Writing never comes easy to me. Most times, it’s a struggle. Facing a blank page is like facing a judge: all sorts of emotions rise up to the surface making me feel inadequate, insecure, unable to meet the task at hand. It’s only when I jump, when I take a daring step and I start writing whatever comes to mind that the words, the ideas, the sentences begin to flow and I can make sense of the turmoil that is my mind. This inner landscape, this vast resource of ideas, hope, and clarity can only be tapped by treading lightly. Like the old Buddhist adage asserts: “No mud, no lotus.” When I sit down to write, I’m carefully—mindfully—tending to the muck, the mud that is my mind. It’s only through writing—an active form of meditation—that I’m able to make sense of that rich, fertile ground. It’s only through practice that I’m able to help that lotus reach the surface, and bloom.