Absolutely, positively, I want to write. Because the words pour out of me like syrup, and all I can do is catch them on the paper (or the not-paper of the word processor) and hope they don't spill on the counter and the floor and make a sticky mess. 'Cause there's nothing else to do, really, that's worth doing.

Don't think I'm mocking whatever it is you find worthy. Everyone has to make their own peace with their soul. Find their center, figure out what it is that makes them not only happy but content. Give me my Powerbook and BBEdit; give you your paintbrust and canvas; give her an assembly compiler... Him? I don't know. Just a running track, maybe?

Keep going when you think you can't do anything but quit. Let the pain and the agony and the despair wash over you and through you and let it carry you forward. Make it yours, and you can change it. Never let it be said that you gave up the one thing that could give you peace, just because it hurt.

Open your hearts, children, and listen to your souls. Peace is to be found there, in the voice within. Quiet your mind, and just listen. Resting within you, deep within, there is a soft voice that will tell you what you need most. Sometimes its revelations can be surprising; sometimes they are things you've known all along. This is not a science that can be quantized, but a subconscious whispering that you must learn to hear. Use it wisely, children, and you can conquer the world, or better: you can learn that you don't have to conquer the world to be happy.

Visualize it, if you can. What if every person were content with themselves, content to let others be? Xenophobia, racism, and other bigotries wouldn't be necessary. You have to take that first step, though, and it's a frightening doozy of a step. Zen is only the deep breath you take before committing yourself to the leap.

30 April 2001