Wherein We Discover That Many Of The

Every Moment Is Enormous And It Is All We Have.

Kill The Idea Of The Lone, Suffering Artist. Don't Make It Any Harder On Yourself.

Our Lives Are At Once Ordinary And Mythical. At The Same Instant We Have These Magnificent Hearts That Pump Through All Sorrow And All Winters We Are Alive On The Earth.

Choose Your Tools Carefully, But Not So Carefully That You Get Uptight Or Spend More Time At The Stationery Store Than At Your Writing Table.

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.