Dear God/ess, The first twenty pages of "Prayers To Heal" are written, as well as the Intro. I wrote the pages  in a steamy room with barely any air moving, looking out over the Conestoga River with storm clouds periodically passing through.

It rained all night without lightening or thunder. Dear Ulysses slept through all of it.

Years ago, when in college, I wrote many papers and reports for classes. Writing this proposal reminds me nothing of school. In fact, I just thought of school for the first time this moment.

What does writing the proposal remind me of? A process of innovation, of building a monument for the world to see.

Putting on my editor hat is a strange phenomenon. Thankfully I have several people who will read the proposal and let me know their point of view but  only after I have sifted through it at least one hundred times.

Writing the entire book will require another more intensive push, of days spent piecing together a prayer puzzle, where linear time vanishes, and creative time replaces it. Where will the time go? No where, since it didn't exist to begin with.

As the wood pecker enjoys her serenade out my window, and the cardinal responds, I look forward to another beautiful summer day, then onward to the hospital. I choose to do what I must do until the time comes when my work is done, there.

Until then, all is well.

Om Peace Amen

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