He was never my father. He was forever my daddy. And I was his little girl. I swam in the pleasure of his presence from within my dear mother's womb. In later years when I would see him caring for unborn children, his gentle touch felt so familiar. I would imagine him holding Mother by her swollen belly and his touch coming to me, the fingers of his senses melting through her body, finding me, stroking me with tearful care, and tickling me with teasing play. Each day he strolled within my thoughts, forever holding the hand of my soul. He caused the Healing to engulf me Her tranquil mists, and at no time in my life can I ever recall being unaware of Her. I giggle remembering how She twirled my pigtails when Daddy and I played games with Her in the backyard. Our Liege of Wings made Himself known to me through him. Daddy looked at me with His eyes, caressed me with His compassion, and lifted me in His arms. I knew what love was to my spirit just as I know what breath is to my body. Though I do not stop to think, I am breathing; I nonetheless understand the motions and meaning as self-evident truths. Though I did not stop to think, I am being loved; resting in quiet on his chest or swimming with him in the Nitstsah or listening to instruction in Devotion, the motions and meaning of love were to me wonderful self-evident truths.