Imagine a letter under your door, posted by hand a hundred years before. It has your name on it and the ink is old ink, and yes, the writing is somehow different, more dignified than your time now as you look at the letter.
Imagine how you might feel. Take your time, for time is very much part of this story. In fact it may be quite the point, but just stay a while here with me and hold the letter with the old ink quietly in the palm of your hand.
Let the letter rest. For it has been on a long journey and finding you has been such an adventure.
Does it feel warm? Warm like the scent of cherry tobacco? Breathe the warmth in if you care to. We have lots of time.
Yes, like that. Cherry with a far away lingering hint of cherries and tobacco.
Now don’t cheat. You must not try to peek a look.
Just hold the letter and try to remember who wrote it. Are they tall with a drooping moustache? Perhaps small with quicksilver eyes and yet a heart as big as the sea. Or do they have something else that you remember?
Something you are always looking for, as if when you find this something, you will stop everything and start to live?
Lean forward and try to hear the sounds of the letter. The mumrmurings just here, beneath these sounds.
There are other sounds.
Really listen. Not just with your ears. With everything please. I know you can. Everything about you can listen.
For this letter is very very special. It breathes. it has a heart.
It has confidence for your life!
( Isn’t it great when a letter comes under the ‘door of your mind’ and you go wandering freely enough, confidentty enough to pick it up?
What does it say?
And who sent it?