It has been a strange season. My marriage of 20 years (relationship of 26 years) is ending in a divorce I never wanted to see happen. But a lot happens in life I didn't want to see. So dealing with that has been quite a blow. I have distracted myself with the details and practical efforts of putting a new alternative life in place. One of the pieces of that reconstruction process is to try and get back to the natural state of writing that I once had. Getting back to journaling freely and with out inhibition or fear. Getting back to a place where I can trust myself to explore and follow a notion, to digress, or go a little mad in ink and lined space. Writing, is elemental to what I am. It has been such a gift and a blessing in this life. It has been salvation at times, and a way to come to terms with the intersection between feelings and thoughts. Sometimes it is dull and stupid, and sometimes it is brilliant and surprising. And sometimes it is critically important and life changing. I am a better person because of the gift of writing. And I know that I do well to value and utilize it as often and as consistently as I can. Not to any particular end, but to the process itself. Which for me is intermingled with the process of conscious existence.