Zen and the Art of Relationship-Maintenance

I've been wondering, lately, if this blog is just a comfortable distraction from the more involved living and creating I deep-down feel I ought to be doing. It is far easier to cognate and write about something that is true (or at least, something I for-a-time-believe-to-be-true) than it is to actually internalize and then live it.

Shouldn't I better oughta git out and git livin'?

Take, for example, the question of women - and yes, they are a question: one I've been asking myself for a very, very long time. In that time, I've gotten a lot of great answers, and one of the best of them might be that women are not an answer at all; and that if they are in any way to help me rest from all my questionings, I'm going to have to relax a little - to abandon the fear-prompted desire that keeps me wondering ever-further into the illusive phantasms of possession and control.

I know this. I know I cannot own a woman, any more than I can own an eagle, or any other gorgeous, momentous being on this here spinning, elliptical globe of awesomeness. I also know the desire that drives me to try to control and contain a woman is the very thing that keeps me from getting what I really want: an expansive, selfless, unconditional intimacy. I know this, yes... but I very rarely live it. 

So the question at hand is this: is there value at all in writing about this? Is this really getting me any closer to what I want? Or should I, rather, close the laptop, shut off my mind, and go sit down outside under a tree writing love poems - or better yet, reciting them... in person... to an actual woman? 

The answer, of course, is yes. And also, no. I suppose in the end, all I can do is shrug and say (slash-write), in the immortal words of Popeye the Sailor Man, "I yam what I yam, and that's all what I yam." Writing is a way of Being too, I suppose - if, perhaps, a less risky one.