Up since 4:00 a.m. working on a book which few will read and which will not endure, I am struck by how much of the only real currency we have i.e.time-- how much of this currency I waste not actively loving. I am born to love, to learn to give and receive love. Nothing else will survive the journey. I hope this love of moving words on paper, the delight, the sheer rush of joy when the words finally approximate the idea--the utter thrill even at good quality paper! I only hope that this love is not selfish and that all the hours and hours and hours of choosing and moving words will not be dross that is burned off in the journey to yah--that this is not one more subtle distraction from my real task: to love.