A letter came, with no intelligible address on it, but somehow it knew which mailbox would get its contents to you.
Unexpected dis-harmony, like a letter from the IRS. A ‘special attention’ letter that for some ethereal reason required scissors to open. A letter that demanded personal scrutiny.
The usual feeling of mixed emotions began to take over, but there was a break, a fissure in time. The hiatus brought about in you, just this once, that this action had to be done with beauty . . . and courage.
With calm resolve and precision, the scissors sliced off the end of the envelope. The letter unfolded into your hands.
The first three words of the letter were like darts, pinning you back into your chair. You repeated them over and over again silently to yourself, provoked by their acuity and captivated by their potency.
The letter went on to briefly summarize the essence of that potency and to illumine your connection with it.
Your personal message was so clearly expressed and expounded upon. Your attention went to finding a pen and paper to assure the highlights of your adventure would be preserved.
Strange. You realized searching would be more effective now – if you removed your blindfold.