We block ourselves by putting the glass first. ‘I want to serve water to the world,’ whispers Being. ‘Okay, says Brain, but wait, I need a glass. What ? No glass ? I need money to buy a glass. I need a job to get money to buy a glass so I can serve your water to the thirsty.’ Quickly the original premise gets quenched by the physical demands of a material world. I lie in bed, mouth dry, lips crackling. It is dusk and I am dying. I realize that I spent my entire life chasing after a glass. And I realize too, too late, that I could have simply served the water in my cupped hands.
I realized in the dead of night that I must write inside out. How awkward to try to write what it seems I’m supposed to say… to try to guess the words you wish to hear. We can only know one truth, our own truth. Each lighthouse casts a unique glow and it shines from inside to out.