It's just my body (not my soul) that is weary...
So that is my final task: to forge my soul on the page. I may die before I finish. Or I may risk all on the page and find that my skill is wanting; that the story implodes on itself. But if I fail in this task, I will do so in obscurity.
Because you sit where you sit, you don't have that luxury.
If the rosy scenario comes to pass? The people will know, by dint of your honesty, that you are neither above nor below but of them.
And if worse continues to lead to worse? If tens of millions find themselves living at the extremes of deprivation and want? And you've retained your credibility?
The dreams you've resurrected may still be realized. Realized in ways and to a degree that would be unlikely during less uncertain times.
You'll be able to protect us, protect the children, from those who would prey upon fear and unleash violent thought, language and deed.
And as this economic Katrina continues to strengthen? As the people become increasingly aware that economic security is not a birthright? And are overwhelmed by a sense of vulnerability?
As the people walk through the fire together, the differences so artfully exploited by your predecessor will assume their proper perspective. And compassion may well fill the void. Shared adversity has a way of doing that.
And after the worst has passed, Mr. President? And the people, having been tempered by the fire, emerge stronger and more compassionate? Emerge with a visceral understanding of what it means to be dispossessed?
That, Mr. President, is when your vision may be realized. For the people who revealed a desire to serve at the outset of your candidacy, during times of relative prosperity, will still be here when the fire is extinguished. But the people will not be the same. They'll be more able and willing to answer your call. And their progeny will learn through their example.
This is not to say that the fire is pleasant. At times it's excruciating. I know that well. At times I want nothing more than to escape, and it is only faith that sustains me. Faith in God, yes, but also in man. Indeed, as I approach the River's edge, the distinction between divinity without and divinity within seems merely to be one of choice. And a simple choice at that: towards violence or towards compassion.
This is your hour, Mr. President.
I, like you, am both a child of God and a member of the body politic. And as I ready myself to leave this bittersweet world, I want you to know that it affords me much peace to know that you are the President. A President who quietly rescued the Constitution. Who can forge the nation's soul if the need arises. And who re-ignited the flame of hope and compassion months before the general election. A flame that was muted but not extinguished some forty years ago.
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