hello dear one.
yes, i’m writing to you. and to you. and to you. and to the you’s i have not met but are equally dear to me because you find yourself here reading what was written specifically for you. lately (a week? a season? a lifetime?) i’ve been channeling the pain of the universe through my tilted throbbing heart. the pain isn’t mine, doesn’t belong to me, doesn’t cling to me. it simply is. it moves through me as tearful apologies pleading with invisible sky-gods that sit on golden thrones who are deaf to my voice’s frequency. it moves me into new choices, or that is the reason i’ve created to explain why i have to be the one to feel it, channel it, allow it to pass through me. we make our lives meaningful by making up reasons for meaningless things that make no sense and would suck us inside swirling madness if we did not rationalize them with our irrational little excuses that pass for logic. am i crazy yet? no, not yet, says the wise voice i’ve identified as sanity.
i wrote to you the other day, the other week, the other year. i never sent it. i thought i had tossed it, but i found it again. it was sad and true. why do sad things seem truer than happy ones? why does sadness remain when happiness passes? i’m not speaking from grief, depression, or desperation, simply recording the questions as they slide through my mind, gliding along slippery little thoughts that don’t really belong to me. who am i anyway? who are you? are we the same?
suppose for a moment that we long to touch something common to recede the creeping sense of aloneness that changes in the dark hours from solitude to isolation. if we assume that premise, would you like to make a game of it? if i begin a story with three words and then you add three words and then your neighbor adds three more and the person standing next to him adds three more words and each person we meet offers three words and the story is told in three-word-bites from every mouth…maybe, just maybe, that is how life works, how stories are told, how love is lived, how coming together could be done.
the story begins with these three words: hello dear one.