as a child growing up in a cult that believed in reincarnation and was adept at putting it to great use in the art of upmanship and favoritism amongst one another, i was told that my father was leo tolstoy and that i was his daughter in our last lifetimes. when i grew old enough to manuever a library, i began to research this russian girl who lived in snow and grief and learned that she had died at a young age of tuberculosis. oddly enough, i had been born to this lifetime with both lungs full of infected water and spent the first month or so in an incubator- struggling for breath. i remember some elder in the cult waving a picture of the dead girl near my face and everyone exclaiming exitedly how uncanny the resemblance was............ call it what you like............. i've no aversions to snow or dying- just the listening to your spiritual feelings of interconnectedness to the illusion that surrounds us.