I sit here, remembering a once was. There once was a boy I liked. There once was a dog or cat I cherished. There once was a time when people expected the world to be honest. There once was a feeling of … something.
I spent a good portion of the evening looking on the Internet for something. Normally, I look for organic roses, the definition for complicated words, phases of the moon, or images of Tibetan mountains. Tonight, I looked up “dakini” because it is referenced often in a book about Tibet. I write to you this letter, thinking of your best self that could create such beauty and visions of angels, and I listen yet to your cries of anguish as well.
Tonight, can the truth finally reconcile, that in each human being there is that of loving and that of anger, that of understanding and that of fear? I listen to you, hearing your outrage, feeling your vengeance. Can you feel my peace, can you hear my cries for joy? Can we share with each other so as to lighten our burdens? Is the pain so unbearable?
I extend to you this night, I come to you this evening, in hopes that I can help shoulder the burden. . . .
I hear your crying out no more – I envision you soothed, heard, understood, witnessed.
Good night and speak with you soon.