Dear
Thank God for your letter. Earlier I felt so edgy here; it’s embarrassing. I’m sorry to let these walls make me shaky; at least I might learn from them to stand firm.
This cell resounds with so many voices that I envy concrete for remaining unmoved, but then I hold a letter like yours, grateful to consist mainly of water. Mineral, pure, am not. At least in reading such words as yours, my vulnerability seems a blessing. The walls can do nothing with what they receive, not that an architect has not positioned them to uphold…what sound they make, echo, while we humans absorb and transmute.
I read a message in your letter that went all through me. A whale calls from the deep, a dolphin just beneath the surface, yet your soul sent signal at every depth. Not every pitch can I hear, yet the message has not lost its audibility in my ears. Is it my confinement that helps me to hear the signals with comprehension? A wall I could be, deaf to what you say, but I respond, imperfect and heartfelt, a soul in communion.
Please keep transmitting such truth that, one day, the total meaning may at last be hard. The cell here has its voices and you join them, bless them, a word that does more than echo hollowly. Yours is held, enshrined, redeeming us in our captivity for God’s true end.
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