Unlike the subject of today's post, this blog is, amazingly, not dead! Or, perhaps like today's post, it did die, but came back in a different form and all the spiritual woowoo therein. At the very least, there is tangible proof of this post's existence. You're reading it, aren't you?
I may or may not kick up this blog again. We'll see. It's another plate to add to my spinning plate circus act with dubious success, but I could use a more candid space to spew the thoughts billowing and swirling within--a place that is free and relatively unburdened from social media.
I have a lot of eccentric thoughts and feelings and experiences, and would like to voice them a bit more, forgoing the risk of being seen as an utter loon. Even if this blog just ends up being a journal during a certain period of time within my life that makes me go "ooooh... yeah...", as re-reading the preceding post has done for me currently.
So I decided to dip my toe back in the waters by relaying a very deep and meaningful experience I had a few years ago. It's gonna sound woowoo and utterly nutty, so I'm getting my tongue-in-cheek disclaimers of "this might be weird" out now. Perhaps it's a compulsive mask for vulnerability. Really, there's a purveying feeling of "what right do I have to be talking about this? This is a real person you're talking about, you've invented new means of parasociality that'll be in the next DSM-5". But that impulse too is the compulsive mask in response to vulnerability, now disguised as snark. So: here's your woowoo warning.
Anyhow, a few years ago I had a very profound experience with a beloved figure of inspiration in my life, and have continually had profound experiences since then. They could be nothing. I could be looking for things to find meaning in. But they're neat experiences and mean a lot to me and I've been wanting to formally express them, so here's my shot.
