When was the last time you said a bunch of things, like they just came out of your mouth, and it was okay?

When was the last time you got to say things in an attempt to understand and process concepts, regressions, progressions, messages, interpreting lengths and lengths of thought-ribbons, using your own voice?

When was the last time you allowed yourself to leave a sentence incomplete, to stray from a thought in the middle of having it, noticing that its feeling has already passed, that it's time has gone and went?

When was the last time you decided to return to a thought when you were ready to deal with/explore it?

When was the last time you allowed yourself to linger in reality, paused in concentration over ideas or simply allowing open space for such things to filter in, with a loving, caring, sense of knowing that our minds process so much information that reminds us, affirms, and denies our wants, based on our perceptions, desires and demons?

When was the last time you found comfort and joy in figuring out all of so much of what just happened; perhaps, in addition, to everything else and how it may just correspond?

For some, brainstorming is poison; for some, brainstorming is breaking through process into process, and the love of what they mean will only come to pass by experimenting with them and giving them open, focused, unfocused space.