My writing is like my talking.

Fluid and fluent and rich, but also chopped up.

All over the place, but with a comfortable background arch.

When you read me, it’s funny to hear me talk, later on.

And when you hear me talk, you’ll never read my words the same way (because you’ll hear me in your head).

Written words are nothing like spoken words.

Me, being with you in the flesh and looking you in the eyes and sensing your physical energy, is not the same as you and I, texting.

Or you, reading this.

But it also IS the same.

The same is the formless.

The source.

The thing before the things.

The bottomless well that fills our buckets of life.

The Big Arch that surrounds everything else.

And this little text has no meaning, but it can have value, it can be wildly important.

Because it’s here.

Just like you.

Reading this.

I’m in your head now.

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(Photo by @harlimarten, for Unsplash)