When no one is watching I am whole and full of peace. I like myself, and I can accept love from the people who populate my thoughts and my desires.  When no one is watching, I am beautiful, alive, and free.

I decided to start a blog so that I can be at home. I don't know whether anyone will read my blog, and I suppose it's okay if no one does. I may not say anything that's worth reading.

This is an experiment. I wonder what will happen if I begin to think publicly. I wonder what will happen if others know the colors and textures of my thoughts, the sensual, screaming, silent universe that I carry and conceal.

I wonder what I will learn about myself. I wonder if I will ever write another post. I wonder if you're still reading. 

I am your friend if you will have me. I am lover to only one person. I am cherished by a few and hated by many fewer that I imagine.

I serve a crucified, resurrected King of kings, and I prefer to leave labels aside. Someday I will meet him, and, losing myself in his gaze, I will know. But for now, I do believe. I long to be with his children.

Sometimes I am ashes and woodscraps within. Sometimes my heart is full and warm. Sometimes I am grateful, sometimes greedy, sometimes chilled, sometimes ashamed.

I am a little more and a little less each day. I am clumsy; I always need forgiveness. I am messy, and my skin does not fit. 

I love smallness, weakness, infirmity, uncertainty, and unbalance—I love being human. 

This afternoon I was thinking about love. I was wondering what it meant to be loved. I was thinking about how much I want it and want to give it but how closed my heart is, closed tightly enough to choke. I've opened it before, and I've let wasps in. I've opened it before and waited and waited. The wasps sting, and the waiting starves. My heart has a face that not even my mother can love. What is love?

Does all this make me rotten? Do I need to prove myself?

Today is grey and cold. No one is watching, and I am full of peace.