Over the last few months I’ve drafted numerous posts. I’ve even completed a few. All of them have been tossed out. Either I’ve said it before, or it’s been said to death. I’ve been drifting, looking for a way to put into words the inner change that’s been churning within me. Lots of development, insight and growth. I’m still here, drafting, molding, shaping. I may be adrift on what to say and when, but my roots are firmly planted and growing deep. Most of what I would say has been better said by others long, long ago. I spend my time marinating in their works, and reading new works of my compatriots. I’m on the cusp of something, but what it is I’ve not yet comprehended. As I drift, I put down things I’d picked up when I began. The childish things, they are called. The things born out of wanton desire and bare need. The glimpses of light I reached out to while shuffling in the darkness like a rat. Any scrap of cheese was welcome. And what of life when the light is found, and one is a rat no more? There are times when a voice arises in me and forces itself onto the page, and when that happens I humbly obey the voice of that reason. Other times I’m simply wrestling with a snake, trying to get it to go into a jar. In the end, I give up, release the snake, and watch where it goes. When I do that I learn much and am often amused at myself for having wrestled with it in the first place. Snakes do not want to be put in jars, of that much I’m certain, and to force the issue gets one bitten.