dear leonard
Dear Leonard,
I write to you to say thanks, and to give thanks for the gift you were given. And to honour the wisdom you inherited early in life which let you know that it was a gift, a gift that should be shared. It can be said that it was generous of you to share this gift with us, but it can also be said that it was ordained, written, if you will. A duty, a responsibility, a divine command that came with the gift.
But Leonard I will also inquire what can I garner from your gift; what can I take from your wisdom; what can I steal from the words you have written that can help me in my quest, my desire, my divine command.
The truth is, I am not sure I have a divine command, a quest, or any wisdom. And so, I must search for it. Search for it in your words, in your songs. And, if I am not blessed, as you were, with a divine command, what am I doing here? Why am I seeking truth, or meaning, if I am not commanded to do so by my spirit? A spirit that guides you must surely have a purpose for you, no?
Leonard, I write to you today to not only give thanks but to call on your wisdom, your divine command, to help me find mine. My hands are stained with ink from my fountainpen. I have started and re-started this letter so many times, in search of the words, that I am constantly adding ink to the pen. Words of thanks, words of longing, words of pleading and inquiring, suggesting, confirming, and questioning. Words that do not come easily to one in need of divine command, early wisdom, or a gift.
And yet, I continue to write, I continue to stain my hands with the writer’s blood that I have in my pen and in my veins. Is it that it may not be the gift that I lack but rather the inclination to let the words flow. Maybe I do not practice at garnering all I can from a gift that I, too, have been given. Maybe the divine command, for all of us, is to be persistent and consistent in realizing the gift.
Is it that the wisdom is not the gift, or realization of the gift, but the acceptance that one must want, and want enough, to make it their life. And if being so, like breathing, does it mean that one must do it to live; do it to fulfill the divine command.
Is that the truth you learned so many years ago, Leonard. The truth that so many other gifted writers learned before they were given the title of ‘gifted writer’. That the words come when one searches for how to make the words come, when one persists in the search for the words, when one is consistent and constant in the search.
I must go and wash my hands now, Leonard, the ink is getting on my clothes. But I will leave you with one final question…where do I go now? Where do I go to seek my divine command? Where did you go? Or did it, the divine command, come to you? And when it found you, or you found it, what did you do next? Did the divine command come with instructions, guides, lessons? Or did you figure it out on your own. So, I suppose the whole question is: where do I go now, and what do I do when I get there?
Leonard, I did not intend for this letter to be so long. It was meant to be a ‘Thank You’ letter, nothing more.
So, thank you Leonard, my dear Leonard, for fulfilling your divine command and sharing your gift with the world…and thank you for the words.
You are missed.
Sincerely,
SG
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