Written

Writing is certainly not the imposition of a form of expression on the matter of lived experience. The course of writing, though towards a goal, perhaps, is merely a direction, its steps erratic. Writing unfolds in revelation. Its becoming, ever burgeoning, striving towards fuller realisation, rather than completion. Just as living is a continual process, the experience that it manifests is also continual. In writing, then, the writer must necessarily become who or that which she or he writes, to the extent that the distinction between them is nearly imperceptible.

These becomings may be linked to one another by a particular line, sequence, or cycle; or they may coexist at every level, accompanying the thresholds, the doorways, the zones, and the spheres that comprise the universe. Becoming is simultaneously devoid of domination and of submission. Becoming is acceptance, surrender, belief. To write, a writer must believe in that reality which through her or his transcription becomes reality in fact. Whereas a photograph is an interpretation of a likeness, and thereby an opinion rather than a fact, though accurate, it is not the truth. Truth, as it is believed, is as it is written.