Surely Until All Of Us Own And

I Don't Think We Have All The Words In A Single Vocabulary To Explain What We Are Or Why We Are. I Don't Think We Have The Range Of Emotion To Fully Feel What Someone Else Is Feeling. I Don't Think Any Of Us Can Sit In Judgment Of Another Human Being. We're Incomplete Creatures, Barely Scraping By. Is It Possible--from The Perspective Of This Quickly Spinning Earth And Our Speedy Journey From Crib To Coffin--to Know The Difference Between Right, Wrong, Good, And Evil? I Don't Know If It's Even Useful To Try.

I Had The Constitution Of A Missionary.

I Listen Mostly To Classical Music.

There's A Point At Which Writing A Book, Or A Long Article, Begins To Feel Like Mental Labor, And It's Too Painful To Connect In The World In Any Real Way Mid-process. The Only Way To Survive Is To Write Until It Is All Said And Done.

This Is Not A Full Circle. It's Life Carrying On. It's The Next Breath We All Take. It's The Choice We Make To Get On With It.