The reason for my existence. I have found time to time, I have fooled myself into many apparitions. The more supernatural the better, to frighten you, to hide my fear. The escape of realism. The mystery of me. You go through the motions of crusader to cruelty. The truth is hurt feelings can regulate a series of justification. I have been a story-teller all my life. A kind definition for liar. I can give you many reasons for why I had behaved this way. That would just be another disguise in a long list of defenses. I can tell you when it began. I was nine years old. My family had just moved into a new neighborhood and for whatever reason no one consulted me. I loved where I had lived, I was in love with the boy across the street. That is, love, defined by a nine-year old. The American Dream. The Native American family moving upward. Everything would change, in a matter of hours. I was awakened in the middle of the night. No burning cross on the well manicured lawn, but the message was clear. We were unwanted trespassers on our own property. A letter to my parents that we weren’t wanted and the yard vandalized. Up until that moment in time, I never knew I was different. But there it was, It would also be the last time I would see my oldest sister. In my mind, I knew. You fight back, you pretend not to be hurt and do whatever you can, to be anything but what you are. Knowing that, facing that truth has been a process of discovery. Not that every part was dishonest, I just could never materialize the myth or the magic. Eventually, the source enters and you find your stride, a spiritual dance and you slowly reveal what you have always been. The lesson of life, that dishonesty has no place in the Universe. That the reason is you, and quite simply the only true form of existence.