To Fractal in Motion, traveler, Tender of Stellar Weeds, Cold Wind and Wakefulness, Smell of Molten Silver:
There is so much worry in your letters. I am sorry it’s taken me so long to answer – I have been immersed in your past. It is interesting to hear the resonance between the words of years ago and these words you send me now – as if the same melody were played on the same instrument, but by a different musician. There is not so much discordance between the two as you think, nor so much as I believe you hope. The primary change I perceive is a distance that seems to have done you good. In your journals, you are drowning in your own thoughts. Now I believe you are merely submerged in them. Perhaps you are learning how to swim.
I wonder – do you still perceive yourself as containing multitudes? The iterative soul you contain seems to cause you grief, to scrape against your insides. I see it pushing up your skin, rattling your ribs like a cage. If it were within my power to reshape you with my fingers, I believe I could create a cage you would like better… but you may never find a physical embodiment that truly feels like home to you. Perhaps you are late in your journey, impatient with this realm, eager to move on to the next. Still… though you wear your humanity like an ill-fitting suit at times, you are human underneath as well. Heartbreakingly so. I have never known a human like you, and it seemed to me when I met you that perhaps I had never known one before. The exception that proves the rule, I believe is the phrase? Perhaps you wear a disguise to hide from yourself.
I hope you feel that today you have woken up, if only for a moment. I hope you breathe in deeply this morning and taste each ray for its different flavor. There is a flower in the garden to whom I have spoken your name – she nodded, and promised to keep you in her thoughts all day.