In the beginning

When I created this space, I subtitled it "Writing. Practiced." Unfortunately, I let myself be intimidated into silent non-practice by my own first post, which took many, many hours of fevered research, rumination and writing to produce, and which all-told I really liked.

But writing avoided isn't writing practiced at all.

Few of my friends will sing. They fear their own voices, or hate their own voices if those are different. They compare their own sound to the sound of an ideal, whichever sound they love. And this love destroys their voice and cripples them to silence. I argue, sometimes, that singing is for singing's sake. That the act of it is the beauty, and not the result, not the sound.

So with writing. So with any composure of the Tovu-V'Vohu into light, and time, and order.