One of my clients has an elephant.

We don’t know yet if it’s the elephant in the room.

Or if it’s the elephant that you can only describe parts of.

Or another elephant altogether.

A student of mine has a hole in her memory.

Another one thinks she has a thing but is desperate to know more about it.

And I live in a house that has a history of sadness.

So we’re writing letters. Leaving notes.

Planting seeds.

A Possible Letter To An Elephant.

Dear elephant,

I think you are mine. Maybe I’m wrong about that.

Either way, though, here you are.

And I want you to know that I’ve noticed. I am aware of your elephant-ness in different parts of my life.

Please accept this paper cup of animal crackers. I hope that’s not inappropriate or anything, but I wasn’t sure what you like.

If you could tell me more about what you like, I would appreciate that.

Thank you.

p.s. Please don’t hide from me. I want us to get to know each other!

A Possible Letter To A Hole.

Hole in my memory,

I feel very conflicted about the idea of interacting with you because I am not sure whether or not I want to know what lives inside you.

Actually, I’m pretty sure I don‘t want to know what’s in the hole. And Havi said I don’t have to. So please don’t tell me.

However, I would like to know more about the essence of you and what your purpose is in my life.

I would like to know what you need. And if there is something that would comfort you.

Also, I would like comfort for myself as it is very disconcerting living with a hole.

And safety, because this is scary. I am only going to interact with you if we can have safety with this.

This is me, starting. This is me, making room for the possibility of conscious interaction with parts of myself that are lost.

I am not lost. I am right here.

Possible Letter to A Thing That Might Be Mine.

Dear Thing! Are you my thing? Oh, I want you to be my thing!

I know Havi said it’s fine not to have a thing or not to know. Because things move and change. That is the nature of things. Apparently.

But I would like to know more about what gives me that thrill of possibility. I would like to know more about what inspires me.

If you are my thing or a part of my thing, there are cookies in it for you. Just saying.

Love, me.

Havi’s Letter to Hoppy House.

Hoppy House,

I want you to be Happy Hoppy House. I want you to feel safe and welcomed and loved.

Just as I want to feel safe and welcomed and loved when I am with you.

Obviously, I’m bringing a lot of my own screwed-up past to this too. So I’m doing what I can to say here, now. And to love you.

Please help me have new experiences with this whole “space for me” thing while I’m recovering from old trauma and stucknesses.

And I will do what I can to help you feel appreciated. Okay, fine. Adored. You will be adored.

Where does a letter like this go?

Anywhere you want it to.

You can hide a letter in your home. Or somewhere else.

Leave it in a book.

Mail it to yourself.

Mail it to the Wish Queen. Or the Fish Queen. Or the Squish Queen.

Make up a ritual.

Burn it.

Shred it.

Bury it.

Crumple it.

Sing it. Dance it. Hum it. Wear it.

Or write a letter to your letter and ask it what it would like you to do with it. Meta-wackiness FTW!

Comment zen for today.

Letters are sensitive things.

As are elephants, holes, secret things and houses.

So we speak softly. We don’t throw shoes. We wear our invisible crowns. We remember that our stuff is our stuff and that everyone is entitled to stuff and to having it.

And that this post doesn’t come with shoulds. So if you’re picking up on any, they’re probably yours.

I might write them a letter. But you don’t have to unless you want to. Promise.

The Fluent Self