Tabula rasa is Latin for blank slate. Each day, when I wake up in such incredible health and good fortune, I pinch myself black and blue. I remind myself that we are all dying by the minute.

And every day is a blank canvas for me to doodle on. And I do, with reckless abandon.

Being a student of life, I believe that all my recent troubles have focused me. Benefited me. I have been deceived, divorced, detoxed and double crossed. No doubt.

But I am active and engaged in this life and not fretting or planning for either damnation or paradise in the next. There is too much to do here.

On my journey I seek to find some meaning in an otherwise meaningless existence. Not truth, not justice, not God. Just meaning.

I strive every day in all my activities, to never be considered harmless or irrelevant. Because I’m not. I will not be tread upon.

I live in a controlled, violent and ready state. Ready for anything. My upbringing was tough but loving.

I came from good stock. I have been in war, in jail and in government custody. I have been on my high horse, and I have been on my knees. I have had everything and  then…nothing.

For all that, I was prepared by my circumstances. And I have loved every minute.

I start every day like it’s brand new. Because it is. Yesterday is a toilet flush. I live in stoical acceptance of this life and will give as good as I get.

Tomorrow, I will again pick up my palette and make my big, broad strokes on the sprawling empty canvas that has been provided me.

I hope you will too.

Bonjour.