A letter to Samuel Clemens

Dear Mr. Clemens,

Sir, please forgive the informal salutation, addressing you as Mr. Clemens when I know you’re Mark Twain too. I’ve read your books, books about you, sir. Wish to hell I’d met you, thankful to heaven reading your books I spent time with you.

To my purpose.

The  days I’m in are too often clenched-up muscular in my physical relationship with that day’s life. I say day’s life because I believe every day is a living being. A standalone being, loaded with personality, who sure as shit doesn’t need us to proceed. I suppose we could argue whether or not a day is a self-aware being. I think it is,  has unfettered accuracy, I’m believing.  But that’s just me.

You see the day is nature, and, yes, sir… What?… Sam!… Well,  thank you, Sam. I know you knew that earlier, about words. Words sometimes get jumpy. Know you know that too.

See, I believe everything that happens in day is nature, every single moment of every being on the planet and that includes us. I respectfully disagree with the mindset that views human beings and nature as separate beings.  Everything we do is an act of nature. We people folk have decent level of self-awareness, so if you’ve got two brain cells capable of nodding to one another, then you know damn well the government and big business and the unions, but oh, Sam, this is yours.  I am repeating myself, you are right my friend. You broke the trail for this sentence.

Never has any being experienced identical two days. Every day has its own shape, energy, style, personalities if you will. Nature has an easy metric ton of personality. No two days are identical for nature, not even close.

And if nature answers to any Godlike higher-power entity it’s not the human race. Thanks for listening, Sam. I hope, if you are, you are in joy, wonder, love, and peace.



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