Why I write

I have a burning desire to write.  I love to write.  I don't remember learning how to write, though I do remember owning a neon colored markers, and practicing my curvise in spiral Hello Kitty notebooks.  I love holding a pen and letting the ink flow continuously upon the page.  I have favorite types of pens.  Mine is Uni Ball Precise-very fine in black.  It is my number 1 tool.  It is glorious.

I love writing about nothing in particular, just clustering words together that feel good as good as  I speak them.  I talk when I write.  I can't just think. I need to have the action of writing and typing to feel that which I feel.

The words that I produce are the wisps of evidence that I was actively thinking.  For most times, during a given day, when I am sitting upon a bench or digging around in the mud, my mind is serene.  When I take in the present moment, my mind is not racing.

The trigger for me is emotion, anything that stirs my heart or spirit.  Many times there is hurt, or jealousy, or resentment, or competition, or judgement that resides there.  The only way I know how to battle through, is to write.  Writing is one of my forms of prayer.  This is where the practice of correspondence comes in handy.  Letters to God can be substituted into prayer.  


Today was my second day back at the Brentwood Community Garden.  Both times I've worked on my plot this week, it was rain rather heavily upon me.  Meaning, I need rain boats and to wear my coat.  I planted in the lettuces, spinach, cabbages, and rhubarb.  It's fun having another place in town to call my own.  Both times I've been out, I've been alone so its been rather peaceful.  I want to decorate my garden with hand painted signs.  

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