Going Inkless

     There is buried treasure in my house.  It lies in cardboard boxes and plastic bags deep within the basement, deposited there when I moved in nearly 20 years ago and layered over with newer boxes and bags.  The contents of these containers vary, sometimes notes or photographs, sometimes old letters or artifacts from my childhood- the kinds of things you don't just throw away.  As a collection, it's nowhere near complete.  There was more than enough chaos in my life before I came to rest here to ensure that pieces were lost along the way.  You may not be able to throw these sacred relics away, but you have to be prepared to accept that they will drift out of reach of their own accord.  And I have been prepared for that fact of life for some time now.  Long ago, I had resolved myself to the loss of my daughter's baby picture, the one taken at the hospital when she was only hours old.  It was only a thing, just a paper image of a m...

     The perfect thing to write about struck me suddenly the other morning.  It was a bolt of inspiration, like opening a door into Springtime.  The subject was one of those new truths that bubbles up from time to time, distilled out of suffering and experience left to simmer quietly over time.  Like many such revelations, it was profound, yet simple, a shift of thought that welcomed peace and happiness into the soul.      All was there in that quiet moment.  This one harmonious chord was accompanied by the phrasing and ideal words to be able to share the secret with any who were open to the idea.  I determined immediately that I would put it all down on paper the minute I woke up. Yes. It came to me in a dream.      Cliché, certainly, but cliché for a reason.  There isn't a culture on this earth that hasn't placed some importance on what goes on behind our eyelids when we go to sleep.  Even bey...