So what if this world is perfect after all. My life in this world is perfect. Even without any fame or fortune. Do the leaves on the trees and the grains of sand on the beach need fame or fortune to be OK? I am, like them, a speck among many. Here for a nano-second of eternity and then transmuted into some other form of energy. So what’s to write about that? About life as a speck? Just that. Maybe that is enough.
It’s probably not for me to write any sort of how to. I don’t know how to anything. “How to Find the Soul (Using Your Dirty Mind)”? Well yeah maybe that.