I can think of a time, sometime in late summer of a past year, that I lied sprawled in the grass of Eden Park. The day wasn't particularly stunning; the grass was patchy in places of the park and dull from the merciless sun, the sky was a pretty blue but wasn't extraordinary, and the day shone with a rather harsh glare- if I were making a movie I think I would have told the cinematographer to change the lens of the camera- but overall the day was pleasant and the air light. I sat on the ground and the grass cradled my body and felt comfortable beneath me, and as I rested my eyes on the blue of the sky I felt a sense of belonging; perhaps this world wasn't created for me, but I certainly belong in it, right here beneath the sky, above the grass, and between the paved pathways that scurvily frame the park. I am meant to be happy, I am meant to find my own way to that happiness, and I am meant to respect the ways of others to the best of my ability. I was built to adore the curves of Columbia Parkway, I was built to make myself laugh in the stupidest ways, I was built to foster morbid displeasure with Sylvia Plath's writing. Though these things may seem trivial, they are the things I observe most often, and are therefore the concentration of my reality. I am not one for the jagged confines of organized religion; I have faith in my intuition. I accept that I am fated to change, that I change daily, and that I am bound to contradict everything I've ever said at least once. If everyone is required have a religion, then that is mine.