Writing is good for the soul.
I look at the white space below this sentence, and wonder what will become. And then, as if without effort of will or design, words fill the emptiness.
The potential of the blank page is as vast as the sky. The galaxy. The universe. And as unique. Of all the words which can be placed right here, how many would choose these?
They don't need to be special, or have meaning hidden in playful constructions too obtuse for the unwary to notice.
Instead, words can be ordinary. Well used and well serviced, taken as if out of the garden shed on a spring morning. Reliable. Nothing fancy.
Even writing these plain notes makes me feel somehow content and at peace. Who would write this, like this? Even me at another time on another day will write something else. Something different.
As a Buddhist, I don't actually believe in the soul. But I know this.
Writing is good for it.
