You say you want me to know God and to do what he would want me to do, because that's what you want for everyone, and I understand, I do. But what I can't express to you, though I'm sure you sense it, is that I am much happier this way, and that I don't plan on returning. I love my freedom, the freedom of faith, when it rises in me, and the freedom of humanism, the freedom to distinguish myself when I am feeling distinguished, to voice my dissent, to paint for you my own picture. I love my freedom to see the beauty in it all, all people and all gods, instead of your solitary One. No more strapping on blinders for the sake of salvation. I have forsaken your communion with the One for communion with the Many, with the All, the Every, and I am relishing in the company. And yet, you think me lonely. a wanderer. Yes. But a self-possessed wanderer, and a wanderer walking a planet of brothers and sisters. an archaeologist, unearthing, in town after town, pieces of myself. Yes, maybe one day I will have to settle, set up camp, but not today. No. No, I will never settle, never have-to anything. I will find and be found. And I will never again hang up my travelin' shoes until that day. my explorin' shoes. seein'-the-world shoes. I will swing free until they cut me down.
Believe it, Jennifer. Keep on the sunny side, take it as a gift. If you can believe it, then you can be it, and then there will be rest.
You know what I am noticing? Lots of times, I think more in poetry than prose. Too many commas! Maybe, one day, I will let my form fit my words. But I still feel presumptuous, self-serious, when I try.
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