Both the longest and the shortest trip I have ever taken is the one from the chapel at the top of the mountain at the old Kent Girls’s School to my present practice of faith, which has been to pray at every moment and at every step.

In Florida, I occasionally attended a church called “the Chapel on the Hill.”  The girls’ school was referred to as “the hill.”  So I guess I stopped once on this long strange trip to touch faith.  Maybe all of Florida was “touching faith”–in that surreal atmosphere, all my imaginative and psychotic traveling came to a head–hospitalization after hospitalization brought out the scariest monsters of my childhood from under the bed.  Now I seem to be coming back to reason in this cool Mid-lantic climate of Pennsylvania, a place divided for me between good and evil, normal and schiz.


“It’s all right now.  God’s loving hands have seen you through…”  Danny Goke


I finally figured out about my mother that she betrayed a faith in her that was never worth ANYTHING.


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