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10/10/2023 I wrote this book. Or maybe it wrote me.  I published a little book in August and didn’t tell anyone. It sat there by itself in the vast internet marketplace, a little curio hidden behind layers and layers of noise. This book was vital to my own soul, but I hadn’t a clue if it would be of any use to anyone else. Once it was out there, I felt a curious mixture of exposure, invisibility and secret delight, like I was getting away with something. Thrilling because this is such an odd thing to do in a culture that says everything must be branded and packaged and sold in order to earn a right to exist. I considered just leaving it there, hidden in the digital compost heap to age and decompose like all the other billions of soul artifacts made since antiquity, each one created with deep passion, sincerity and care, only to be offered to the wind and the soil. My little book was in good company. In truth, I didn’t need that book to exist for long. Really I just needed to hold it in my hands, see my ephemeral experience as an object, flip through the pages of a something made from the openness and nothingness I had been experiencing. And now I’m telling you it’s there, just in case you’re in the mood to discover something intimate and singular today, like a message in a bottle. My hope: that a few of you might resonate and wink at me so I can wink back at you, happy to have a kindred. And then, who knows? Maybe you’ll make an artifact too, for me to find. Since the book is an actual object you’d have to order one to hold it in your hand, but there’s no real need to because I’ll give you a taste right here: 
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FOR WRITING AS A SPIRITUAL PRACTICE:
copyright 2019 by jane brunette