One of the nice things about being an academic with tenure is that I have big blocks of time that I can use however I want, but that's -- for me, anyway -- also a problem. I tend to fritter away time when I don't have structures and deadlines. I get the most done when I am busiest. I'm trying to figure out how to structure my days more effectively. The need to do this has come into focus as my Zen practice has "deepened," as they say. (It's a bit of religion-speak I find a bit off-putting.) Basically, what this means is that doing meditation morning and evening creates a certain structure around which other things can be organized, so that creates a starting point. I've always tended to work to deadlines and to write in spurts and dashes of energy separated by wide deserts of non-writing. I've heard all the advice and rules about establishing a regular time and just keeping at it, but I've never done that with writing, but now I am finding it pretty easy to sit on a regular schedule, so why not sit and write the same way? I have to weave this around my teaching and other academic duties, but in that respect I have it very easy. so that's what I'm going to do over the coming weeks heading into summer and I'm going to keep up some kind of daily writing even when I travel. It has taken a long time to come to this, but increasingly I have the sense that not-writing, like not-sitting, is not an option for me. And it's not an ego-thing anymore, this writing and even publishing poems. When I was a boy I wanted to be famous, but I quit being a boy -- at least that kind of boy -- at about age 52. (Not that long ago, true.) I just want to make sense of things and language -- poetic language -- is the way I've always done that, even when I was a boy. Buddhism puts a lot of emphasis on silence and even sometimes overtly relegates language to a secondary status, not more than a practical instrument, necessary but deeply flawed. At the same time, Buddhism has produced its share of great poets. The genius of language lies, as the old Zen hermit-poets understood, lies in its impurity and imperfection.