Every year, I've remembered (or been forced to remember) where I was, who I was, and what I was doing on September 11th. I'll never forget (I don't think that's possible, any more than it's possible for the folks who were alive to remember Kennedy's assassination) but today, I'm choosing not to remember.

I'm going to out and celebrate life instead. My family and I are going to San Diego Pagan Pride---a local festival celebrating both the coming of Mabon (the fall harvest) and religious tolerance. We're going to go out, amid the trees and flowers of Balboa Park and remember that doing simple, ordinary things is the best antidote to the horrors of the world. I'm going to celebrate the fall harvest, the time when the earth gives of Her bounty, and I'm going to remember that this country is one of the few places I could practice my religion (or no religion at all) without fear of the religious police arresting me in the middle of the night.

I am going to remember that my almost-four year old daughter doesn't know about 9/11. And I'm going to treasure and preserve her innocence as long as I can.

Today I choose not to remember. Today I choose to live.

Blessed be.