February 7, 2018:
When I was sixteen, and just started writing on my blog, I often used the metaphor of a "volcano" to describe how I felt with all the inspiration that was stored in me and had no seeable way out.
I feel the same way now, at twenty-eight. I am full of so much inspiration and joy, that I really feel I could explode. What happens is that I just cry. I cry because there is so much greatness and kindness in people. People love me and I love people. I have seen with my own two eyes and heard with my own two ears and felt with my own heart the genuine giving of others. I have witnessed beauty. I feel so grateful and so lucky, to have the capacity to hold so much joy inside a self which takes up so little space in the physical world but so much space in the cosmos of the spirit.
The most magical part of all the giving I have received from others is that it breeds more giving. Kindness builds kindness. Peace cultivates peace. I have been blessed, and I wish to be an intermediary of goodness: To get goodness, and to pass it on, to spread it around, to share it with everyone. To very literally help the world become a better and safer place.
(I also feel kind of embarrassed to express all of these feelings - and may delete the post tomorrow - because I am afraid I am standing on the tightrope between being naively genuine in my gratitude and between seeming vain. Ever since I was young, and despite being honest and rawly-open-hearted, I've always had this voice telling me I am lying or I am vain, and that underlying it all is my desire for attention. So I worry. I have this nature of getting really excited and really enthusiastic, and then writing about it, but then deleting it later on because I don't want to seem like I am drawing too much attention.)