ed each other cheesecake and cling together for dear life remind me with a jerk that there are many levels of meaning. The meaning I’ve been describing is linked to personal fulfilment, self-expression, the need to create and bring forth from my own inner world. In many ways it’s a safe world because it depends on no one but myself. As long as I find meaning in my own writing it doesn’t matter a dime what anyone else thinks. Meaning here is derived from the inside out. In a nutshell Let us begin on our journey into meaning. I wonder what you are doing right now. What are you feeling and thinking? What preoccupies you? What is it that you would love to change here, today? What do you dream of becoming? What is it that you yearn to achieve, to create? Let’s begin in this moment. This act of writing is opening my mind, my life to scrutiny. Somehow I need this. But why? To feel a sense of fulfilment. To connect–to share my world with another who might somehow understand. To be successful. To create and leave something of myself behind in a tangible form. To feel I’m spending my time constructively, not simply wasting my days and years on pointless pursuits. For writing is work to me, though a labour of love. But mostly it frees me. I am more myself when I etch words onto paper. In the act of writing I am whole and not alone, more than I usually am, better, wiser, more authentic, radiant and luminous. No longer unsure, but imbued with the gift of eloquence. Filled with a power to show it like it is, to express exactly how I feel. To describe my lot, to give another a glimpse of my inner life in a pure untainted way.

So writing for me carries deep meaning. This has always been the way since I could hold a pen and attempt to make words. As I got older writing seemed to still the demons within. Capturing pain, disappointment and hopelessness on paper seemed to somehow set me free. And there was great fun and satisfaction in allowing the angels inside to take shape, to be summoned forth in verse or prose, to give voice to my gratitude for some unexpected blessing. I put down my pen for a moment and sip my rich fruity tea. The couple at the next table are all gooey-eyed, all touchy-feely and giggly. The denim-clad male has manoeuvred his chair so he can now nibble his girlfriend’s ear. The blond-haired nubile female wraps her arms around his neck and softly kisses his face. These young cuddling lovers who feed each other cheesecake and cling together for dear life remind me with a jerk that there are many levels of meaning. The meaning I’ve been describing is linked to personal fulfilment, self-expression, the need to create and bring forth from my own inner world. In many ways it’s a safe world because it depends on no one but myself. As long as I find meaning in my own writing it doesn’t matter a dime what anyone else thinks. Meaning here is derived from the inside out. In a nutshell i

and. To be successful. To create and leave something of myself behind in a tangible form. To feel I’m spending my time constructively, not simply wasting my days and years on pointless pursuits. For writing is work to me, though a labour of love. But mostly it frees me. I am more myself when I etch words onto paper. In the act of writing I am whole and not alone, more than I usually am, better, wiser, more authentic, radiant and luminous. No longer unsure, but imbued with the gift of eloquence. Filled with a power to show it like it is, to express exactly how I feel. To describe my lot, to give another a glimpse of my inner life in a pure untainted way.

So writing for me carries deep meaning. This has always been the way since I could hold a pen and attempt to make words. As I got older writing seemed to still the demons within. Capturing pain, disappointment and hopelessness on paper seemed to somehow set me free. And there was great fun and satisfaction in allowing the angels inside to take shape, to be summoned forth in verse or prose, to give voice to my gratitude for some unexpected blessing. I put down my pen for a moment and sip my rich fruity tea. The couple at the next table are all gooey-eyed, all touchy-feely and giggly. The denim-clad male has manoeuvred his chair so he can now nibble his girlfriend’s ear. The blond-haired nubile female wraps her arms around his neck and softly kisses his face. These young cuddling lovers who feed each other cheesecake and cling together for dear life remind me with a jerk that there are many levels of meaning. The meaning I’ve been describing is linked to personal fulfilment, self-expression, the need to create and bring forth from my own inner world. In many ways it’s a safe world because it depends on no one but myself. As long as I find meaning in my own writing it doesn’t matter a dime what anyone else thinks. Meaning here is derived from the inside out. In a nutshell

loquence. Filled with a power to show it like it is, to express exactly how I feel. To describe my lot, to give another a glimpse of my inner life in a pure untainted way.

So writing for me carries deep meaning. This has always been the way since I could hold a pen and attempt to make words. As I got older writing seemed to still the demons within. Capturing pain, disappointment and hopelessness on paper seemed to somehow set me free. And there was great fun and satisfaction in allowing the angels inside to take shape, to be summoned forth in verse or prose, to give voice to my gratitude for some unexpected blessing. I put down my pen for a moment and sip my rich fruity tea. The couple at the next table are all gooey-eyed, all touchy-feely and giggly. The denim-clad male has manoeuvred his chair so he can now nibble his girlfriend’s ear. The blond-haired nubile female wraps her arms around his neck and softly kisses his face. These young cuddling lovers who feed each other cheesecake and cling together for dear life remind me with a jerk that there are many levels of meaning. The meaning I’ve been describing is linked to personal fulfilment, self-expression, the need to create and bring forth from my own inner world. In many ways it’s a safe world because it depends on no one but myself. As long as I find meaning in my own writing it doesn’t matter a dime what anyone else thinks. Meaning here is derived from the inside out. In a nutshell

lowing the angels inside to take shape, to be summoned forth in verse or prose, to give voice to my gratitude for some unexpected blessing. I put down my pen for a moment and sip my rich fruity tea. The couple at the next table are all gooey-eyed, all touchy-feely and giggly. The denim-clad male has manoeuvred his chair so he can now nibble his girlfriend’s ear. The blond-haired nubile female wraps her arms around his neck and softly kisses his face. These young cuddling lovers who feed each other cheesecake and cling together for dear life remind me with a jerk that there are many levels of meaning. The meaning I’ve been describing is linked to personal fulfilment, self-expression, the need to create and bring forth from my own inner world. In many ways it’s a safe world because it depends on no one but myself. As long as I find meaning in my own writing it doesn’t matter a dime what anyone else thinks. Meaning here is derived from the inside out. In a nutshell ed each other cheesecake and cling together for dear life remind me with a jerk that there are many levels of meaning. The meaning I’ve been describing is linked to personal fulfilment, self-expression, the need to create and bring forth from my own inner world. In many ways it’s a safe world because it depends on no one but myself. As long as I find meaning in my own writing it doesn’t matter a dime what anyone else thinks. Meaning here is derived from the inside out. In a nutshell it’s based on separateness, on individualism, on going it alone. The strength that is innate in this level of meaning is that no one can take it away. I experience and observe life, and then I describe and depict what I think and feel in my own unique way. With love and relationship meaning is turned on its head. My beloved is meaningful because of our shared lives, experiences, and values. Our relationship only exists when there is togetherness, and the life of that connection depends on both participants. The love I feel for another, and the love that is freely given in return, may sustain me through many dark trials and tribulations. Yet I can never be sure that this love will remain. At the very heart of a meaningful relationship is the mystery and the vulnerability of trusting another with our deepest aspirations. The beauty of relationship where deepest meaning dwells must surely lie in our need for union with another. In relationship our life becomes meaningful to another, and so we expand and merge and develop beyond the boundaries of the self.