I have a confession to make. You see, I'm an atheist, and proud to be a skeptic in many, many ways. I don't believe there's a person on the planet that can speak with the dead. I don't even believe there are ghosts there to speak with. Frankly, I don't believe in a lot of what I call "silly things.: Of course, this needs to be taken with a grain of salt, seeing as I once was quite convinced my landlord was conducting mind-altering experiments on me. Fortunately, I take Pills to prevent that from happening again . . . and, to an extent, knowing what silly things I was capable of convincing myself of led me on a quest to teach myself to look at anything odd through a very critical and scientifically-minded eye. I was always headed in this direction, but that really solidified it as an important part of my personality.

This, however, is not my confession. Anyone who's bothered to discuss such things with me knows this, and I don't think it's anything embarrassing that I need to "confess." It does, however, lead to why I consider my confession a confession . . .

You see, I have a secret consultant that only appears to me in dreams. This consultant has only appeared to me a handful of times, but she (very, very definitely a woman) has always made me feel calm and focused and directed for some time to follow.

A woman that appears to me in dreams and advises me on how to proceed in my life, and how to interpret the life that has already happened. Pretty silly, isn't it? Go ahead, laugh . . . the fact is, I laugh about it, and I assure you she's laughed about it, too.

Of course, it's simple to explain logically and reasonably: Since my own subconscious creates my dreams, I'm just dreaming up a woman that tells me things I need to understand consciously.

A simple and elegant solution that does not include anything fantastic. I like it. It works for me. (Of course, Sigmund Freud and Karl Jung would both have a field day trying to figure out why I dream of a woman and not a man, but this is frankly irrelevant and pointless. It's a woman. Who cares why?)

Still, I feel a little silly admitting to this "consultant." Defensive, as if whoever I'm speaking to were about to make fun of me for being "silly." I guess it's because I always have such an incredibly visceral reaction to this woman's appearances. I guess it's because I oddly always dream of the SAME woman, and her face, while clear to me, is no face I can ever recall having seen. I guess it's because these are the only dreams I ever have that make even the slightest bit of sense. I guess it's because, no matter how rational I try to be, these dreams always make me feel as if I've been in the presence of a deity. I guess it's because I have to admit I can only think of her as someone or something completely separate from ME. I guess it's because of a lot of reasons . . .

Oh, and just for the record: I never had these dreams before I was on my medication. Even then, she's only appeared to me when I was firmly and absolutely under the sway of my happy little Pills.

So . . . this woman, this Goddess of My Mind, she tells me things and helps me find calm and peace in a life I must admit is chaotic and full of awful things. The title of this diary (which I decided not to change) came from her lips: "Enjoy the storm." My current obsession with continuing my education and heading towards a path uniquely my own but designed for everyone to enjoy, well . . . that was her idea, too.

When I moved back to Portland and attempted to re-start my life there, I was acting against her wishes. She was right, of course, and I fucked things up badly in that move.

The other night, I had a visit from this Goddess. It had been a while since her last visit, and, frankly, I wanted to know how she'd been occupying her time. She wouldn't tell me. She merely smiled that wicked grin of hers and put a finger to my lips.

Now, I have to admit I don't mean "evil grin" when I say "wicked grin." My Subconscious Goddess, however, is a trickster, and certainly has boundless supplies of mischief at her disposal.

You have to remember: This Woman of My Dreams is the only thing I've ever come close to worshiping, and I ignored her advice merely because I thought she was wrong. Do you see the Subconscious Goddess of a guy who would DEFY a Goddess being anything OTHER than a trickster?

Also, can anyone who has met me argue that I am anything other than a trickster, myself?

Anyway, she shushed me, and I was obedient . . . this time. She told me things, again. It's not quite important to the story what those things were, only that they rang true in my heart, and pointed to a way to deeper clarity and calm in my life.

Unfortunately, doing as she asked required looking at deep, buried parts of myself I'd rather keep deeply buried.

So, I made an earnest start. I even asked someone I trusted to help me look at those buried parts of myself I didn't understand, or know how to control . . .

And I ran away. Scared, as always . . .

I'm being vague. I know that, and it's intentional. The details are only important to me, the one I asked for help, and my Subconscious Goddess. All three read this diary. The rest just have to trust me: In the long run, if I gain the strength to take this look at deeply-buried parts of my personality, I won't ever have to scare you with the details, anyway . . .

I'm trying to be strong, but for now I must sleep. Maybe future guidance is just a night's sleep away . . .

Peace, voyeurs and voyeurettes.