I spent the better part of my formative years trying to explain my pagan inclinations to my Mormon father, who regarded my penchant for all things mystical as serious pathology that needed one thing: more church.

Well, that didn't work. 

Down in my bones, I have always believed that the concept of God cannot be contained in language, but something that is felt, experienced. A beating heart, a bated breath, sudden understanding, comfort in deep madness, longing, new life, love. 

Still, after years of punitive conditioning, I still sometimes feel sheepish fostering a connection with soul, with spirit, with the earth. Because, connection with soul can't really be quantified or explained. I have often discounted my own experiences because those around me have tried to convince me that they are all in my head. 

Today, I made the mistake of sharing the concept for this diary with someone in my life who I knew would meet it with ridicule, and somehow I was still surprised by their derision. 

I really should have known better.  

I was reminded that in an infancy of project, one must nurture their newborn creation with all the ferocity of a paranoid mama bear. 

Conclusion: