Would-be-artists often think, if I could only travel to Paris, I would find something worth my art. They are mistaken. It isn’t the big landscapes that capture our imagination, but the small worlds we grow to know intimately. They are the friends we know, deeply. They are the character and history of our home. They are the intimate birthmarks of a lover. It takes faith to explore them. Even scientists recognize much of the world is unseen. What we know, is only on the surface, and what we don’t know, is the great mystery. -Intellectual Shaman

I was an accounting major, but I decided to take a literature class anyway. The black and white world of reality was a bit too dull, so I opted for some color. She had rosy cheeks and dirty blonde hair. She wore glasses that made her look cute, and not overly smart. I was instantly in love. We were studying for exams, at Seattle University. Literature Finals can be passed, if you can interpret symbols and write decently. Her family had money. I could tell. There was something easy and careless about her, but it didn’t spoil the mystery. Our conversations were about banned books, good writers, and our professor who we both agreed was half-mad. It’s unclear if half-mad professors get jobs at universities or get jobs at universities and become half-mad. It doesn’t really matter though. I was interested in her, and not my professor. He was just something to talk about, so I could get to know her better. About the time I decided something was different about her, was when we decided to go for a walk in the rain.

I opened my umbrella in class.

“Don’t do that!” She said.

“But why?” I asked.

“You’ll anger the sun god.”

“The sun god?”


I realized she was serious. She was smart, but she believed in superstitions. We were going to have an interesting conversation.

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