As the earth has swung lazily in an orbit around the sun, hurtling through space at a pace that would rip the flesh from a human being, spinning at a rate that even a fraction of which, would toss the horses from a carousel, I am thankful for the gravity that holds me and the precious atmosphere in check. Light is filtered in through that sphere of air, strengthening it, giving life to the plants that clean the air that I breath out, giving me air to breath in. I am amazed by the efficiency of my shell, knowing that although it has a great deal of defects and flaws, it continues to work and will continue to work despite the ravages of time and abuse.

I am alive. This is a miracle. You who are reading this are alive. This too is a miracle. Were I to count the number of times that I've danced out of Death's grip, I would even be more astounded by my continued existence.

All of this is not a happenstance. There is not chance involved here. In fact, in keeping with chaos and quantum theory, there is no such thing as chance. What appears to be random is part of a greater order. We are born, we live, and we die. The sun rises and sets. The spring comes, the world is reborn, the winter comes and the world dies under it's icy shell. But only part of the worldCastor and Pollex live in only one hemisphere at a time.

I have been fascinated by myth all of my life. I've always been one to read stories. When I was eighteen, I began to seriously question my Judeo-Christian background. I questioned the existence of God, but I did so within the boundaries that had been set for me. Soon I was able to break free from that. I lost God, then I found God again, and I knew that God was looking down on me from the Heavens and God was pleased with what God saw.

Images and stories began to take a more coherent form. Truth and symbols began to explode out of the void. Glimpses behind the veil were greater and more frequent. There was some drug use involved, but the prophets and the shamans have always relied somewhat upon the chemical to get themselves to think outside of the shell that they live in. I read, I digested, I enjoyed. I wrote poetry that almost wrote itself, then puzzled over what the poetry meant.

I have been blessed and cursed by self-awareness. I am able to see more of the pattern than most. I cannot change it yet, nor do I know if I will ever be able to do so. The more I learn and realize, the more powerless I become. I have fallen from grace, and must suffer for some crime that I do not remember. I am truly insane, but saner than most.

This is all an illusion, you, me, the computers between us. God dreams, and we are but characters within that dream.

It is hard for me to put everything that I have learned and realized over eleven years of living into words. It is hard for me to know where to begin. Myth is real. Dreams are living. The imagination is the key. Live life, love life, then write about it. Fish fly free. The Universe provides.

To be continued . . .