For the Struggling Wayfarer

Mike

To Mike, the Young and Struggling Wayfarer

“Dear You”,

I learned of your struggle and was broken open to empathy, for I know the pain of packing one’s bags for deeper incarnations. While every leaving takes us closer home, the early departures of fledgling voyagers most often seem a plunging off the edge.

Through earnest inquiry you will learn of others who have taken this journey, though most long gone and few; you will see them sitting in one and two and three person circles, in English pubs, on benches in Central Park, or with faces lit by campfire in the Sierra Nevada: all unlikely places. Kierkegaard himself sat outside the stodgy cathedrals of Copenhagen on Sunday mornings, and while the throngs were being dismissed, he mused.

Listen, let the civilized minions be and do not yield to the alchemies of fools and their followers. We will often be lost to them in their hand-wringing incredulities or their indifference, a mere pittance for the freedom to wander far and yon. It is not our challenge to rise up against the emperors of certitude and we do not move forward by way of repulsion. Our existence is not worth a damn if we cannot love egregiously beyond the standard issue boundary of us versus them.

On sufferings, we are each liable for our own, however, the incorrigible parts of ourselves have often grown out of the hothouse pain of those before us. What remains unclaimed lives on in shadowy clefts of body, mind and spirit, an unbroken chain of double-binds passed on until the journey beckons, and if, if, if embarked upon, we will learn to walk each path of quiet divergence, with no violence, no grand disappearances.

For every letting go there is a holding on, for every moving on there is a staying put, for every upheaval of roots there is planting, with every slow bleeding of grief, there is a turning up of faces into sunlight.

For you were born with a blessed rage, ordained in trouble and anguish, nearly destroyed by the poverty of privilege, still standing, middle finger raised to the sky. There is no safe passage along the way of doubt and disbelief. There is only the assurance that you will be welcomed as a faithful pilgrim, a native son of the universe.

With gratitude and respect for your willingness to move ever forward,

Your friend,

James

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