I am not an expert.  I have no letters after my name, no special title or degree that justifies my opinion.  I am not your judge.  My choices are not a comment on your choices.  My life is not a reflection of your issues.  I am not an angel speaking only to you.  I am not a devil trying to seduce you from the path of the righteous.  I’m just a wanderer, waving at you from out in the open.  Not close enough to threaten, open-handed, earnest.  You’re close enough to see my face, though, and hear my voice.  You can tell I’m not a liar.  Just another human being.  I’m not after your children or your mother.  I won’t make you dance naked in my hippy dream of freaky, vegetarian love.  I’m not looking for a fight or a parade or an angle.  Your defenses don’t really interest me.  I mean they do interest me, but, well, you know what I mean.  I’m just trying to have a conversation here.  I’m just talking.  (I don’t want to race.  Did your brother or sister ever go through a phase when everything was a competition and you were like, “Dude, I just want to enjoy my ice cream”?)  I am not an “ist”.  I do not espouse any particular doctrine or faction, no matter how closely it mimics my actions, words, or intentions, so I definitely don’t belong to that organization you hate. The closest thing to an affiliation I have is a fondness for the phrase “itinerant Zen monk”. How’s that grab you? I’m not your enemy.  I’m not trying to scare you.  I’m not going to hurt you.  I just want to sit for a minute and catch my breath.  It’s a pretty big existence.

Picture Credit – Excerpt from “Drift” by Mark Weber (used with permission)

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