The beginning of my exploration into my apostasy.
The Making Of An Apostate (Moving To A Higher Ground On A Foggy Rock Strewn Path.)
I grew up in one of the most beautiful places on earth, the Catskill Mountains. Down below the house was a stream and a beautiful little grove of pine trees. We used to camp down there and fish and cook trout for breakfast and listen to the brook. One summer day seemingly out of the mist a small band of gypsies appeared down in the woods and camped in our special spot. They had wagons and horses and violins and pots and pans. I stayed with them for a week, down there, camping and learning to tell fortunes and read cards and dance to gypsy violins, and the old grandmother gave me a real crystal ball, which I still have. Then one day they dissapeared in the night, I never knew where they came from or where they went. My parents did not even know I was gone for a week. I still have the crystal ball.
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