Planting Seeds ...

To some, today is Imbolc. A day of intention, of beginnings, of the promise of light amidst the still potent darkness. A day for Bhride (or Brigid, if you will) of Kildare, of poetry, healing and smithcraft, or as I once said in a poem, of fire, ash and rebirth.

This is the ninth iteration of this blog, under different addresses and aliases, going back to April of 2002. Every once in a while, when you're me, the sheer volume of words generated becomes cumbersome, and the sack must be emptied at the side of the road.

At this moment in time, at the starting line of the year of unknowable things, I am playing with identity. I am interstitial. I am betwixt and between. I play different characters for different people. I am comfortable with the fact that there is no real me. I welcome it.

Simultaneously, I am striving for the end of ambiguity in my relations. In other words, I may be someone different to everyone I meet, to everyone I love, but what I say to you in that paradigm is true, and real. From a certain point of view.

I think it's healthy, after nearly twenty years of exploring the mysteries of this world, after nearly eleven years of blogging, after four Imbolcs of active service, to declare that today is DAY ONE. It's impossible to be stale if you don't yet know who you are.

I hope you'll stick around, and find out with me.