I love writing. And I especially love writing with others. Whether I'm writing about the swimming pools of my childhood—those little blue dots of paradise—or the more silly or difficult things, when I write with others, all is well.
I think writing together teaches us to love one another. To love each other until it's effortless. We just do. We can't help ourselves. And the love bubbles over like an Irish Spring or an infinity pool... or whatever memory that's surfaced on the page this morning.
And sometimes it occurs to us one morning in the middle of writing group, the same writing group we've been showing up for year-after-year, how healed we are. How that thing we thought we could never do, or say, or that seemed so insurmountable, is really no big deal. That here we are, free. Relaxed. Feeling welcomed, knowing how much we really belong. Not just here, but in all of life. And we wonder why it took so long to get here, yet we know it was all part of it, the same way we know this is also part of something to come, that we're not done.
And I want to say if anyone finds this notebook or any of them and feels as though they are prying: Don't! Read on! Read on until you find yourself in these pages, until you see yourself in every page, in every vibrating letter that carries infinite life. Read on until you see yourself in love, as love.
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Write with me! /......
