So Much Within

Sometimes my mind just paralyzes. I sense there is so much within, that through the little aperture of the mouth and the slow medium of my hands writing, communicating day and night lately, it still all just splutters forth. Often, an incoherent babble.  

The act of communicating, over time, renders a form to the exodus of the mass of ideas, thoughts, and knowledge within. I must keep writing. The practice will lend itself grace and form over time.