Revisiting my old books. "Tao Te Ching," "A Separate Reality," "My Wicked, Wicked Ways." "Emplumada," and "The Path To Love."
Looking at old ghosts between the lines. I can't even remember how I felt when I first read some of those words. I was lost many times and still am in many ways. I remember who gave me a certain book, who read to or was read a poem, who recommended, who reenacted, and why I might have returned other times. It was so long ago in such a short time.