We thought we were at the right place, but a retired racehorse named Germaniac had different plans for us.

The year was 1981. Everything I owned fit into my 1971 Toyota Corolla, including a cedar hope chest and my cat with seven toes on each paw, Abby Normal. I was homeless, jobless, alone and had just driven from Ocean City, NJ to a phone booth in Pennsylvania.

When you feel it, your arms rise up, you lose 50 pounds immediately and your Soul lifts itself in a gentle dance. We connect with our grace cell. We hold onto our hope cell. We are nurtured with acceptance and unconditional love. I think that if we were all suddenly striped of every possible sign of our religion, race and gender, so that all that is left of us is Light, we would have no reason to die.