Of Writing.

What we write is never the truth even if the intention has been honest. What we write is about recollecting the past (even when we think we write about the future) and the past is that which is lost forever. All we can do is replace that which is lost. But this should not deter us from the practice. In fact it should encourage us. What we write is the creation of a new object. That object will be far from truth because the truth is unavailable. We cannot claim it neither can we understand it. We are incapable. This incapability might be defeating to some and to some, empowering. I speak to and for the latter. What we write creates meaning in a world where meaning is elusive. What we write is a boat we make to not only save ourselves from drowning or keep afloat but it is also a means of travel. What we write is the creation of our journeys. And then depending on the intention, the magnitude and quality of it, we can rewrite that boat to make it a ship or a plane. Or we can simply choose to sprout wings. And then when one is tired of movement, one can write a paragraph, a story or a great book about rest, to find rest. Writing is about creating illusions. And in a world where absolute meaning, absolute knowledge is denied even to the gods, illusions are more real.