Once I identified this question, it was all over the place.
I got these hints everywhere. And then, in a way, I knew that they had always been there.
And then writing, that's what happens.
I get these hints, these clues, and I realize that they've been obvious, and yet they have not been.
And what I need, in effect, is a focus. And when I have the question, it is a focus.
And all these things that seem to be flotsam and jetsam in life actually go through that question,
and what happens is those particular things become relevant.
And it seems like it's happening all the time.
You think there's a sort of coincidence going on, a serendipity, in which you're getting all this help from the universe.
And it may also be explained that now you have a focus. And you are noticing it more often.
But you apply this. You begin to look at things having to do with your tensions.
Your brother, who's fallen in trouble, do you take care of him? Why or why not?
It may be something that is perhaps more serious — as I said, human rights in Burma.
I was thinking that I shouldn't go because somebody said, if I did, it would show that I approved of the military regime there.
And then, after a while, I had to ask myself,
"Why do we take on knowledge, why do we take on assumptions that other people have given us?"
And it was the same thing that I felt when I was growing up,
and was hearing these rules of moral conduct from my father, who was a Baptist minister.
So I decided that I would go to Burma for my own intentions, and still didn't know that if I went there,
what the result of that would be, if I wrote a book — and I just would have to face that later, when the time came.