"All you have shall some day be given;
Therefore give now, that the season of giving may be yours and not your inheritors'.
You often say, 'I would give, but only to the deserving.'
The trees in your orchard say not so, nor the flocks in your pasture.
They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish.
Surely he who is worthy to receive his days and his nights is worthy of all else from you.
And he who has deserved to drink from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup from your little stream."
[Kahlil Gibran, "The Prophet"]

Tick tock tick tock.

Tick tock tick tock.

And so at long last, after 51 weeks, the literary time bomb exploded inside her head.

She read it this afternoon. We spoke this evening on MSN. She understood at last what it was I meant to do when I wrote it a year ago. It was not an "I told you so" letter. It was not a "we should be together because..." letter. It was a gift. It was a sparkling shining gift, the contents of which will now remain forever between she and I (well, unless she shares them with someone, which she's welcome to, if she so chooses). For me to speak about it now would pollute it, destroy its purity. So I must be cautious, even in speaking of it.

The point in writing it was about purity of purpose. And that was the reason I so long ago put a year's length on it. I needed it to be far enough into the future that I could not give myself any reasonable expectation of any result other than its original, pure intention. If I'd set a shorter date, surely my desire to rectify our breakup, or my anger over it, would have seeped in. I had to write it expecting that by the time she opened it, we might not even know each other any more. I had to write it as if we were strangers, albeit ones who knew each other quite well. She respected that it needed to wait a year, and she waited. Her patience does not come as a surprise to me. I fully believed from the start that she would keep her word and wait. It's the kind of person she is. The net result is that it was a gift she very much enjoyed, and found uplifting, in spite of her natural apprehension about opening it. For me, the pleasure was in the giving (though I'd be lying, of course, if I said I was not pleased to know this evening that it was well-received). And so, while just a few weeks ago, as I had for such a very long time, I cursed myself for having put such a long deadline on it, for having set myself the price of a year of wonderment and unease for the sake of this one gift, I can look upon it now and say it was well worth it. For it to have worked, even if from this day forward we never set eyes on one another or speak again - that wasn't the point of it - it will still be very worth it. So I can remove at last the sharpnel I chose to carry with me for so long, and I can heal.

Why did I write it? What did I do? Allow me to explain.

The world lacks purity. In fact, we've become so twisted and deceitful, so paranoid and second-guessing, that we no longer regard anything at face value. And yes, I realize there's no such thing as 100% pure (I'm the Taoist here, remember), but I mean we constantly regard things as Yang in Yin, rather than expecting Yin in Yang. (I've lost you, right?) No, my letter wasn't "all white", but it was Yang (white), with only a speck of Yin (black), as opposed to the other way around.

Perhaps an illustration. Any time someone pays me a compliment, I'm probably more likely to think "what do they want from me?" than to think "why, that was nice of them". A few weeks ago I messaged a woman on Lavalife to tell her she had a nice smile in her photo. I didn't want a date. I didn't expect a response. In fact, I expected she'd probably get my message and think, "yeah, whatever dude, lame line" and totally ignore me. But the fact was, it simply really was a nice smile, and well... I felt like telling her... so I did because...

I want to live in that world again. I want to live in a world where when you like something about someone, you tell them. I want to live in a world where people can compliment each other without fear of sexual harassment charges, or without creating uncomfortable awkward silences. I want to live in a world where Dads wrestle playfully with their kids in the back yard without fear their neighbours will have them investigated for physical abuse, or when someone sees a crying child they're not afraid to give them a hug and ask them if everything is ok. I want to live in a world where people are simply nice to each other. Radical fucking concept, hey? It seems so far away. But does it have to be?

Now I can't make that world happen all alone. I can only do small bits. It's something that takes the collective work of us all to do. But goddamnit... I used to instruct. I used to stand in front of a classroom and teach, in the hopes that maybe... just once... or twice... or if I was really fortunate, a dozen times... that maybe I'd say something that would really reach someone and make their life a little different, a little better, because they'd never thought of that thing in that way. When I write, it's the same exercise. If I touch two people... and they touch two people...

Do you understand what The Butterfly Effect is?

I want to be that butterfly. I want each act of kindness to be as pure as I can make it. Each special gesture, to those I love - such as my year-old letter to Jenny - or to those I don't even know - like the girl I told had a pretty smile - is a beat of my wings. I want to start hurricanes through the decades. Even if it is long long after I've passed from this world, such simple acts... for the chance that someday things might be better... isn't that worth the time it takes?

Chuang Tzu, once wrote (roughly): 'I dreamt I was a butterfly, and when I awoke I wondered: Am I a man who dreamt he was a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming he is a man?'

How I long to be a butterfly.

"I gotta stop calling you
when I'm really loaded and lonely
cause I don't know who feels worse
me for doing it or you for refusing it."
[Fur Packed Action, "Everything Else"]

Nothing is without its price. One of the added benefits to Jenny having finally read the letter was that it led to a very nice, very comfortable chit-chat on MSN for a couple of hours tonight. It's longer than we've talked in as long as I can remember. I enjoyed it. It was very pleasant. But I always still feel a little moth-to-flame around her, even after all this time. I enjoy talking with her, and I still find her every bit as sexually-compelling as I always did in the past. I know my weaknesses, and I know that if she said, for whatever reason, "come over", that I probably would, no matter the consequences, and be that meaning anything from simply talking over a coffee to vegetable oil and Twister mats. I also know that it's entirely unlikely to ever happen. That's not the point. And it's not that I'd regret it, as I wouldn't, but that's not the point either.

The point is that I resent it a little - not in her, in myself - that I have that weakness of will, that I am such a slave to my own desires. For a creature of such calculated logic as I, I am forever unable to refrain from indulging myself of certain pleasures, be they sexual, or even simply the pleasant company of a nice friend. And I may tax my mind over "the right thing to do or not", and struggle within myself, but there are certain times, certain situations, certain people, that I know I'm always going to succumb to. It's a truth about myself I'm not entirely comfortable with, but that I must reluctantly accept as a part of me. It's a Yin to my Yang. A weakness to balance my strengths.

In time, I will once again fade into obscurity for her, and she for I. My pain will finally pass, and my wound finally heal. But with luck, a long time from now, my gift - my attempt at a simple pure act for someone I loved - will remain as pure and whole, and serve as an occassional inspiration to her, at times when she needs a little uplifting. Maybe she'll do something similar for someone some day. And they for someone else. And they for yet someone else.

Funny, you know - most people think I totally lack ambition. Maybe it's just a different kind of ambition. Maybe it's one they don't understand. Maybe most people just don't "get" me and never will. Tragic. But I hope to find at least one person who does. And in the meantime...

I'll keep flapping.