Category: Letters

MoonDay 25, Season 6, Letter 1

Dear Anchor-

Last night was the most interesting experience . Maybe a singular experience. Because it was emotional, it’s difficult to put in word-symbols. Something will surely be lost in translation. But here’s my attempt:

While talking last night, as you spoke I was analyzing you. As I looked into your eyes, I suddenly felt you were wide open. The mask you usually wear was set aside. The windows in your eyes were flung open. I could see straight to your heart. I abruptly switched off. I was afraid. I’d felt something unspeakable. Horrible yet wonderful; at the same moment. I felt an overwhelming vulnerability about us. We were treading on tender fragile emotion. I fought to get myself back under control. I was ashamed. I felt I’d gone too far. I felt an intimacy which I’d never experienced. I quickly analyzed. Was this physical attraction? No. Intellectual attraction? Yes, somewhat, but more. Spiritual? Yes, but still more. The thought came, “I love this woman.” That was really upsetting. I don’t love someone I previously felt nothing towards. Why did I feel nothing before? Because you never showed the real you. Plus love for me meant something different than what I was feeling. This was new, an oddity.

How did I love you? Like a sister. That was when I interrupted you and asked, “If you could think of one word describing me what would it be?” You said, “Spirit.” “For me the word is sister, about you,” I said. You responded with the word, “Kinship.” I then said, “I knew you before.” I think you know what I mean. As I lay awake in the dark night, I knew more clearly, I discerned you in a special way. I felt as if we fought in the trenches together. Shoulder-to-shoulder, side-by-side. Assigned to the same unit. The SCARAB commandos, if you will. And we suffered and shared and wept over the casualties. We felt loneliness in those dreary moments. We made a pact, someday in the journey of life, when we felt all alone and could bear no more, we would find each other and lift each other.

I am no longer alone. I can’t explain how much you mean to me.

Now, I felt more the instant I looked into your soul. It was horrible and I repressed it. I didn’t want to feel it. I didn’t want you to show me. I didn’t want to live it. I didn’t want to cry. Yet, I did want it. I did. But I was afraid. Afraid to care that much. Yet I wanted to care that much. I love you but the pain was too much. I couldn’t bear it. I hope you’ll forgive me for not sharing your burden. But it was so abhorrent and despicable. Your childhood pain and hurt stabbed through me to my most delicate senses. Why you, Anchor? Why you? Why did it have to happen to you? You so fragile and innocent. Why? You who so many loved. The victim of horror.

I understand so much more about myself from having talked with you. I’ll never be the same probably. At least, I hope not.

It was so liberating to talk with you. To be us and not afraid of being smarty pants or an egghead or a goody-two shoes, or some other negative label like weirdo or strange.

I’ve seen the real you, Anchor, and I like you. In fact, I love you. No one understands me like you do.

Thanks for finding me.

Love- Driver

[Note: Driver never sent this letter.]

SaturnDay 15.2, Cold Season,

19:40 dark, Letter 2

Dear Anchor

Well, we’ve never spoken since. It hurts. It hurts because I feel empty. Like an infatuated schoolboy, I suppose, in love with his school teacher, sort of pining for her to recognize him. Touch down deep. I am so restless and yearn for that soul-to-soul, mind-to-mind communion. But you are afraid, just as I am. Can it be controlled? How much radioactive mind matter can be lumped together before critical-mass explosiveness powders the whole?

I’ve so many questions. Why are you being so selfish and withholding your light? By understanding you, sister, I understand myself. Do you fear what others will think and judge? You said you fear, commitment, I know you really fear intimacy . Yet you couldn’t use that word. It was too intimate itself. Do you fear an obsession? I acknowledge the dangers of our friendship, but all great things involve a degree of risk. We must use caution. It has been 20 days since first contact. I’m being patient waiting for you to give a signal. I push towards you and you back away. One magnet has reversed polarity. Overcautious? Safety? You tremble with indecision. Anxiousness, where there should be peace.

For some reason, I’ve discussed these feelings more freely with others than with you. I know the day will come when your fear will ebb away and we can play like children on the beach.

A few more thoughts; I, too, fear our relationship will turn corrupt as happened to you several times before. I understand your reluctance. And, I even understand why you opened up the first time. You took an awful big risk with reckless abandon. It was an experiment. You made contact with a spirit, intelligence; sympathetic, non-judgmental, unconditional. “Ah, yes,” you thought, “What if I blast him with the naked self? Will he turn and run as others have? Or will he accept me? Can I reel him in? Attracted or repelled?

That is why, later on, you said, “Well, I guess I really opened a can of worms, huh?” Ho, ho. A can of worms for you, dear sister.

For you, not for me. That you hadn’t planned on. My mind can synchronize with yours and amplify. The experience was as draining on you as it was on me. What is unfortunate is I’ve told others about my experience and you have bottled it up. You debate, “Will this strengthen me or weaken me? Have I opened Pandora’s Box?” All this commotion is inside you. For me, I shared the commotion with others, asking them what they think and what they would do. I know what you’re thinking, “How could he!? I trusted him with my innards, has he no sense of propriety? Doesn’t he know not to spread around something sacred? Are my fragile fabrics so trivial to him?”

The answer is I only spoke to them of how I felt and didn’t reveal anything to them that’d harm you. In fact, I spoke of my respect and admiration for you, now I know who you really are. I never liked the fake you. You are a good actress. But then you started at a very young age.

You are wondering “He said he wants more of my honey? How can he be so vulgar? What does he really mean?” Okay, I’ll answer. Maybe nourishment would be a better word. But, none the less, you are sweet to me. I began to accept myself more as I accepted you. The more I learn and accept, the stronger, more confident I become.

Mind-blood transfusion. Shared strength. You’ll never know how much it means to find someone with the same handicaps, characteristics, mindset, and yearnings. That’s what I mean by honey. Now, I know the intimacy (yes, I know you don’t want me to use that word, but accept it.) Anyway, intimacy we shared on Day 25 will probably never be as powerful again. I’m not disappointed.

[Note: Driver sent letter #2. It never arrived.]

Love- Driver

EarthDay 20, New Season 1,

Letter 3

Dear Anchor-

Finally, we talked last night while you worked. I feel a change happening inside. Something I’ve wanted; to see beyond the externals of women, beyond physical beauty and instinct, to empathize, to be friends. Oneness without sexuality.

My fear you now ask. Several fears, I suppose. One that as the initial fire fades, will you snuff out the glowing ember? Or will you fan it and put a little tinder to it? I fear you will say, “Oh, that was interesting. Did you see that little flash and sparkle?” then move on to some other diversion. I agonize at the thought of such a temporary, momentary fling. It makes it all mind perversion to me. Mere toys bumping into each other before their springs spin loose. I sense a danger.

Fear #2: Seeing the dangers and risks, you panic and run. Our friendship calls for courage, trust, patience. Things neither of us are strong on. We’ve been beat up too many times by the world. We instead are fearful, skeptical, and impatient. If you run or withdraw, I’m afraid of the loss I’ll feel, blaming myself and my foolishness. Too much, too fast.

Fear #3: It’ll go sour eventually. A disagreement over a petty issue and off we go sulking with our glass jaws broken. You know we’re vulnerable to even marshmallow punches if delivered at the right spot. Can I over look the hurt when it comes?

Fear #4: I’m imagining these things to justify some subliminal instinctive animal attraction. No, please don’t let it be so putrid! The feelings and emotions were so tender. Oh wicked devils, don’t drag it through the mire. Don’t pour filth on jewels that shine. Let her be my sister, not a mind mistress. Not a play thing, an evil pleasure.

Questions Where does this lead — happiness or sorrow? or both sweet and sour. Do I reach out and pull the plug on life support and let the patient struggle to breath unfiltered reality? Purer or dead? Should I never see my sister for fear of harming her accidentally?

Love- Driver

[Note: Driver destroyed letter #3 before sending it.]