I make no distinction between our online and flesh experience; wherever we are, whatever we are doing, this is the room we are in; this is our meal between us; this is our joy, and pain, and grief, and doubt.
That We Write Each Other
That we write each other in this way fulfills a very old promise. And the promise is this: that those of us not met in the flesh may yet express — and, yes, touch — that which is deepest within us. That this would seem to require effort is an illusion. Those are our distractions speaking; our seemingly sacred old habits; the nonsense and noise we have allowed to cloud our view and cripple our attention. And so the question we must ask is, what really occupies us? Why, when we see trees so graceful about losing their leaves each fall, do we cling so desperately to ours? This isn’t to be answered rhetorically, or according to what we think we or others most want to hear. It is to be answered privately, and patiently, without hurry, and with the entire energy of our lives. It is to be answered with our lives. Our lives will be the evidence, just as they already are, and always have been.
Recently Banned Literature, November 16, 2017
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