Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Dear Ether,

I wonder if it's not so much where communication is or isn't. The question is where we are. Where are, and how do we find, each other? And if that's important- to find each other and to keep looking for ways to find each other- and to communicate the story of our lives. But that was never agreed upon in the larger sense, but for me or us to keep writing was. Somewhere in there, what became significant for me was the narrative of us. And the only important thing was-- was that I was talking to you. And being ok as the threads become sparse in the weaving, and realizing they're still beautiful, but nervous of the delicate weft with not much for borders. I think that's really the thing. Because the unspoken really does matter as it builds and as time passes. The unsaid things. The things we chose to share-

Speaking of- this just happened- Ivy known by a different name who has a daughter who must be 8 1/2 by now whom I last heard from May 2012 before not hearing from her at all 6 months or more before that. Emailed me just now and said, I have so much to tell you!



But then didn't tell me anything except that she has her daughter back. And I wonder who else she is seeking out and telling her story to. And how I am someone she's telling things to- the bad things all implied, observed, but the one good thing noted, and witnessed. Over all these years. And there is something to that. She chooses to tell me and that she thinks (and does) it matters to me that she's alive and still fighting, and would not have guessed this is the turn it would take... or has taken, is taking. But it is a OneWayStreet or I don't know what- what I am to her. And why do I matter as this constant she'll be there, she'll answer. I wonder if I always will. It's perhaps a little the way an oaktree can hardly relate to a songbird. But it cannot help but hear the song or be a resting place if just for a minute - It may be the same with us. As a dragon to a horse. But,

The said things, or I wanted to say- it's like that song "I'm waiting for my real life to begin." Scrubs. Right. Sigh. And how it's good that you're not wanting to do that. You're going to live in the present and not wait for perfect. It's like my floors. But about your healing I want you to remember, prayer is free. The cost of connecting to God's love immeasurable. And perhaps that might be something. Even if it's not with me.

Like Serendipity. Or Epiphany. Or Providence.

Calling out across the miles.

To remind you of your infinite and eternal value.

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