Letter For the Low Days

Dear Mushroom, 
     You have done so well in your personal evolution. I bet you never imagined that your last 68 years would have been so interesting, so inspiring and heartwarming as you have made them. You have been so blessed, in so many ways. Your life started with your first life and death struggle. You and your mother almost died at your birth. You earned your first scar. But you survived and thrived. 
     When you were 4, you were attacked by a vicious bird that was nearly as big as you were. You survived with only physical scars. 
     You were sent away from your parents and brothers when you were 7. You learned that you could thrive without them being present. You learned that love is bigger and that grandparents can love you as much as your parents do. 
     When you joined your parents in California in the 3rd grade you endured racism and over the next several years you questioned your worth. You wished that you were blond and blue eyed so that you could fit in. And you had best friends that made life wonderful and fun which helped you endure when you were beat up, bullied and by white boys who called you nigger, wet back, Jap and other demeaning words. You became timid and learned to become invisible. And you survived. 
     You learned that the world divides itself into us and them. And that sometimes you were one of us (with your best friends) and at other times you are one of them. Sorting that out took you a while, but you learned. 
     You wanted to be a priest. And you asked many questions that could not be answered to your understanding or satisfaction. You kept asking and praying. When you were told that you needed to take a break from the seminary you were not disappointed. You understood their concern when they told you that you acted and asked the same kinds of questions that the current radical priests had asked when they were in the seminary. You knew, somehow that your time in the seminary was complete for your stage of evolution. 
     After high school, you discovered music and art. And you were good at both. You fell in lust and love. It was wonderful until it abruptly ended after only two years. You slid into a depression that was so low that your own mother asked you to move out because your energy was making everyone sad.
     And then the Viet Nam war saved you from yourself pity and put you to your most painful test. You were made a leader and you succeeded so well that your own peers stood and applauded your leadership. You were sent off to war and realized that your biggest fight would be you’re your immediate boss, the chief. You stood up for yourself in the face of adverse authority. He hated you but grew to respect you, in spite of your “weirdness.” 
     When a new officer came on board and saw you screaming around the ships smoke stack, the executive officer told the new officer that you might be the only person on the ship who was sane. And you probably were. 
     On your second ship you led an anti-war demonstration when your ship had turned around and returned to fight again in the Tonkin Gulf. You knew how “stupid” and how necessary it was. You knew the risk. You stood your ground and led it anyway. When you left the ship, the executive officer privately thanked you for doing that because it helped everyone out. 
     You returned from the war and convinced the most amazing woman you ever met to marry you. She had a degree, you didn’t. But with here help, you finished school.
     When you two moved to New Mexico you both became contraceptive counselors for Planned Parenthood and thus helped many young people prevent unwanted pregnancy. You worked as a political writer for a local newspaper. When you found out that your publisher was cheating not only you but your other coworkers, you called the staff together and told them what you had found out and that you were going to expose him, know that all of you would lose your jobs. When they agreed, you exposed him. He did his time in prison. 
     You earned your degree and became an architect. You became a “legend” in Fort Worth. You earned the highest ranking of any intern who had gone through the program. You were a very good design architect. On a personal level, you were funny and delightful. You were respected for who you had evolved into. You accomplished much as an architect. 
     After Jeremy died your evolution sped forward on many levels. Your first son’s death threw you into the depths of grief. You learned how to talk and counsel other bereaved parents and others suffering through grief. 
     Your ancestors came forward and presented you with opportunities to learn the ancient ways of healing. You became a shaman and have healed so many. You became a public speaker advocating for organ and tissue donation and indirectly saving many lives. 
     And now you have written two books and you are working on your third. Your first has been a healing for other veterans. 
     You strive to be a blessing upon the Earth and you are.