I really don't know what drives my creative flow. Sometimes I must pry and pull the words out, and even then, the results may be nil. Other times, a deluge of cohesive phrases reveal themselves, arriving in a near eloquent manner requiring little proofreading or grammatical review.

I feel that I write, unlike most, about things I know very little about. Most frequently, the events and circumstances which have collectively come to be known as my life. The words are not written from some philosophical, righteous, or self absorbed position. Though my ego loves the thought of presenting some earth shattering, paradox shifting theory of self actualization to the world, it is childlike curiosity and mid-life desperation that brings the phrases together for me to review.

 I often feel I must have missed something along the way in living this life, or that I misconstrued, misread, or misunderstood some pivotal lesson or fundamental truth . Moments of clarity, spiritual awakenings, and epiphanies never really had a place of prominence on any to do list of mine.

I am by nature a seeker. A seeker of truth today more than at any other time in my life. In classic "can't see the forest for the trees" fashion, I am certain that looking for, analyzing, predicting and either justifying or rationalizing specific outcomes is exactly what has blocked me from the meaning of it all.

So I attempt to reenact, relive, or review it all now to find those nuggets of gold which could make a difference. Not those that could have made a difference-rather those that still may.