It has been happening lately that when I try to find an answer to a subjective question, instead of looking in the outside world (which feels hopelessly insufficient), I start to write about it and tend to find exactly what I’m hunting. Maybe it’s the inner wisdom we can tap into if only we try, if only we listen, if only we pay attention. The process is not without some pain but you’ll find the pain is a tiny price to pay.
A longish while ago i was on a train when out spilled a little poem about killing the king and the queen who live layers & layers below the flesh. I read it often, realising over and over again that sometimes the words for which you’re searching outside, words that you hope will speak to your soul, are patiently simmering within, waiting for you to give them shape.