The wealth of the world is illusion; these bits of paper and metal are inert.

I am rich beyond imagining in all the ways you give me strength, how you power me through the day that I might help my fellows. Sturdy back, broad shoulders, pumping legs.

Wealth only exists in circulation; let me pass on this strength. Let me carry others’ weight.

(Letter #2,488)

I can touch this day; my feet are firm on steady ground.

I hear a drumbeat, is it the marching enemies of tomorrow? Is it the advancing steps of remorse? Is it my heart, beating today?

I reach to grab tomorrow and it is just a shadow. My fingers slip through it.

Let me stand still on this ground, and listen to my heart.

(Letter #2,487)