August 15, 2000

Today is Mary's birthday. It took quite a bit of planning to get her to my house for cake without stealing time from her Mom. She is now a full thirteen. She blew out each and every candle, leaving the room choked with the hypnotic scent of darkness and smoldering candlewick. I sampled her cake's frosting mixed with a touch of Blueberry Chapstick. Betty Crocker never tasted so good.

Some of you out there may wonder why I write some of this stuff. Others may be alarmed over what they see as a certain moral malaise, and wonder how such a man could become an authority figure for young, impressionable Catholic minds.

I'm as interested in telling an immoral tale as I am in telling a moral one. Beauty is truth, and truth transcends moral standards (especially today's moral standards).

My heart is pure or I would not have been blessed with this vision, this visit. Mary at nightfall, absorbing all incident light. She is radiant, she is pure, she is positively glowing.

She is the Immaculate Conception.