So in the great cosmic pulse, I once again pull up roots. Somewhere in the background OTR plays a melancholy song, and the sun shines brightly enough for me to take off my tattered brown sweater. We are all doing what we do best.
Leaving Manitou is at once harder and easier than I expected. Yashah and I talked for a long time down at the Maté, about my being humble and submitting. Sometimes I wish I was a different person, and that I could just give in and join cultish groups like it was nothing. More often though, I am glad I am me. I am glad that I can surprise people by seeing good in the world; it becomes an alien concept, that there is anything good. But I know it is true. I know art and beauty are true just as surely, and I cannot turn my back on them. God created me to see, to hear, to hurt and sing and cry and grow wide eyed in wonder at everything. And live with a broken heart. And I am so glad to be alive.
To all those that read this, and even those that don't, know this. I am growing, hopefully not just up, but out as well, and I am not scared of what comes next. The joy is in living each day of this divine adventure, keeping fingertips lightly pressed to this great cosmic pulse and at once to my own. I am at peace with my maker and my world.
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