I accumulate journals and notebooks. I have at least four journals and two electronic journals that are active at the moment:

- a large clothbound artist’s sketchbook: I use this for my art and graphic design sketching, planning, scheming and brainstorming.

- my daily all-purpose journal: My current one is a birthday gift from Jana–the paper has a rough super-recycled texture to it (my fine point felt-tip pen sometimes catches against a shiny red piece of something or a tiny grain of sand embedded in the paper). It is bound by string and the cover has cardboard-like ridges that get pressed down the more I use it. I always carry this with me, and in this I keep obssesive daily tasklists, scrawl recollections of dreams in the middle of the night and take notes at meetings.

- a life/writing journal: This one is dense, has lined paper and a leather cover. I use this for recording life events, writing story ideas in length, examining tarot spreads, or for gushing forth therapeutic stream of consciousness writing (sometimes many pages of this in one sitting).

- a creative journal: I haven’t done a lot with this yet, but I purchased a largish blank book covered with velvety black corduroy with a ribbon to tie the book shut. I plan to lavish lots of creative, artistic love on this book. It is half scrapbook, half artist’s laboratory.

- my Editplus text editor: I do all of the above stuff (with very little overlap) on my laptop as well. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of little text files with story fragments, to-do lists, meeting notes, email drafts, etc., etc. scattered throughout the “My Documents” folder. I have my personal electronic strata, the accumulated verbal debris of the ages of John.

- mindonfire: Of course, there is this site. I have at least a novella’s worth of journal entries collected (sporadically) over the past three years. Spiritual angst, immediate responses to horrific world events, ruminations on family relationships, and general blabbering. It’s all in here.

Writing helps me to deal with life. On Sunday, I attended a public lecture by Thich Nhat Hanh (nominated by Martin Luther King, Jr., for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1967). The event began with a guided mass meditation. In the program handout, under the section While Listening to the Public Talk, it recommended:

Listening to a talk by Thich Nhat Hanh is a wonderful opportunity to sit quietly, follow your breathing and listen mindfully. The teachings can be like the rain, watering the seeds of your subconscious mind. If your conscious mind is trying too hard to remember, to compare and to achieve something, it becomes like the hardened earth. The rain will not be able to reach the depths of your sould. So let go and enjoy the rain. If you want to hear, your concentration will arise naturally. You will be alert and attentive.

I tried to follow this advice. I only lasted about 10-15 minutes. “Screw the rain,” I thought. “I’m getting my umbrella.” I pulled out my daily journal and furiously scribbled, “Writing is my meditation.”