A writer is obliged to look at things from beyond the horizon, from a higher dimension.  The three dimensions of the present of what is taken for reality is sometimes nerve-wracking, and the writer will write to maintain perspective and calmness.

I chose to admit the basic nervousness I feel when proceeding out of a routine.  Traveling is something I'm not used to, and it is strange and novel for me to break out of my work and get down to the train station.  I feel the same way about packing.  For that opens up possibilities.  Many people seem to me to have absolutely no problem getting on airplanes and going places, but, to a primitive like me, it's all very strange as it is eye-opening with regard to the size of the world.  Fortunately, I have a good sense of direction, or at least my mother tells me this.

I find that even a little task, like staking up, retying a tomato plant out in the garden has psychic complexity.  Until I remind myself to not mind the mosquitos, to get out there with a piece of kitchen string and scissors, that I am armed with the knowledge of how to tie at least one basic knot, that I can, in short, 'figure it out.'  Which I go do.  But it always seems to me, such a venture would not be possible unless there really was a great Universal force out there emanating through all creation and all reality that is on the side of people trying to do complicated things for the general good, the general flow of Nature's good offerings.  Life is possible, the Universe whispers (or I make up), and if you try, put some common sense to it, you'll be able to get something accomplished.  Even if somedays it seems harder than others, like when I procrastinate over train schedules and wonder how the night's shift will go...

I don't suppose people could ever even write letters without that sense of things being doable.  Yes, you can say what needs to be expressed in a few simple lines, if you sit down and try it.  No matter the complexity, just boil it down to what in your heart you want to say.  And then, at least, like every body else, at least you are trying.

I know full well how the complexities of things can psych you out sometimes, pushing you back from trying to, for example, say the things you'd like to say to someone to gently start a conversation.  All you have to offer anyway is quite simple, though the confusions of personality and inner voices can make it seem very complicated.  The offering is to with your own humble being try to represent or bring out the greater force, the power of the Universe and all creation and reality, which we can usefully refer to as, well, love, I guess.

Short of brain injury and other bad things that can happen, no one really would, in a right mind, attempt harm.   And yet people do cause great harm.  Misunderstandings?  Fallacies of selfishness?  The political world is often a mystery.