Dear Universe,

Please remember that I am here.

I have dedicated myself to cosmic service, trying to forge the link between you and all of us; to help us find our place in the Greater Thing. I count on you to hand down the occasional crumb. To point me toward the idea.

When I lay my brain open to let the Big Whatevers come in, I’m not asking for the thunderbolt (although that would be nice)—I am asking for a whisper that will remind me I’m not alone in here. I’m asking you to remember me when luck is being passed around.

No, I am not expecting payback. Not for the hour upon hour spent touristing around the ethers. Not for the isolation. Or the removal from the Real. Not payback for anything. Just a small sharing of the Abundance Unseen. A way to know that the small, still voice is being heard.

I’m having a hard time finding the door. I am small and unconnected. I know that the Greater Thing turns on its own axis, in its own time. Slow me to its revolution. Give me that at least.

We are made of the same stuff, shapeable, some say, to our Wills. Show me that.

Show me something.

Today, the Writer needs it. Much.

 

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