The problem is we think we exist.

It is simply that person's time. Ours will come in this lifetime or the next. No matter. Continue to practice.

We are searching for the core of our lives; our culture intuits that writing, that ancient activity, might be the pathway...Awakening does not feed ego's needs and desires; it pulverizes the self. Our society couldn't knowingly bear such reduction, so we've tricked ourselves into the same path but call it writing.

Over and over, we have to go back to the beginning. We should not be ashamed of this. It is good. It's like drinking water.

You don't know what you're doing. You're just hoping that people won't make fun of you. I had no idea how it would turn out.

I feel very rich when I have time to write and very poor when I get a regular paycheck and no time at my real work.

Whether we know it or not, we transmit the presence of everyone we have ever known, as though by being in each other's presence we exchange our cells, pass on some of our lifeforce, and then we go on carrying that person in our body, not unlike springtime when certain plants in fields we walk through attach their seeds in the form of small burrs to our socks, our pants, our caps, as if to say, 'Go on, take us with you, carry us to root in another place.' This is how we survive long after we are dead. This is why it is important who we become, because we pass it on.