By Writing I Can Live In Ways

Be Lovely And Do No Harm.

I Tried Out The Unfamiliar Syllables. They Fit. They Cracked In My Ears Like A Fist Through Ice.

The Internet, Which Seems Now So Embedded And Personal And Crucial To Our Lives, Isn't At All - We Really Shouldn't Think Of It That Way.

How Come We've Got These Bodies? They Are Frail Supports For What We Feel. There Are Times I Get So Hemmed In By My Arms And Legs I Look Forward To Getting Past Them. As Though Death Will Set Me Free Like A Traveling Cloud... I'll Be Out There As A Piece Of The Endless Body Of The World Feeling Pleasures So Much Larger Than Skin And Bones And Blood.

It Didn't Occur To Me That My Books Would Be Widely Read At All, And That Enabled Me To Write Anything I Wanted To. And Even Once I Realized That They Were Being Read, I Still Wrote As If I Were Writing In Secret. That's How One Has To Write Anyway--in Secret.