A LETTER You WROTE, From Days Gone By.

When i do travel i rarely converse with anyone around me, i walk as much as i can and imagine what people are thinking,what they just left from? what they are going back to? Ive seen every emotion on people talking on those ear pieces; recently on a cab ride to JFK , at a crossroad on any giving street I saw a letter/envelope fall from a coat worn by some random person crossing the street and i wondered what that letter said… Here is what i think it said..

DEAR YOU,

When it does find you, I hope it’s not too late. I hope in that moment I will know when you open the envelope of the old snail mail and smell the slight fragrance of me. I will hope to take in a breath at that same time, I will hope and wonder what you will find.

I know I was greedy, maybe way too selfish. You see the world I grew into – thrown into – is a world of illusion, a place where knowledge and culture is shunned and foolish, sly nature is glorified, where your success is determined by wealth and little to no thought is given to how you attained it even if it means thievery.

I wish in that moment to wonder along with you as your eyes scroll through my writing,
how you can communicate in 1000 words with just one glance towards me.

I told you once that, ” I am not scared of death or no longer those foot steps from my perpetrator that I ran so fast from as a girl.”

9
Grainy mind memory.

If this letter finds you at all, I hope you read it. It may all sound sad or bitter to you, however, know that it’s far from it. I have much hope along my evolving way.

Life has been fair and is often good to me, and if I never find my way home from running away, I want you to remember that our short lived dream spent here is/was beautiful enough to hold me until the other side.

I saw your face in another. I turned away confused and embarrassed because it gave me a picture to put with the soul I dream of, the one I walked with into the river of time as the world around us slept, the one I failed in my arrogant ignorance.

Please God, Guad, Mahayo, Buddaha, please don’t say it’s too late.

When the letter turns to words and paints a picture, maybe call me, text me. I live amongst fields of masked and blank faces. They’re a home now for me, my home now without you is a no mans land, as I fear it will always be. Regretfully, there are so many different worlds –
so many different souls…

All I need is but just one: You – to share – to find my way back home.
My wants, hopes, and pleasures lie with knowing that you will read my words.

My biggest fear is that you will never open it and see how I truly feel – walking away into another kiss, a hug, all the unknown, known, demons of desire.

Just maybe tomorrow you will read my words, just maybe I will find my way home, just maybe tomorrow I will arrive at your door.

I hope you don’t say it’s too late………

Always from a time long ago,

18 thoughts on “A LETTER You WROTE, From Days Gone By.”

  1. Keep on imagining what those people are thinking. You weave stories very well. I can imagine the Ancestors smiling as they hear your stories.

    Blessings and Prayers for all who read this.

    I find that I have grown in my spirituality. Now when I think of someone who said terrible untruths about me, I find myself hoping that she is doing better. I am reminded of a time when a roommate of mine had been made fun of for their illness. I fiercely stood up to the person who was making fun of her, without using any negative words, and wishing that they would also have more compassion.

  2. ROBERT, Amazing writing . I cryed. This morning I was answering a message that was posted by a friend in England on how he gave a drink to a homeless man and the man complained that he did not drink Larger. Then my friend complained about how a homeless man should just be grateful on what he gets. So I humbly answered my friend on what it means to have nothing. Any way then here was your weekly and as I read it tears just streamed down my face as a river rushing from the sky and my heart acked. See my son has been homeless for the past five years,he was perfectly fine five years ago but thru a break up and losing his children thru. child custody and his home and the love of his life . He never recovered. For some it is just to much.He was also attacked on the streets and I have seen him with injuries that a normal person would have died from. He has PTSD and a great fear of being inside buildings and also afraid of the government . The man as we said in the old days. He dose not drink but has been over taken by the white powder. Not the rich man’s one but the poor man’s one. He is my younest son ,my baby even at the age of thirty two. I pray for him every day. I never really know where he is or how he is doing,I can go for a year with out hearing from him and he never talks about the bad stuff all he wants to do is hear my voice. He said once to me his friends on the street ask him ,if he could have any thing in the world . What would it be? And he answered . A hug from my mom and to kiss my children. Those words are for ever branded on my heart an soul. I have tried to help him but it is as if the streets become a drug, He says he feels free when he is out side. ANY WAY HENCE YOUR WRITING THIS MORNING. I felt as if my son was speaking to me. Like all the things he would say if he could exspress the emotions locked away in his broken heart. Life is hard so hard for some and not others. It is not so easy for those that have been broken beyond repair. My son has children a son and a daughter. And his son always ask me where his daddy is and if he is ok. And it is so hard to tell a little one of nine the hard truth. So I tell him the only real truth I know and that is his father loves him. Even tho he is lost some where on his path. Any way Robert thru the tear streaming down my face I Thank You for your writing. this morning . It is as my son was speaking to me from a long distance thru you. Love Always Robbie Robison. Peace be with you.

  3. As shared on my Facebook page:
    The amazing wisdom and insightfulness of Robert Mirabel, in “A letter you wrote,” brings the bitter sweet realities of untold numbers of lost souls into focus in this revealing light of what could only be explained by the presence of the purest of consciousness, connectedness and disciplined observation. Thank you so much for sharing Robert. Sincerely Carol Grkovic

  4. Robert,
    I love seeing how you touch souls/readers who are given the opportunity to put “the face” and “the name” of their choice on the “dear you” of yours, a father, a mother, a daughter, a son, a lover, a partner, a soul, all souls… to soothe or maybe forget their pain, confirm their joy, make them cry, make them love, or all of the above.

    Call it ‘channeling’ or whatever you want to call it, I have sensed a bygone writer’s reaction to this letter you’re offering. Her body may be gone, but not her soul. Her dream body is in you, me and all. She first sensed a connection in an assembly who was talking about her “indigenous” or “native” writings, and now she’s reminded of it as she is hearing your words; here are her thoughts.

    “A soul in the audience was talking about her way to understand the love stories of my writings. She said that this complicated relationship between two people of different backgrounds did actually feel more like myself arguing with my higher or lower self, with my own mixed backgrounds, personalities, genders, you name it… Yes! Finally someone had felt it. I was happy. The moderator did not really seem to go into that direction though, maybe because the person was more of a critique than a writer in the end. However the soul that I started to like went on explaining her understanding of the way characters appear to us, writers, but again the instructor did not seem to quite understand where the soul was coming from. Maybe the soul was on peyote or something, seemed to wonder the inquisitive gaze of the moderator. I beamed with joy, though, because that soul had “gotten” me, that soul understood me, reading between the lines.
    Why would we have to stick to just one aspect of our personality? We, writers, know that it is both impossible and useless. We need our characters as we need the air that we breathe.
    You are talking about sly nature, well, as the saying goes, “as sly as a fox”… Reminds me of a dream of mine, a long time ago… Fox is clever and had to undergo many hardships, many treacherous men going after fox, so fox had to protect body, soul and heart… but fox also told the biggest literary lesson ever written in the European continent of my beloved mother, when he said that “it is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” My indigenous father had to wear that blank (and also white) mask you are talking about, in order not to be totally ripped off his deepest beliefs: adaptation, assimilation, acting, a tricky combination, but also an act of survival.
    I read you and it is as if I were reading me. I read you and I remember hearing you when we were in trenches, separated by a man-made border, I read you and I feel like paddling faster than ever to make the surface of the river smile her biggest smile and play in the snow like a kid, naked in the cold, happy and free, with the moon as a secret ally.
    If you ever feel that home feels like no man’s land again, remember to look for what lingers in the rooms of that home. Even if you’re by yourself in the home, there are always plenty of roommates at home, which are our different moods, hopes, dreams, secrets, certainties, insecurities and promises.
    It will never be too late, home is where the heart is, and dream bodies help us to be patient enough to welcome earth bodies when they reach the doorstep of our daydreams to make them real again.
    You understand me, I understand you, I know and sense and see and feel how you truly feel too, always; that is our gift as writers, our landline of the heart. Even death cannot sever that bond. It actually makes it stronger.
    Words are our biggest treasure, but even more so when they don’t need sounds and are talked through the eyes.
    We are one.
    Tekahionwake is my Mohawk name.
    Love is my human name.”

  5. As I was mentioning to a friend yesterday. It seems to me that I find answers to my questions after I ask god then surrender to the wisdom of the infinite divine love of creator.

    Looking back on choices in my life, I am seeing that each was for my growth. Every decision bringing a lesson or blessing. I also see that when I delay making a decision it was a step back, into stagnation.

    I find it easier to remember that each person is a child of god, headed either directly or in a round about way, back home to infinite wisdom and love.

    Blessings and prayers for everyone,

    Amy

  6. Robert, thank you for touching my soul and bringing such profound emotion to what you write, dream, and create. You are a dream weaver and I can appreciate your depth. I sew quilts with compassion and intricate thoughts, symbolism surrounds me. Always trying to extend my abilities. You are a master at that. I love your posts.

  7. Robert,
    I have read this post many times now, each reading reveals more…

    Silently I walk
    Holding my heart in my hands
    Beating ever so softly
    Longing for that moment
    When it will be whole again
    Many moons pass
    It still beats
    Sunrise after sunrise
    The beat goes on
    When will it be whole again
    Only when I accept solitude
    The oneness of everything
    That I love, am loved and always will be loved
    If only in that beating heart
    I hold in my hands

    Thank you!
    With love and respect always!
    Linda

  8. Robbie,
    your situation touches my heart. Compassion to you, your son, and his children.

    I do not know your pain, and can only imagine it. I had a relative who suffered from schizophrenic episodes and I believe having pictures of his kids would have helped some. His illness may have started with a head injury in childhood.

    May your son, you, and all involved be blessed. God knows all, gives us all our free will, and will bring inspiration when we least expect it. I pray that all works out for the best.

    love to all who read this, and all who do not read this

  9. Each time you post, I take your words to a quiet place and have coffee andl linger over the fresh and raw images you bring. These thoughts are always familiar and full of life. Sometimes I wish I smoked again so I could inhale the smoke with your thoughts. Missing the essence of a soul so deeply loved is a hard place to revisit. Moving on is an almost unnatural thing to do sometimes- even if it is chosen. I think we never lose the intensity and energy of how others touch us. We just put all in a special place so we can pull them out when we need them to remind us of the journey have taken so we can survive. Fair winds my friend.

  10. Not only have you woven a story that touches but it bought to my mind the art of writing letters and the effect technology has and will have historically on history. It is through writings of people in power and the common folk who have given us a window into eras long ago.

  11. Robert this is the first of read and it too touches my heart. I have lost 3 children who were all twins, my only brother who was younger than I, all my grandparents, my dad and stepdad, and so many more of my family and friends. As a matter of fact I just lost a close friend who was one of my twin sons best friends. After my son was killed I became close to him and his family. His mom is in her 70’sleep and he was her only son. She knows I can relate to her loss and I do all too well. This writing has made me see more clearly about a lot of things right now. I will be reading more of your stories and seeing more of your videos . They are what I have been looking for. Thank you and I’m glad when I prayed this morning and then turned my computer on your video and read this answered things I prayed for. God Bless You and hope you come to NC close to where I live with one of your shows so me and my family can go and watch , listen and feel how life was for our forefathers. Thank you, Gale

  12. I asked for guidance and was sent to you.

    You spoke on Tuesday (26th) of farming, seeds and tradition.

    I listened to your words all week and read this blog.

    How did you know?

    Thank you for your words of wisdom.

    Deborah

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