Listen, I know you’re as busy as Justin Bieber’s bang stylist, but could you arrange it that I am able to hold on to that magnificent feeling of nature even when I am not in it? Even when I am not sitting on a bench overlooking the Grand Canyon wondering if my father might have once sat on the very same bench—and what he was thinking. And when, out of the ordinary sweet conversations with strangers spring up like a friendly fountains, let me take an inch of those with me and keep them in a box marked “goodness.” Make sure that I don’t forget the smell of the juniper bushes that surround the place that we have chosen to sleep for the night and, if it’s not too much trouble: the moon. Remind me to bring the moon with me, the way she shines like the sun at night. The way she seems like a person I wish I could know. And when I’m feeling closed in and hopeless, sprinkle me with the feeling of what it’s like to wonder how it all happens, even when I’m witnessing it—when it’s right there in front of me. Please just fill me with that comforting deep-down incomprehension every now and again.
Yours In Holy Shit!