Reflecting on yesterday’s post (list)…I wonder: Why do people write? Why do I write?
I don’t know if there is any one reason why I do, but I know it’s because I want to share. I want to share what I feel and how I feel it. I want to give who I am, because it only makes sense.
My wish is to live love. To be love. And the rudiment of love is to share.
Love is complete vulnerability. No walls, no masks. Love is the ultimate giving. People founded business because they believed it to be the base of the world. Whether or not it is the most basic level of existence or a vehicle for affluence, love is the direction and guide of where to go from there.
I suppose I write, because I love. Writing is a channel of that love. The best part about a channel is that it allows a flow out, and a flow in. If you were to shrink yourself and enter the human bloodstream, the heart would pump you away — for when it pumps you away, you inevitably return.
Maybe existence is realizing the universe is a body. Understanding that it’s got an intelligence and and a vast capacity of unknown potential. Maybe we really know the potential but forgot.