When a writer is faced with writer's block, he has two choices. He can either step back from his word processor, be it a computer, pen or a typewriter and give up, or he can kindly bullshit something out.

Here he goes.

I am slowly watching my mother die. Yes, as the saying goes, we are all dying daily, but watching cirrhosis chew up her liver defeats the phrase. She's going to get on the transplant list after New Year's. It's a curious feeling to know how long you've got left with a person.

If you were born by any other father, would you be you, or would you be someone else? Say my mother had met a different man; one who unlike my biological father was actually worth ******** to produce a child. Would I still be me? Or would I be someone else?

The thought process that hit me just now really got me inside my third eye. It was as if I could touch the molecule inside my brain that is 'me'.

Obviously, I'd be someone else, but what does that mean? It means that when I touch that molecule with my third eye, when I see myself as who I really am, it would look and feel different. Kind of like touching an orange in the dark when you expect to find grapes.

So then what does it feel like to be someone else? Is my subjective experience of reality essentially different from all other human beings? We are all on different evolutional wavelengths; that much is obvious when you look at the broad spectrum of fears and personalities across the global population, so that we are all unique in our similar subjective experiences of the overall consciousness which we share.

Religion, I think, comes in to play about here, when we define that brand of consciousness, our roles within the collective unconscious, and the paths of communication within it. How does life communicate? One person at a time. We are many, but we are all one. Therefore God is Love, if there ever was a God, because we just want to feel good and nothing feels better to the soul than to love.

That's all that I have in me for right now, and that was a stretch. I am afraid it shows. We're two hours into Christmas Eve now. Merry Christmas.