I've just seen Elephant Journal publish an article called How To Survive A 7 Day Sesshin. Turns out I wrote it! I've survived my first editors, but I suspect they added typos! I won't say anything else about the huge crystal behind the Buddha they posted with my article.
The editors didn't add typos of course, but it reveals some truth about the nature of my mind. It's always an other that's putting the butterflies in my stomach. Actually, my stomach just breeds butterflies. When I open my mouth I puke them out by accident. In the case of this article, they escaped through my finger tips.
Having a submission accepted (it's only happened a few times for me) is almost as bad as having a submission rejected. When I'm rejected there this hope I can try again. When I'm accepted there seems to so many things I left unclear, and there's a concrete example of me. I tend to always disagree with the phenomenal expression of me.
So much has come up; my senior dharma brothers and sisters will see this! My teachers will see this! Why did I do it?
Well, at least I know that. I've always known why I write. It comes from the same place I pursue practice from: dissatisfaction. When life passes by, I sometimes have a tough time feeling it. Writing helps me engage. When I'm writing about dharma an intimacy is cultivated. When I write about anything intimacy is cultivated with myself.
Like the Lankavatara says, words aren't so serious anyway. Like footprints in the dirt, they lead to the wild animal. When you behold that wild animal yourself the footprints in the dirt aren't so interesting anymore.