I write in meditation.  Sometimes beginning with an intention, other times looking for guidance.  Words appearing and disappearing, detaching, trusting, allowing the process to unfold.

I move to my desk.  I travel through the dictionary on a word search, words leading to other words, unclear about where the story is going.  Doing the work.  Getting lost.  Frustration. Tension.

Point of inflection, candid reflection, inspiration, exhilaration, insistent message, persistent passage, culling through words that I chose, cutting beautiful prose, artistic prowess, aesthetic Taoist.

And at the end of effort, the story writes itself.

Publish.

MEDITATION

Inner convergence
Emanating influence
Beyond transcendent.