Walk to the park and stand under a tree. The wind will come. When the sound of the wind in the leaves obscures the whine of traffic on the freeway, you will know bliss.
When we write, we distill to essence what we have received from nature, from experience, the sweetest and most bitter times of our lives.
When our writing takes the reader to that place where the sound of words obscures the noise of society and worry, they will know bliss.
In this way is our writing a sacred practice and an art.