Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I was looking for the Discourse on Lovingkindness which is a Buddhist chant the other day, and came upon notebooks full of "weather reports". My Zen teacher encouraged us to email a report each week on the state of our practice, but about four years ago her dementia made it impossible for her to continue, The first report I saw was one about my brother's suicide. I tucked it back in the book, but literally there were hundreds of reports over the years, and it might make some interesting reading for me sometime. A kind of witness to what I was thinking and feeling back in the day. I used to believe my kids or grandkids would read these reports, and my poems and novels, and know more about me. But now I'm not so sure, and I realize it doesn't matter if they save them or ever read them. I write because I must, because I learn what I think from writing, and because even if my only reader is me, I've still reached out to all sentient beings, because I matter. I matter to me. And that's an achievement.