| Dear Rin, WORDS---you say words are not your medium and especially English words which are not your language. Me neither Rin---even though it is my language I am always fishing for words. So often I want a word. What is the word to express what I want to say? That is why I made up expressions. A lack of vocabulary. Mark Twain said,” The difference between the right word and almost the right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug” what I write is filled with lightning bugs. “Almost, not quite, well, I guess I’ll put it this way-or maybe that way-oh well, owell” But when I talk with you I never have such good conversation as I do with you. Maybe it is just because we are not overly concerned with just the right word or just the right expression but our communication is full of good will. We really want to understand what the other one is saying and we listen with the heart. It is the heart that is speaking. The heart that is listening. One night on an island in the Pacific you made a wish upon the shooting stars “Oh my head is too big take it off” Who was wishing? Your heart? Not your head probably. Heads like to be big. Big, bigger, biggest. The heart and the head have to get together. No more competitions. Work together Heart and Head. When you wanted to put our correspondence on the website, I was scared to death. I can admit that now. What was scared of? Words. Afraid of the wrong words-that people would know what a blunderer I am. Now I think that’s ok. It is what I am. It's the heart that counts-the heart of communication. I like your words so much. They are like pictures. I see pictures in your words. I can see you on the island with the shooting stars or as a girl with dragonflies in your hair. Often times I want to see you more but honestly then I wonder-if I did-would I see as much? I see you with eyes of my heart and I am inspired by what I see. You are beautiful to see, on the rare occasion when we meet, or when, as is most often, when I look into the magic realm that only the heart can see. I write because I miss you. I want to be with you. I make up words to be with you. I make up words to be with you. They are my magic flying carpet. They are the right words if they fly, If they take me to you. Now I am curious what words are. One day, long ago, they came up like bubbles from the deep. They were captured and put in books. But they cannot stay there. They keep bubbling up in new ways because they are living beings. They came from the heart and got lost in the head. Now they want to find their way home again. Do you hear them? Listen. “Rin, George, take us home, we want to be warm again.” Love and Peace, George |