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.