you know I use a black back ground as my eyes can't take the glare any more

I do

I was awake at 7,

I had noticed also you had stayed up late and got up early. Two birds of a feather... I am still trying to figure out what this delay thing is about. It's inconvenient, on steemworld I can't read it properly, and you'ld like to think it would be posted to the site simultaneously. Not always

half hour past midnight

to read that in a post you open at 2.10, ten minutes after posting (that is then the delay) has one think you are in Ghana....and so we prove once again how much time goes into reading - to make sense of the time compressed in our writings. Normally remarkably easy for us. But a heavy business day takes its toll on that side pretty fast. So be it.

Many joined-up hours of writing to you is not about me; it is about finding an Us. It is a trust in myself I hand you, which you can never take away from me again. I trust my faculties to know you. Your regaling stories - revealing your voice and sharing your biography - are like soothing caresses on the small of my back after a very long day. Something very tangible. The kind of bonus I am not used to getting in my normal challenges with trust and building new spaces.

As readers we have many layers to cut though: screen, text, time lapse, context, refrence, textworlds and then also biographies, adopted roles, names, persona. As Lovers (and sina would have no problem with the word if he knows anything about the Sufis, thought it's always tricky to know what an Iranian thinks of them) we can only love the Beloved; and who is that when he is home? the one who can be Great enough to be loved. Man thus raises himself. And as a co-creator each one in (the state/mood) of Love can get on with whatever he fancies, but at a higher level.

There never was anything to explain about rotting oranges. If you start spelling it out with examples of theft to someone who finds nearly everything theft, I am quickly tempted to pick up my Barbara Cartland and leave you to your erroneous presumptions that I have lost you, while you have actually lost the sound of my voice. You cannot pretend that I didn't find you text riviting. Original, multi faceted, and richly layered. Bursting with you. And not only you. But let's not always talk about me. It was an unconditional gift.

If you can see what I couldn't see in your text, you will understand precisely to what degree I can see you.

If you can see how very fast we went from looking at MY incomprension of your TEXT to YOUR sense of not being understood, you will understand where the pitfalls lie. It was a very instructive little night.

I will always test your ability to recover and return to the Inbetween, at least with three gentle pokes. I can't find you anywhere else, can I? And to think a phone helps specifically in moments of fatigue could be a mistake. It's a short cut that can go round in circles because it is a more direct interaction but what action is there really? It is a more intimate interaction. The physical voice is a tool that can be picked up when there is nowhere left to go. Even lions and birds know that.

You have endorsed me and undone a knot to set me adrift and see where I might float to. It must be clear where to that is.

I mainly read fatigue as the cause of doubt or distraction. You know what to do about that.

I don't care where you begin or end: just talk to me. I don't first and foremost, let alone at the bottom line, want your life-words (steemit does!) I want your voice as the Hermes of the soul.

I tell you these things because you ask me too, if I am not mistaken, whether you know it or not. But you are free to resist anything. Resistance makes you stronger. I think both of us, however, are seeking a way to become softer and slower and mild.

I want your voice, to see how much truth it can carry. For the truth holds Us. My only interest, really, on a very active level, is that you stay close to your soul. What else would I need from you I can't get anywhere else?