there is something to be found that I have not found yet, or something that I have lost, that I had found and lost. is it clear? did it slip through my fingers? Or is it just the fact that the practice is the practice, and that this to is a lesson in of itself, as it always is, an eternal lesson? do you know?

sometimes there is a sense of the holy underneath this all. do you know what I am speaking of, of what I seek? somehow it has been disturbed, the story goes, or altered, or shaped. it has been twisted, or marred. you bothered my peace, a dragon roars. the thoughts relating to myself in a particular fashion.

in a freewrite the goal is not to articulate what is present but to continuously move until the fingers exert and articualte what was meant to be, like clusters, cluttter, meant to be flushed, articulated, down the toilet, pipes-a-cleaning, meant to be clear, flowing, gunk, ungunked. what is it that I want to get out of my system? what is it that I want to return to? what is it that I want to remember? a return back to things, a return, a return to a committment to a way of life, a kind of remembrance. to whom can I say this? how have I lost it, or have I? was it delicate? was it shining? was it careful? this too is a challenge, but I think the important task here is to commit, to continue, to do the work, to take it seriously, as seriously as I have ever had, to make sure that I am surrounded by people who take their work seriously, in their way, a kind of deathly seriousness.