To the nouns, unforeseen strangers of my life – people, places and things that has profoundly impacted my life positively, thank you!
As life offers a host of simplicities and complexities, it is certain that it can’t be lived in a linear fashion because it’s to great not to be encountered and explored as a roller coaster of passion.
So to write a letter or poem to a singular stranger is very difficult to do as the nouns of our daily lives, people who may touch our souls, a discovered place that elevates our hearts and minds and the many splendid things yet to unravel, it’s a safe bet to roll the dice of life, guaranteed to be peppered with spice!

On May 26, 2023 in the ladies room of the Union square station in Washington DC, I nervously approached you while you were washing your hands and asked for your help. I explained how I had come to Washington for a weekend visit with a friend and he was behaving strangely. I was feeling uncomfortable and needed to get away from him. I gave you his description and asked if you would discreetly check if he was anywhere around so that I could leave the restroom without him noticing me. You agreed and went out to check, when you didn’t return right away, I was sure you left and changed your mind. I wouldn’t have blamed you, if you had. When you returned, you explained how you checked thoroughly and he was nowhere in sight. After confirming he wasn’t around, I took a deep breath and you walked out with me. Thank you!! I was afraid and in a state I had never been before, your help made it possible for me to find safety. Thank you for wishing me well and hoping that I get home safe. I am back home in NYC and I will never forget how you were there for me that day, the way you showed up for a stranger. I cannot thank you enough! What you did for me was huge and I am forever grateful.

Warm regards,
The girl you helped

Dear Samurai,

You are a stranger to me, long dead, from the 14th century. I found your words in The Book of Runes my lover once gave to me. On page 87.

I don’t know what it is that I truly believe, but your anonymous ancient words act as a role model now for me. Those twenty one statements: I say them every morning. Or try to. I know them by heart, the words of your Warrior’s Creed. Here, let me show you what they mean to me.

I have no parents. Neither do you. I make the heaven and earth my parents. So do I. For all of us, this is true. How far back do we want to take the blame in our ancestral roots? Go far enough, and we all decay back into dust and starlight from whence we came. So why carry onward with the shame, falling down a spiral staircase of incestral traumatic name: human nature? Our progenitors made mistakes; so will we. Look to the mountains and sunset to let go of a legacy of resentments. Your creed makes this apparent.

I have no home; I make awareness my home. Stay present. Enough said. That is where I must live to be content. The past can be shameful, the future: anxious.

I have no life or death; I make the tides of breathing my life and death. I’m still meditating, Sensei, on this. But I understand it has to do with emptiness and fullness, and acceptance of both conditions.

I have no divine power; I make honesty my divine power. I make the most happen when I am authentic. Beyond this, I hold no sway over others–unless I’m living in my head.

I have no means; I make understanding my means. Ah, yes: an admonishment against arrogance in favor of patience, or so I’ve taken it to mean (pun intended). When a person explains something to me, and I find myself in a hurry, feeling “ever so impatient,” I try not to say “I know,” anymore, but instead: “Yes, I understand.” In other words, don’t prove you’ve heard; demonstrate you’ve listened. I do wish I’d known and understood this earlier in life, Sensei, but I’m glad I finally got there.

I have no magic secrets; I make character my magic secret. Every day I work on this, in life and in my writing. Your words remind me, Dear Samurai, too look at my and others’ motivation. There is magic in not having (m)any secrets. Like I said, it’s a work in progress. It’s not like–

I have no body; I make endurance my body. In my century, Sensei, some people say “pain is weakness leaving the body,” but this line of your creed reminds me that accepting and opening oneself to pain and injury through vulnerability can move us through every ache–physical or psychological–that we have. We endure because we love, and to make ourselves stronger to keep loving. I try to see the truth of this, even when blinded by rage.

I have no eyes; I make the flash of lightning my eyes. Put quite simply, I take this to mean that what all we “perceive” is but a fractured, fractaled fraction of a much larger landscape. We may take heed of every bolt without trusting its singular vantage unequivocally. In a storm, we are all seeing things. So I won’t rely on what is only an instant and only clear for me. The thunder can be heard by nearly everybody–whether or not the flash is seen.

I have no ears; I make sensibility my ears. Sure enough, Dear Samurai, sounds like common sense to me.

I have no limbs; I make promptness my limbs. I’m getting around to writing about this one, I’ll get back to you, I promise.

And that’s just the first ten, Ancient Stranger! So much I’ve learned from bringing you into my daily rituals with repetition. Each line is a novel, an epic unto itself. Their meaning grows each day I live, with every new (or tedious) experience. My life is changed because of this. Some days one rings through my head or reflects my situation yet again:

I have no designs; I make “seize opportunity by the forelock” my design. Precisely, yes! Like this letter itself, and the prompt emailed out of the blue inviting me to write it. Act when the chance arises, and that still, small voice inside whispers “go ahead.” And so here we are: this letter of appreciation and reflection now exists. All because I act on your words, Dear Samurai, whenever they ring through my head and wring an idea out of there, by the tongue or by the pen!

I have no strategy; I make “unshadowed by thought” my strategy. No expectations! They lead to assumptions and disappointment. Control is an illusion. Whenever I’m sure I have it or am convinced I can exert it over others–I’m going to end up hurt or hurting–unless I meditate instead. Whenever I attempt to intend too much, and I force an outcome, the result is never what I meant. Go ahead and plan; the Source will laugh and dash it all to bits.

I have no miracles; I make right action my miracles. Wish in one hand…or pray with both? That’s not how the saying goes, but I know this one is true every time I Face Everything And Respond instead of react with avoidance. Every “miracle” I’ve experienced was really me re-aligning and getting back to what I already knew needed to be done or NOT done.

I have no principles; I make adaptability to all circumstances my principles. Resistance is futile. Just adjust to reality and find your flow along with it. Join the harmony; ride the current. Insisting on principles is a recipe for judgment; the principal has an office already for that, where frequently I was told–

I have no talents; I make Ready Wit my talents. The proof is in the poetry you’ve moved me to. Enough said. I do hope you like it, but luckily, you’re dead. Only I have to. (And maybe the readers of this intriguing writing contest). Does one ever really know one’s audience? I’d be on the fence, before I read your words, scheming to be The Best, but by now, I’m sure you know–

I have no tactics; I make emptiness and fullness my tactics. Back to the breath. It seems so trite, so New Age, so obvious, but really: it’s how we all start and end. It’s the part of us all that is both automatic and fully-conscious. Unlike our thoughts, we can control it. So now I wait to understand the top and bottom of each cycle, instead of racing around to plan. Plus, there is always also what my Marine Corps father (modern Samurai, if you will, Sensei) always said: “amateurs talk tactics; professionals talk logistics.” I try to trust the circumstances and my own resources these days. You and Dad were both right about that. But all this “knowing” can come at a cost, you know, because at times, I find–

I have no friends; I make my mind my friend. Or try to, at least. But I find this line frequently to be the hardest to accept. I want to rely on others, then feel pain, grief, and anger when my trust and faith feel betrayed, pushing my thoughts to dark places. In the shadows of isolation and old narratives, my mind is NOT my friend. (See, again: Breath, Meditation. Look forward to: Acceptance, Mercy.) An old lady bard once said that one of those had qualities that were “unrestrained,” but I’ve found too, that Grace can be merciless, because every time I believe that–

I have no enemies; I make carelessness my enemy. And I wind up hurting myself again. I get swindled or sloshed or simply stop paying attention. Neglect is the true enemy of any one of us–both feeling and doing it. Abandonment makes assholes of all of us, and in having that in common, we ought to all be friends. Not a “bad apple” among us except for Indifference–humanity’s eternal, infernal arch-nemesis. We all cope in our own ways: we deny, we self-medicate, we project. It is only human to want to defend our Self. Our Ego evolved to protect, to shield us from abuse and neglect, but:

I have no armor; I make benevolence and righteousness my armor. I can shield my Self with respect. Honor boundaries set, and dignity will be met with dignity. That is its own reward. I lose only when I expect, but there is nothing to protect.

I have no castle; I make immovable mind my castle. Don’t let it get to you. Breathe, meditate. Yet again. No need to take up arms, to justify or otherwise pretend I am a warrior (even with a bokken or jo in hand). Because the truth is, that up until a couple of years ago, I never knew you, Stranger. I had no sword back then (neither steel nor pen). But that’s alright. I can accept that, since:

I have no sword; I make “absence of Self” my sword. This one feels BY FAR the most important to me. Since I began saying your creed, Samurai, slowly, the world of conflict has shifted for me. I’ve learned the best option is to simply not engage, instead of inviting every battle inside me to wage war without as well. My sense of “self” cannot be injured if I choose to let go of it (every now and then). Ego injures us; with us, it injures others–but it only ever sees itself as a sword, cutting to protect. Your words and my own martial training have taught me the truth of this: conflict is only ever the necessary option when I am focused on my Self and not the Common Human Experience of my nemesis as well. Friction is resolved if together we can blend.

And so your Warrior’s Creed feels “heaven-sent” even if it only ever was “happenstance.” I’ll take the synchronicity and the lessons held therein. Your words have so inspired me, Dear Samurai, I even made my very own version, with a few twists:

I have no teeth – I make poetry my teeth.
I have no heart – I make music my heart.
I have no gut – I make intuition my gut.

I have no love – I make orbit my L.ocally O.ptimized V.ibrational E.ntanglement
I have no anger – I make the thunder my anger.
I have no envy – I make liquid magma my envy.
I have no shame – I make the shade my shame.

I have no judgment – I make the sun my judgment.
I have no pride – I make the tide my pride.
I have no obligation – I make my Self my obligation.
I have no purpose – I make service my purpose.

I have no fear – I make my fear my teacher.
I have no blame – I make my blame its own name.
I have no pain – I make my pain all the same; I make it my experience.
I have no mind – I make my mind free in release.

I have no freedom – I make freedom from discernment.
I have no balance – I make integration my balance.
I have no answers – I make the Source my answer.

I have no possessions – I make life my possession.
I have no loss – I make my losses abundant.
I have no joy – I make my joy the moment.
I have no force – I make my force a conduit.

My version is for a Warrior Poet. I hope that’s not too arrogant, Sensei. Thank you for having walked the path. I’m glad I found your way. I’ve become my better Self as I still walk it, shedding who I am NOT. And I never had to know you to become you. We are all Anonymous. I live now with another sense of purpose: to leave wise words behind like you that another may find–and do with what they will.

Arigato,
A Future Follower (too bad you never got to see Instagram, for real)