basically, definitely one. But human beings cannot do that; and they shouldn't even try. We all know . . . at least, we should try to remember that there will come a day when the closest of us must be parted. We arrive completely alone, into this crazy old world; and just as alone, we are expected to go forth from it. We humans cannot merge; we cannot be one with another human being. We are alone; separate entities; and anything else goes against our most precious possession, our individuality. I cannot be you; and you cannot be me. I belong to myself; and my thoughts belong to me; any possession of either me or my thoughts constitutes an infringement on my rights as a human being. We may share; but we cannot.. must not possess. There is a secret place in each of us, where we are completely alone at all times. And this is as it should be. We are not metals, we are not shrubbery; we are not gasses, or liquids, or chemicals. We are human beings. Created separately. Intended to remain that way.

Now, as far as the heartache is concerned... let's take a look at that to see what really is. It certainly must be false, because it is the outgrowth of a false supposition to begin with... the erroneous idea that any human being can be incorporated into another human being. It stems from selfish possessiveness; and not from love. Real, true love stands away from its object, blessing it, hoping for the best, urging it upward and onward; loving it. The one who knows real love cannot sit weeping. The very surge and beauty of love raises anyone to heights of joy! Even in the face of death, true love can sing! Because true love has only joy and singing to bring to us. True love knows only gladness. And even though it may have only a memory left, it is joyous, because it is real. Only false love. selfishness. can sit and mourn. When we are not glad for our love, whether it be past or present, we do not know love. The little child runs to his mother crying: "Me first! Me first!" And the mother smiles at him, indulgently; and when he bursts into tears, the mother consoles him tenderly. Why? Because he is a little child, and knows no better. If a grown son acted in the same manner, the mother would seek professional help for him; and she would be justified. Only the mature feeling is true love; and only the mature-minded person can know this feeling. (Remember that maturity has nothing to do with the years that a person has lived. Some of us never attain it; and some others seem to have been born that way!!) We who sit around weeping because our loves have flown. resemble the small child, whose only thought is for himself. If we sorrowing ones would only raise our heads, and wipe the tears of self-pity from our eyes, we would realize what an illusion heartache really is! And we would realize, also, that weeping, or feeling sorry for ourselves in any way, is a waste of good, God-given time: hours of our lives, flowing away; hours that could certainly be put to use in many constructive ways, that would benefit us a lot more than weeping. Besides, weeping, or being hurt, or sorry for ourselves, or resentful, or sad, has never in the history of the world changed anything. And that feeling we may have, gnawing at our grief-stricken hearts, is not caused by love; it is created out of angry frustration, that we cannot have our own way. And it is the height of selfishness! We are like the little child crying: "Me first! Me first!"

Well, so much for that. When are you coming home, darling? You know I dislike my own cooking; and eating out is so expensive. Besides. I miss you terribly. Sometimes, I feel like a part of me is . . . . What am I saying? Anyway, please come on home.

Love,

Jay.

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