Sometimes there is an urge to write, to express an idea, to share an experience. But then you start and it all gets a bit messy.
A while ago, there used to be a whole load of thoughts flying around. Passionate, exciting, new things that just had to be written down. The new concepts were flowing. And then, as soon as something actually got written, solidifying into fixed words, it became so much less certain. A state of mind that seemed completely crystallised, suddenly becomes limited by the inadequacy of text. So the idea becomes opaque again, smothered by programmatic issues of trying to shape that moment of inspiration into something of meaning and value to others.
So what’s the purpose of me writing this? Mostly to satisfy the craving. The hope that something that is done, is better than the perfect work which is never finished. In spite of whether or not this is of value to myself, or anyone else, perhaps meditating on this frustration will be better than not doing anything.