Sometimes you don’t see the ball coming straight at your face until it hits you straight in the face. Correction: not sometimes — almost always. The art of a well-aimed blow. The path dissociates itself from the one walking it. I had had so little time to stop that I hadn’t noticed it, but now the trail I was on was going uphill. I hadn’t realized it, but it had become so steep that it looked like stone cliffs with no visible path at first glance. Correction, it didn’t look  

The anguish of not knowing has tormented me for a long time. I have felt too flawed, too alone, too mistaken, too lost, and all that multiplied by a thousand, for many years. It was only in India that I began to see that there are many “others” who have the same questions. That there are many others who have also stepped outside the parameters of what we interpret as “normality,” who have explored other paths, who have felt disillusioned, who have been frustrated too, and who