(from Chapter 5) I really get bored with the
outside, because there's never anything to do except look
around. Nature is so messy, especially after a rain. There
is mud splashed up on the sidewalk, wet soggy leaves and
twigs have fallen everywhere, and the the street mail, what
little there is in a neighborhood like this, is
ruined. But the street-mail thing is
authentic, I can vouch for it. It's one of those things in
life that are based on the premise that you have nothing to
lose, like Pascal's theory about believing in God: you might
as well, because if there is a God, then you're covered; if
not, what's it matter? Who's to care? It's the same thing
with street mail. In this world of infinite possibilities,
countless permutation (of course I'm not crazy -- this is
the language of a sane person) and multiple choice, there is
a chance that there is no chance. I mean, what have you got to lose?
If you don't believe in this theory, you simply have the
regular litter of the world around you. If you do believe in
it, you have street mail, personally addressed to you. Paper
clips mean you should be collecting something, tying up
loose ends, making some kind of connection between things. I
usually find a paper clip when I feel that my world is
coming apart, or a straight pin will say the same thing,
since that's a masculine paper clip. Money is clearly and
simply a reward, always showing the true worth of any job
that you've recently completed. I always find money when I
clean the house; for example, sometimes two cents in the
bottom of the washing machine, a quarter in the couch
cushion, a nickel when I weed. God does not believe in
minimum wage, of course, and remember, you can find street
mail everywhere -- inside as well as outside. Book markers
and holy cards are inspirational, and reading other people's
marketing lists and unpaid bills is an important way of
finding a common denominater in the human condition. Mittens
and winter hats are the way God takes care of you -- you
just pick them up and wash them, and you're warm -- remember
the lilies and the birds never needing to buy clothes? If
you happen to see a lot of the same thing drifting by,
bottle caps or rubber bands, for instance, and you can't see
any reason for picking them up and yet you can't get over
how many of these things you see, then it's simply a
metaphoric message about something very particular to your
life and you just have to file it away until you make some
sense of it. God loves to hide behind a metaphor. Being sensitive to street mail
makes you look at life as if it were a game in which you
have an active role and the clues to your next move are
always right there in front of you. You simply have to learn
how to read them. But you must never try to force the game
along -- the best thing you can do is to ask for a new piece
of mail when you're needing some direction and then promise
that you'll read it and abide by it when it
comes.
----------------------------------------------
[Editor's
note: Now, since I'm also the writer and I'm actually
typing this in by hand, just for you, I'm going to skip
over the parts that continue to develop the gripping
story line and move right into the definition, which I
invented. True. I always walk with my head
down.]
• email • Street Mail • Shadow Lawn Press • Cleaning House • Perforated Lines •
all verbiage
©
Nancy
Hayfield Birnes
