I was writing about the Holy Spirit. I said the Holy Spirit is flames and a rushing mighty wind- and you might want to stand well clear. Yes, I wouldn't quarrel with that.
The Guardian has archived all its back issues online- which means the articles I wrote for it are there for anyone to read. There are quite a lot of them- documenting my progress from liberal Christianity to born-again Paganism. Not only am I a serious theologian, I'm immortal.
Only I'm not really. The self who wrote those pieces isn't me. He took himself more seriously and had a more extravagant, more laboured prose style (which he'd cribbed off G.K. Chesterton). I'm not sure I'd have much patience with him if we did that Tardis thing and I were to cross my own timeline. He'd probably find me frivolous.
Of course the current me isn't me either. He and I and a million others are moments in a continuum of 57 years and counting.
"In my end is my beginning"? Maybe, maybe not- though I do find myself looping back to where I was when the journey charted in the Guardian began. For a while I could hardly write the word "God" without a sneer. Now I think it's as good a word as any for the unnameable and incomprehensible.
It's fun to think and have opinions but we shouldn't kid ourselves that our thoughts and opinions are in any way important.