Meditation. Looking into the void. What do you see? Stars. A black, pulsating void with lights and stars in it. Then the devastating feeling of not being loved, of never having been loved, of the total absence of love from outside and then the happy remembrance that there is an abundance of love on the inside. And the vulnerability, the despair, the sadness, the fear of never having been loved remains as a lure, the proverbial seduction of despair. Then I turn to money and I feel the anguish of lack and the rabid jealousy towards those that have. If I think about why I am here and if there is any truth to the idea that a soul chooses a birth to learn a particular lesson I am sure mine is connected to money. But as I write that I remember Lacan said “Money and mother”. It’s all anyone ever talks about in therapy. So it can’t be particular to me. I have to find what IS particular to me. Or at least try. I sometimes feel overwhelmed at all the fragments of text in small files. What can I do with them? How can I find a way to love them? How can I sort what is important from what is not important? Back to the beginning. I have to start again at the beginning, or call this the beginning. Stop bemoaning myself for not being able to write the story I feel somehow morally obliged to write, that is not my story, and come up with a good, decent, thoroughly enjoyable free-flowing story starting today. Find out who I am and what I have to say.