Here are some of John's things, mainly letters to the Old Man. California called hard for the recent winter, and I went out a few weeks ahead of the Stonestudy outfit. John intended to follow within three weeks, but overturned a kettle of boiling water in his lap, and was unable to leave his quarters for three times that period. We all learned better the hard lesson—to wait. The quoted word "Play" in his first letter refers to a little slip of paper which I had pasted upon my typewriter. There has been a big tendency in recent months, in my case, to let down all tension in relation to literary production—the idea being that when one has learned all the laws he is capable of, the time is at hand when it is well to forget them. I have written several times throughout this book of an ideal emergence of Workman into Player. We learn many laws, to learn at last that there are none. We come up through many slaveries to freedom.... I have not corrected all the spelling in John's documents. The point most interesting is how the real voice breaks through the mind of a child of nine from time to time.
Dear Younervers[4] Pal:
We got your letter but it was not like you for it was not type-written. Your old machine here is going grand. I am using it now. It seems that I am with you all the time. Comrad has meant a lot the last four days to me. Comrad is everything in the New Race. Masters will be comrads with every one.
That "Play" has it all, on your machine. "Play" is in all somewhere. It is all like a big page and everything is woven on it. There is a time when Comrads hafto go apart for a little while, but not long. Their thoughts never go apart. They are always pulling together, always weaving in thoughts and things that are the same. It is wounderful—a parting. No sadness over it. It is the best that could come, or it would not. We are held together. The pull of the world is nothing to us.
It is hard to keep high, but we will. Fred[5] and I take a swim every day. I go a hundred and fifty feet. Then we come up and rub each other.
True Comrads have it all. Love from Comrad to Comrad.
Pal:
I woke up this morning kind of blurred, and got Irving and Steve to come out and clean up the barn. They came and we worked there all morning, and then went in for a swim. It was wounderful, the feel I had when I got some clean clothes on and had the old dog[6] feeling good. He is meditating over what a wounderful world it is now. The stall smells sweet as a hay-stack.
Fred just got here and is working at your desk.
How was your morning? I never had a better one, and its the weary old Sabbath, too.
Send for me soon now. It seems that it was a year since we have been together. We can not do without each other. Send for me Soon. I hold my hand high to you.
Dear Old Magic Fath:
I am at Steve's desk in the guest room. It is the first time that I have touched the keys of a type writer since the night I was berned. It sure does feel good.
It has been much more wonderful to hafto have Patience for the Meeting. It will be twice as great for both. I have needed you so since I have been in bed. In pane and sicknes there is nothing that you need so much as your Comrad.
I felt palms up to everything. It is all good. We love it all. It all was something for us to get. It puts us higher after something comes to us like that.
I have all the pores poring out love to you. We are always together.
Your Side Kiker.
Dear Old Pal:
Fred and I slept again in the Study. It looked like a storm last night, but it did not come. Fred is a real Comrad. I got to his heart last night. I do not know how. The roses have been wounderful the last few days.
How is wounderful Mary? We are all sending Thoughts to you. We have had wounderful full days lately, all heat. The town is howling for rain now; they are never satisfied. We are always ready for anything. It is the best. Our wounderful old mailtrain just crossed the magic lane. I love trains more and more. They have a pull to my heart. We love everything.
I do not feel on erth. I feel in space. Out of the draw of the erth—Free.
Love always in my heart for you. I hold hard for the time that Comrads pull together again for the road, us two. Jane is at my hump all the time—so I will quit.
Dear Old Comrad:
We are close this morning. I can feel your warm wounderful hand in mine this morning. We are one. There is the holy breath—such a great pull of thoughts and work to California. It seems as if all the Comrads were calling me there. Then I hafto think of the one thing—Patience. When you have mastered Patience, you are free. All well here. My sores are getting better fast. I have wanted to work lots lately, since I was in bed, but I could not. I lost so many ideas in bed. Beds are a curse. I love you, Comrad. We need to be together.
Your old Pal.