I am walking a path. The path is not mine — I do not know whether it was here before me, but it will be gone from me when I pass. Perhaps others have walked it, or will follow after me, or perhaps they are walking near me even now. It may be that I will hear their footsteps. It may be that I will hold their hands. Once, a storm raged within me, tearing me into tattered fragments, and I have only just awoken, bloody and disfigured, to begin the painful process of stitching myself back together. I now cherish the fraying ribbons that I once cursed. I have bundled up the strands of my soul with care. I have found the scraps and remnants. I have laid them by my side. Now comes the hurt. Now comes the healing. I swam for a long time in a dark ocean. The currents threw me from my course. The cold water crushed me. Others drowned, others sank, but I never gave up. One day there was a light above me — a warm clear light that showed me, for the first time, the way up, toward light and life. When I emerged, I wept for joy, and I wept for grief, and slowly, slowly, I am learning to float. My experience has been painful and confusing beyond my ability to explain in simple words, and so I resort to stories. Perhaps I will make my history more plainly clear when clarity comes, but for now it may suffice to say that I have been emotionally dead until quite recently. I have been a child, and a lover, and a fool. I have been an abuser of others, and an abuser of my self. I have been cruel. I have been kind. I have been faithful and faithless, I have been loved and hated. I have known loneliness, and I have known peace. I have come to find others on my path. I have come to practice the art of weaving. I have come to learn to float. Freedomain Radio played no small part in my resurrection. I will be fascinated to discover what part it plays in my life.
