Why? What do I write? Why have I started this document? How do I begin? I don’t know what words to use to explain to myself … what? Who am I? What am I? Why don’t I feel whole? How can I say I’m not all here? That not all of me was returned. How can I feel the loss of something so intangible, so out of the norm? But I do. And because I do, sometimes I verbalise this and I feel a connectedness with the other part of me and the strangeness of this knowing. I look into the distance, away from here, as though I can reach out to the other elements of me. I do reach out and touch … something … and I feel loss. How can this be? Other parts were given to me. What/which ones are they? How do I identify them? Why do I know they are there and why can’t I know them and not just sense there existence. It leaves me distressed and isolated because who can I go to, to get the answers. There is no–one. Today I talked about my dying. I go there as I talk and feel the exquisite peace and love and a feeling of being one with everything. In the blink of an eye I go there and drift and I come back enveloped in it. It’s so beautiful. It’s so easy to be in it. I let it flow over me until it fades and though I want it to stay forever I don’t fight it because I am here now and being able to touch it is enough. I think this is not totally the truth, as much as I would like it to be. To be at peace. To be one. But then I wouldn’t know there. I am here and want to stay till I go again. It is where I am supposed to be. Sometimes I am torn about where I need to be - here or there. It is really difficult to say this because I betray both. I need to be here. For Aleks. I think she needs to have me here. Maybe it’s just the mother in me saying this. Do I need to be here for John, my ever supportive and loving husband, for my family? Yes! Do I need to be here for me? I don’t know the answer to that. I am here and I am here for what? The extraordinary artistic/literary/creative abilities I have returned to that have an extraordinary need to be expressed, are determined to be heard and seen. This is the strange undercurrent of an understanding that exists inside me that doesn’t manifest on a conscious/awareness level. It’s not for me to say or to ask why. Though I do sometimes try - without expecting answers. It is beyond me. I began this with liquid tears. I end this with invisible tears that continue somewhere inside, beyond the here.