Letters To A Young Poet III

September 18, 2018    
      
Jade Pandora     
Woodland Hills, California      
     
Dear Geoffrey,      
     I’ve concluded a brief jaunt out for vitamin supplements and healthy sustenance at a Whole Foods on Ventura Blvd. Things like radish sprouts, avocado, crookneck squash, veggie pot stickers, angel hair pasta, jasmine rice and yogurt kefir.    
   
     Now, while still on the boulevard after shopping, a whisper from the muse had me pull over to the curb to jot notes in my field journal. At least I am in a better position to do this than the first time, while in a downpour at night with nothing to write with. In fact I just realized, I’m under the same tree as I was that night, more than ten years ago. I remember because of the shops that line this section of the street.      
     
     By the way, I managed to write that poem I heard in my head, as the storm started to let up, and huge drops from the tree branches hit the roof of the car with loud individuality. My writing implement was a lip rouge that lasted just long enough. Giving its life, and bringing me my first poetry award (from Melbourne, Australia) four months later. I might send a copy to you one day.      
     
     Wait until you have your car back; you’ll be doing this a lot, I’m certain. You know, it’s less disruptive to sit huddled over your field journal in the quiet cabin of your own vehicle, rather than public transportation, with the noise and lurching motions.      
     
     But it probably works for you when it comes to the “edge” of some of your modern and generation bytes. You know: atmosphere. And at your age, you carry your life’s carpetbag everywhere. Filled with life-changing thoughts, decisions, and broken pieces of misfortune as if it’s shattered pottery to draw from.      
     
     Half an hour is now passed. I have picked up my mail but I have not gone upstairs to my apartment yet. I thought I would stay in the car, in the privacy of the carport where it is cool and dark (better for the groceries), even though it is a sunny mid-afternoon. And I have read the latest letter from you that just arrived. It has me introspectively thoughtful and somber.      
     
     You write of several significant life’s interactions, which I think I will wade into carefully, one foot, or rather subject, at a time. In light of the contents of this letter, Geoffrey, I am awash with the honesty and trust you unabashedly exhibit here. Already, I recognize that this is a test of both myself, and yourself.  I am glad because you remembered what I said, of how ‘This holds no fears for me.’      
     
     As it must not have held any fears for you, by the time you tried your first attempt that day not so long ago. The driving force that requires a young person to qualify the moment that blanks out everything else. The deed becoming the next natural step toward a final vindication. Once the pall descends, to stop the persecution. To put to rest the forced apologies for having been born.      
     
     All this to have survived, and yet, survival of everything that continued, unabated and unchallenged. How long could you be expected to hold your own dignity and sense of self? And keep the darkness in check. Complicated further by the initial introduction of alcohol, years before puberty. You cannot be blamed for careening so wildly off the rails. For going through it again a second time.      
     
     There was nothing to anchor you. Not to try for the angels where, to you, there was never a God. You were not looking for faith, the intangible. You needed the tangible. Something as solid as brick, as concrete, as steel! You took on Mother Nature, and plowed both you and vehicle into a mighty tree, a relative. If it had been man-made, it would have killed you outright. A gentle tree was not going to be host to your death.      
     
     You are so young still, but wizened far beyond your years as long as you believe you are worthless. You have been showing me proof that everything you are and will be, is worthy. I will do what I can to help you understand this, even as the persecution persists. Anything, to gird you and keep you from destruction. While building a foundation for years to come. To house your self esteem, and pride in your uniqueness of expression in the arts.      
     
     There will still be days to come of challenge. Many times you will question yourself. Nothing will come easy. But as long as I have breath, you have an ally in me. We will beat the weapons of your persecution into plowshare. With the creation from within.      
     
     I trust more than anything that I will hear from you again soon. You are destined to climb up, over and be free of your self doubts one day. Believe.      
     
          Ever your champion,      
               Jade