You set in motion a chain of extraordinary events in me, by an act of authoring not yet fully understood. Perhaps it was simply something you allowed.
In the space you created, the quiet had their say, the imperfect were permitted, the vain became irrelevant. And our fear turned to awe, thanks to a force I could feel but never tame, let alone figure out.
I know at last the power of not knowing, and it does not need to be explained.
It is the same for you. I never lost sight of that.
Even when it was killing me.
They were crazy days, weren’t they? Over now, thank God. Yet they were also the beginning of this; a surprising and wonderful sense of freedom and calm that has lately flowed through me.
I may not feel it always, but I feel it a lot, and I thank you for it every time. It has made me cry and bleed, drink and hide. It has shown me how to fly and dive. Break and mend. It held up a mirror so that I could see how small I was. No matter the noise I make in this closed circle of life, none of it shall be heard in the great space.
NB: This letter is an excerpt from an unpublished novel called Surrender.