When I first started writing the twenty sentences, I mainly wanted to please Douglas. After that, I wanted Bhanu to read them. She did (because of the sunlit room where we did not turn our eyes from each other?) but never said much. I had no idea where they were going. I still don't.
In general, the people who are actually "you" are confused about how that works. I don't mind. Two women have approached me about certain sequences, believing there were secret messages. I won't say there weren't. But it's almost always no fun trying to take that stuff out of the sentences and into what we call the world.
I think it was about a year ago when I began to consider the brahmodya, and how a piece of writing could be the awakening it aimed to reproduce or inspire. I mean: could writing be noumenal? That which I call God is never not in attendance, for better or worse. But the broader purpose of the project remains elusive. As I am.
A lot of people are doing something similar, at least half a dozen of whom make a point of staying in touch. People are always asking me how to write. I try to be generous but often feel I'm doing more harm than good. Writing is never what I want so much as a reflection of what I have and am. Naturally, I'm glad you like it.