There is a stairway. I climbed it last night. In my dream. I knew these stairs led to the train to the top. I got to these stairs by a train moving effortlessly on a waterway. I wanted to call someone to explain how easy it was to travel across water.

I put it in my calender that today I will write a manifesto. I thought about this in yoga this morning. I started writing in my mind. Then—after coming home—I decided to go back to a second yoga class in a row in order to get psyched; it was Bikram yoga no less. It was a physical yoga manifesto.

There is a fine balance between shyness and true expression. As if in a bit of a conundrum, I go back and forth between befriending stillness and the gems inside me that open only when the darkness underneath is stirred to view what's lurking beneath.

In between the letters is a place. To imagine what occurs—as a word is formed, as a choice is made—is to be a step closer to being in that space.

Sentences are made of more than words. Ideas, described. Pauses, illuminated.

Write with me
... as if I'm writing you
... as if I hear only your voice.

The writer is a person whose faucet of words continues to flow. There is no on/off switch. But, the writer—an author of freelance ways of the mind—can also take a nap. A good nap. And in that slumber, words dancing (or not), there is an inflection that breathes through inactivity that produces the artistic work.

what lays hidden...
reveals
its courage
~ r.e.l. 2012

In my search for wholeness, I get a cue as to what I avoid in life when I watch what it is I try to withhold from others in my conversations. These are the truths which I hide even from myself, since I clearly lack confidence to orate them. The fear is controlled by my unconscious. These are the inner truths that point to my fear of being who I truly am.