I write softly so that you can hear me.
This is between you and me. We are alone.
In the almost silence, worlds step out from their place of hiding. Rivers spring forth in the sand. Mountains heave themselves out of flatness. There, in the quiet of a new-formed world, we stand alone, face-to-face, you and me.
When we listen – really listen – we begin to say things of meaning. (Until then, we repeat from that tattered script we were all given.)
Let’s begin here, at that one true place where meaning is born.
(Confession: I do not know what comes next.)
Writing is supposed to be something directed from the mind. But i prefer to surrender, allow the waves of meaning to break over me, rock me back and forth, float me up to the light.
I may not know what comes next but I will be listening. To you. To me. To the mystery that is waiting for us.
Walk with me a while in this new place.