Us The Dignity Of

Actually, When I Look At My Old Notebooks, I Think I Have Been A Bit Self-indulgent And Have Given Myself Too Much Time To Meander In My Discursive Thoughts. I Could Have Cut Through Sooner. Yet It Is Good To Know About Our Terrible Selves, Not Laud Or Criticize Them, Just Acknowledge Them. Then, Out Of This Knowledge, We Are Better Equipped To Make A Choice For Beauty, Kind Consideration And Clear Truth. We Make This Choice With Our Feet Firmly On The Ground. We Are Not Running Wildly After Beauty With Fear At Our Backs.

Handwriting Is More Connected To The Movement Of The Heart.

Our Bodies Are Garbage Heaps: We Collect Experience, And From The Decomposition Of The Thrown-out Eggshells, Spinach Leaves, Coffee Grinds, And Old Steak Bones Out Of Our Minds Come Nitrogen, Heat, And Very Fertile Soil. Out Of This Fertile Soil Bloom Our Poems And Stories. But This Does Not Come All At Once. It Takes Time. Continue To Turn Over And Over The Organic Details Of Your Life Until Some Of Them Fall Through The Garbage Of Discursive Thoughts To The Solid Ground Of Black Soil.

Because I've Been Doing My Practice For So Long, I Knew What To Do Even Under Really Hard Circumstances.

I Wonder If I Don't Give Too Much Of Myself To Writing: I Am Always Half Where I Am; The Other Half Is Feeding The Furnace, Kick-starting The Heat Of Creativity. I Am Making Love With Someone But At The Same Time I'm Noticing How This Graceful Hand Across My Belly Might Just Fit In With The Memory Of Lilacs In Albuquerque In 1974.