A Love Affair Begins With

I Leave A Lot Out When I Tell The Truth

An Idea Might Spark An Essay, But Never A Story.

I Think Of The Chimp, The One With The Talking Hands. In The Course Of The Experiment, That Chimp Had A Baby. Imagine How Her Trainers Must Have Thrilled When The Mother, Without Prompting, Began To Sign Her Newborn. Baby, Drink Milk. Baby, Play Ball. And When The Baby Died, The Mother Stood Over The Body, Her Wrinkled Hands Moving With Animal Grace, Forming Again And Again The Words: Baby, Come Hug, Baby Come Hug, Fluent Now In The Language Of Grief.

I Have Written Letters That Are Failures, But I Have Written Few, I Think, That Are Lies. Trying To Reach A Person Means Asking The Same Question Over And Over Again: Is This The Truth, Or Not? I Begin This Letter To You, Then, In The Western Tradition. If I Understand It, The Western Tradition Is: Put Your Cards On The Table.

Look At Me. My Concerns-are They Spiritual, Do You Think, Or Carnal? Come On. We've Read Our Shakespeare.