I am reminded, on a number of fronts, of how writing operates as meditation. I am more and more convinced that time spent writing is as good a preparation as any to gain access to Buddhist understanding. A story can be clever and well-written. It might have some moral value. But unless one is engaged in some understanding of consciousness as being prone to being hi-jacked by false selves and the strife they involve in, the story is not getting at the full picture of the Universe.

Is there place for such a lazy activity as Buddhism in the modern world of science, technology, medicine, global economy? Well, perhaps to encourage a perspective upon the strife, the contentiousness, the selfishness of a world divided into factions and separate identities.

So, finding myself really incapable of making up fiction, like Kerouac I explore true to life stuff. I write out an account of, say, a meaningful time in life, and in doing so I allow myself to meditate on how I was at fault, how I was occupied by distracting voices and false ego things like attachment and pride and feelings of the kind that are easily hurt, how I fell into patterns of reaction over the sweetest and most innocent and beautiful of things, quite as if I had been completely blinded by inner turmoils.

Then again, there is always that part within us that knows the wisdom of the Buddha, capable of listening and understanding, a very gentle and very generous self that never has a problem with anybody or anything, that lives in contented silence, only wishing to share. Buddhism gives strength to this deeper part of whatever it is we are, or are a part of. Buddhism helps identify that deeper part of great peace.

Maybe our own turmoils are unconscious exercises in finding that inner light in the darkness, within the overwhelming sound and action of any given day. Those turmoils, maybe we are never released from them, nowhere close to attaining the perfection that secretly is ours, but maybe we can hope to be better at remaining calm and unmoved as they sway their winds upon us. Woe unto the world because of offenses, Lincoln quoted the good book. We're left to that activity of making ourselves better Buddhists because of them, more focussed, more concentrated. Writing is a way to help all that along, and that may well be its main purpose, personally, for us.