Second, let's talk about faith. My faith, since I am no blood or spirit 
with most of you who'll be reading this. 

The first time I took 'shrooms, I had my first taste of God. The real deal. 
Curve of the universe. Place in the world. Spinning in infinity, and I said, 
hey, hallelujah. Dig it, because this is the truth as I know it, and who 
knows, it might even be The Truth. We're all impossibly small against 
the backdrop of Creation, and yet we're just the same all our own 
universes, given the chance to expand or contract at will.

Over the years following, I've more or less tried to expand. Tried to 
become. It had been a comforting thought, wish, *need* of my childhood 
to believe that all things had a purpose, that I was being shaped toward 
my destiny, whatever it may be. It's not uncommon, really. All thinking 
people eventually wonder Why They're Here.

But... it's become more than that. Through my illnesses, through the 
drugs -- legal and otherwise -- through my *growth* as a person, the idea
gained shape and form. A slow process, given my quite reasonable doubts 
about my own sanity... the doubts chip away at the form. The form 
defines meaning, and must not be accepted lightly.

How to put this? 

I believe that we are given the Form of things. I believe it is imprinted in 
our souls. Through flesh and bone and blood and mind, it's all there, set 
up as intimately as the Great Programmer could design, and man, Her 
kung-fu is the best.

However, we have to *choose* to hold it. To accept it. Somewhere 
between free-will and predestination, a choice is made. Some deny it wholly.
Some dive into it with what little knowledge they've accumulated over the 
years. They all have their Truths, but it becomes corrupted, as it perhaps 
always must. 

We are small gods, and our range is limited.

So there I am, doubting myself like I've never doubted myself in the length
of my supremely insecure life. My morals have never been... attached as well 
as those of many others, but suddenly I was faced with the possibility that 
Evil was real, and I was it. A part of it, sure and true, *aware* just enough to 
be damned beyond redemption.

Finally I prayed. I opened myself wide, as I'd taught myself to do over the 
years (funny how I never seem to think of it unless it's suggested. I think it 
might have made some things easier, but then, I wouldn't be who I am. 
Fate. Will. Hey, don't ask me, man, I'm just. Heh. The messenger?), a 
process I've mentioned in fragments here and there. I make of myself a 
vessel, I am empty, and ready to be filled.

And, for the very first time, I heard a voice.

The most beautiful voice I've never heard, singing songs and free-verse 
poetry that broke my heart and made me anew.

A woman's voice, wide and glad and open and perhaps not entirely sane.

And my doubts are going.

I am. Changing.

I am beginning.

I am hearing voices and making broad, mad religious claims. 

Know me, or, perhaps, commit me.

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