As I write this letter for you,the night has fallen as it did the last time I composed a note for you, and much of it is the same. Now there is some rain added to the sky’s mixture, and the sound of it is a comfort for all those that are now trying to rest. Surely you know what I refer to – that soft but steady rumbling against doors and windows, the meditation of the heavens. It reminds us that we are all on the same earth, and that everywhere in the city there are thousands of other souls hearing that same sound. We are, in some small way, together – even if in all other things we might be at odds.
I am sorry to learn that your voice was damaged years ago, and now you have difficulty talking.I can only imagine that the written word is the only way you can communicate your thoughts effectively. Hence the effort you put into each word. You said, “If I did not do this, then I would simply be silent and no one would notice me except as a passing face. Here I can be heard, at least a little, and finally hold a conversation with kind and caring souls such as yours.” Thank you for the trust worth keeping,Leif.I understand what you’re saying about the only way you make yourself visible to this beautiful world is through words. I am glad that you reached out to me.
Its a beautiful way to invite someone to share their world with you. I am glad you wrote this. I would want to know which places you visited in India.I am not used to writing long letters like you,Leif, but I think with time I may. I’ll be happy to talk to you, talk about me and hear from you, about you.
Your letter was a refreshing change for me in times when I did not expect it. It felt like like a pleasant gush of breeze when you suddenly turn around from where you were heading to, and now you are battling your urge to turn around.