the well isn't dry.

I read your pages and I lingered. Fingers tracing words from top to bottom.
You laughed. I smiled. It hurt a little bit.

Sometimes the tedium of looking at my life, over and over again, looking at the details the sounds the light the people....... Sometimes it gets annoying. The sound of my own voice is grating and somewhere inside my head, my brain is saying Shut up shut up shut up.

I have very little to say because I can't nail my thoughts down anywhere. I can write until I get that weird little cramp in my palm, somewhere under my knuckles, but nothing is really coming out. The old fight will never end, will never be won in any sense. Some days inspiration will come rushing out of you and spill out everywhere before you can hold it in. Some days the well runs dry.

This well isn't dry. It's confused about whether or not it's a well. It has the echo.

It helps to believe in something or someone. It's good to hope for something that is bigger than yourself. I practice awe like religion, each day staring at the sun as it rises and sets, filling my lungs up with the sky, cracking my chest open with the wind and a song. Feel it and appreciate it.

I caught myself the other day thinking a strange thought. I was looking over my life, feeling very lucky, very grateful for people and opportunities. And I found myself thinking Am I grateful enough? Is it possible to stir more gratitude than that? I told myself to quiet down and that the very fact I was thinking such a thing meant that I had a lot of goodness around me and I was, in fact, very grateful for it.

So I practice awe and gratitude and then I write. When I write, I dwell sometimes in the hurt and the evil. I see suffering, so much, in my face, in my life, in the world. I am drawn to it, drawn to understanding it and connecting it to...........something.

Well I walked home tonight in the very bitter cold and thought Why should I always carry around that hurt? It's worth writing and understanding and it is very human. So is awe. So is looking up at bigness and feeling small. So is noting a bit of cilantro on the floor and counting the points on it's leaves. So is gratitude. Anyway, I thought that maybe I should leave some of the bad behind and take in more of the good.

I sat down just now with nothing to say. I started out writing something about the spearmint tea in my glass. It's warm and it calms me down. What I really have to say, I can't tell you. What I've said here, I don't know. All I know is I have more.