The page is your world

This may be the most efficient way of writing. Simply put words on a page, and have done with it. This is your page. These are your words. Here, of all places, you need answer to not a soul, living or dead. This is a statement of fact, friend. This, the page, is your world. Doesn’t matter whether others read this or not. I know ache fills you at this. It’s only life, each sentence, word, one movement closer to the end.  


One writer’s internal dialogue

  • It’s time to do some writing.
  • Fuck me.
  • I’m serious.
  • I can tell.
  • You just –
  • One word down, then another –
  • And another, exactly.
  • You know what gets me?
  • What?
  • It sounds so easy. Just sit down, or stand, whatever works, and then just start writing anything. Just set words down and pay attention and the words will just come of their own accord.
  • That’s not so easy.
  • What – ?
  • “Words will just come of their own accord.” That’s an act of faith on your part. Faith that if you begin the words will follow. The weight’s on you to begin, then it’s pretty much stay the hell out of the way. It can’t be the same experience each time you write, is it?
  • Now that you mention it, no.

The Possibility of Sunlight

Of another relationship I say, maybe, just maybe. But not necessary. It is the page that draws me stronger now. On relationships I stay open, never pull the blinds to the possibility of sunlight. And while there are many whose hearts are steadfast in their desire for intimacy, few can actually live it. And that is the only landscape for my stride.

There are the array of partial intimacies, connections between two people, where, like two not quite fitted puzzle pieces, some of the edges align, and for that, anyone would be wise to be grateful.

In the meantime, I am drawn to the page, to the book, and, again, finally, to the physical. The long walks, the trails, the summiting moments, to climb back on the bike and break the hills that are like weeds in their prevalence here. And again to the gym, solitary in my task, regaining the vessel’s tone.

Then to the page, the garden, the sweet air, and always with the blinds open to the possibility of sunlight.

My Task

And now, to the writing of it. The telling of it, knowing beforehand that no words get close to the realities of those here and gone from life; those we have loved and love still from the center of our beings, our souls if you will. Yet, it seems to me, to not write about them, write for them, tell others about them, would be an injustice of the heart.

I cannot tell you the glory of an Oak tree by phone or on the page. Nor can I tell you in full measure the exquisite beautiful mystery of the always enchanting morning mist. But I can tell you something, and that is my task.

I cannot possibly tell you or explain in any full and complete measure how a woman hours from me warms my heart and lifts my soul with so much love and comfort I find the experience baffling, wondrous, soaring. So much so I hardly dare to believe it. But I can tell you something and that is my task.

I cannot possible tell you in full accurate detail and scope how it sickens my heart and soul when I see people being treated with hatred because of some aspect of who they are. The damage of this kind of hatred and bigotry is wide ranging. It is aimed at those who are gay, lesbian, disabled, black, Latino, Asian, female, Jewish, Muslim and so forth. But I can tell you something and that is my task.

I think, now, as the memoir pushes to its conclusion and I gear up for the next writing task, I need to and must accept that I can never tell the all of life, just, if I work hard enough, glimpses of it.

And that is my task.


Like any year, 2008 has had its up and downs. One of the ups for me has been this blog. The growth in readership has been staggering. I’ll show you. The last three months of 2007 recorded 261 visitors for October, 245 in November and 394 in December. This year the numbers for the same three months look like this: 1,245 visitors in October, 1,716 in November and 1,245 and counting in December. The blog now has on or about 1,000 regular readers from around the world. That, may I say, is humbling.

Thanking you all for visiting this blog, which of course I do from the bottom of my heart, falls far short of how much it means to me knowing that you think enough of what I write to make me a regular part of your reading life. While I am blessed with many friends in my personal every day life, there is some special about my connection to all of you. Perhaps it is because when I write, I am closest to me. Something like that. While a small minority of those who read this blog are people I know, the huge majority are people I have never met and many are from around the world.

This blog has been visited by readers from places like Great Britain, Austria, Canada, Saudi Arabia (hi Jackie!), Italy, Sudan, Netherlands, Nicaragua, Kosovo, Czech Republic, Sweden, Mexico, Australia, Hong Kong, the United States and others. Amazing.

Then again, maybe not so amazing. Perhaps one of the gifts the web gives us is a glimpse into a very simple but often forgotten and distorted truth; we are all equal members of the human family. It does not matter where we come from; we all eat and breathe and want to be loved and want to love others; we all have dreams and hopes and all of us, all of us, deserve to be able to be who we are – safely and with dignity – in the world we live in.

I may well write another piece before this year is out. I’m not sure. Know that I am grateful to you all for your presence in this blog. I wish each and every one of you peace, love, friendship, good health, full healing, peace of mind and more in the year and years ahead.

Peter S. Kahrmann