. sacred .
There is little sacred to our lives. I wander around quickly, godless, in search of this or that. All my tasks I do quickly. I do many tasks.
This very paper that I write upon is a symptom - a show - of our collective godlessness. Everything is happening too rapidly around us.
Often, dreams visit me. I am haunted by the pictures of illuminated manuscripts, that I know I have drawn. At one time, or many times, I lived either as a monk or a nun and fell in love with words and pictures. This is part of my path in this life.
I meditate on life. Life is my greatest joy. I have been planning to study biology, but do not know what to do with it. Protecting life seems the most important task at this point, but that involves anger, righteousness, and judgment, where I need to learn love, mercy, and forgiveness.
I would very much like to create a book out of fine, sturdy pages. A holy book, a treasure. I will only write with a scribe's pen and ink. I will write slowly.
There are too many papers amassing in my life. My life has become defiled, unclean from my own materialism, my own allegiance to the worldly way. I wish to commit myself as a holy woman, a monkess, to continue to meditate on life and write sacred texts. I know of no religion I can pledge such allegiance to.