Ok, Ok, Galileo Galilei

I am delusional.

Some days I think I am the savior of the world. The world only has 357 people in it - that's how many Facebook friends I have - so saving the world is entirely possible.

Some days I think that if I make a mistake, the entire cosmos will quake.

Some days I get terribly scared about realities that are not reality. 

Some days I think that everything was created with me in mind, even other people.

Some days I think that I am God's favorite. 

Some days I think that I am better than you.

Most days I really do think that the tides and the trees and planets revolve around me, and I am the only one here.

I am delusional.

When I confessed my delusions to Mother Superior, first she laughed, and said my delusions were slightly normal, but that my being raised by wolves in the jungle had exacerbated my egocentrism and made me a little abnormal.

Ok, she didn't really say that, but it's what I heard.

The truth of the matter is I did spend uncanny amounts of time alone, often in the woods, growing up. I would stare at individual pine needles, marveling at their simple beauty, for minutes on end. I would strain to hear the trees whispering.

I would talk to God.

He would hear me, and I had his undivided attention, and there were no other humans around.

When we moved to the city, I wasn't ready. I'm still not ready. I don't belong here. I should be back in the woods, with the wolves. I should have married the boy on the other side of the hill, or at least the one on the next door hill. I should be planting a garden right now, to harvest late summer, not entering a 7th year of college.

But here I am.

Whether here is New York or Europe or Hispaniola, God knew it would be good for me, knew it was what I needed. Every day He tells me to stop being delusional, and sometimes - sometimes - I listen to Him.

Especially in the early morning - those quiet moments in the early morning when I frame myself in the window, rest my mug on the sill, and study the way the sun shines through my neighbor's house, the one that is for sale. It enters the east window, crosses the hall, sneaks out the west window, then leaps across the street and through my window and hugs me. It's the best part of my day.

It's a part of the day that is always happening for someone, because we share the sun.

Here in town, I share the sun, I share the sidewalk. I share the mailman. He doesn't always stop because he doesn't always have letters for us. We are not that important, anymore. 

I gravitate to extremes. Most important; least important. From king to ant.

When a person dies, the cosmos do not scream. Life for 7 billion people goes on, not the least bit off kilter.

But God does see it. No death catches him off guard, happens without him knowing. Not even a sparrow falls to the ground, delicate lungs deflated for good, without his knowledge.