Sometimes I feel so close to the realm of those hallowed people, the serene, even if I'm not all that I'd like to be.  I'm close to regaining that feeling, even though it's a mirage right now.  There are so many "ifs" in my life that I need to ignore:  If my room were clean, if I were a better friend, if I were on top of the mounds of paper-work, if I painted more, focused more, emptied the litter-boxes more, ate less, smoked less, spent less, cared less, read less, blogged less and just plain lived.  But what is living?

I am me.  A dirty, chaotic, messy woman, who does not run by any rules previously set forth in the pantheum of this reality.  My god is beyond all gods, ineffable, a glorious light that we may return to when leaving this mortal coil.  A god supported by the ultimate of lone wolves, Judas.  But I digress.

I'm not here to preach another divinity, but rather to speak plainly of the open wounds of this earth.  How could I, or anyone, presume to have knowledge of all that which is beyond human comprehension?  I can only speak of my own space in time, my own knowledge, suffering, pain, joy, pleasure and life.

I'm rambling for the purest sense; that I may lose myself in the words, avoid the little death and release of sleep.  I write because I'm alive.