“He realized his worth through the sanctity of those who loved him.”

My name is Harley. I was thrown away when I was a child. But I was found by angels that folded me in their wings and delivered me to a safe place. It wasn’t heaven; it was imperfect in ways that mere mortals are apt to gaum things up, but it was close to paradise, especially for a young ‘un, with creeks to swim, hollows, cool, deep woods to explore, and hillsides on which to lay down in the sun, surrounded by fields of wildflowers and the whisper of the wind in the long, waving grass.

In this heaven, on the Cumberland Plateau, East Tennessee, I felt blessed to be a child of the earth, which made me feel sacred. I was nurtured by folks who taught me many lessons about humility, the sanctity of simple living, and that family, blood kin or not, like love, is everything. As I grew older, I began to believe I was different from these angels that called me their own. I believed that I was not like them...that I had borrowed my identity from those who found me.

Surrounded by their glory, I still felt alone and wondered, worriedly, about my beginnings. A rage filled me that I couldn’t explain and I drifted away from my divine nature, wondering why I came into this life in the first place. After several hard-learned lessons, I felt sacred once more. But my sweet life was interrupted when I discovered Bobby Ray, and was confronted by the unhinged entity that wanted to reclaim him. This is our story.