Subject: Re: raindrop
From: "Hunter Biden" <[email-masked]>
To: "Benjamin Phelan" <[email-masked]>
Date: Wed, 22 Jul 2015 14:31:23 -0400

So can I send you things I'm writing privately - it is cathartic for me:

"It's always hot in my memory. 
And the road is hot and the car and the seats and the leather and my shoes and his hands are like ice and silk and he puts them on my fore head and he laughs and I tell him this story as I drink straight from  the bottle about how when we we were in Portland I would ride the Bus and he's be there and I'd pretend he was in the seat next to me and I'd write him letters about how I thought he was silly to love JFK – no Kennedy has ever been loyal never except for Vicki – the real Kennedy’s would sell you down the river in a minute – I said you need to be a Roosevelt not a an FDR but a stand up straight and brave and crazy audacious buffalo killing swamp swimming house building death chasing Roosevelt that should be us that should be who we are but wait no we have no money so we will be the brothers who do it all like pioneers like Lewis an Clark and we will be tragic and we will be always fighting and taking the wrong fork and facing the Sioux nation in a tiny canoe together alone with the rest of those that would follow and see our bison and not  get flayed alive but be alive and sad and big and small and petty and see prairie dogs and moose and men with feathers in their hair and the Eagles soar above the grizzly and the salmon teem at the river head at the end of the trail in the now Oregon. And I'd ride the bus by myself across the river and he would be alone in Syracuse and I'd think he is  like Techumsa and I am like Red Cloud  and we will stand against all the world he is like sitting Bull and I am Crazy horse and the bear and the eagle and the love and the sky and all that is below and then just there at the horizon I am we were the lake the green sometimes good and blue and when we’d sit long enough the orange and perfect sky and the hills and wheat and winter and summer corn days and fir trees and ferns  and the way he’d hold my arm and feel the feet of the docks and the rocks in the little cove of the lake and I'd say we are not Kennedys we are bigger than all of them and we are not Roosevelts and we have no name we are Finnegans we are Bidens and cobblers and the boys that derailed the train and then rebuilt it and then we were who we are now exactly as a Hunter in Northern Ireland and the Biden  that hated him in Liverpool and we would be the end of all that is that line and the beginning and they would talk of us like they talked about the wars and the wind and the greatest games and the boxers and the boys who escaped and the ones who gave it all-  and you would take my hand and squeeze it and I’d be alone on the number 9 bus. You'd say it's ok and it's just 30 days and I'd think oh you have no idea how much I've needed to rest from our adventure – we have navigated the Missouri and fought Grizzlies and seen the Eagle as big as a man land upon the back of a bear, and we gave speeches and we discovered new lands and we had so many adventures- we had this and you hold my hand in the big car and I Stop laughing and turn serious to you and you driving and me crying and it is not drama it is love – I look and I say please please please never leave me and you do and you do and you are gone."

RHB
202.333.1880

> On Jul 22, 2015, at 12:54 AM, Benjamin Phelan <[email-masked]> wrote:
> 
> Amen
> 
>> On Tue, Jul 21, 2015 at 8:35 PM, Hunter Biden <[email-masked]> wrote:
>> "And for every moment we think-
>> We breathe and the air
>> Is but a taste of God
>> What God
>> And the moment fades 
>> Who is God but you
>> Like the sun that fades 
>> And how is it that we do not see the rain 
>> As our tears and the rain as the sea
>> A torrent of all that is inside and about us
>> And then 
>> And the whole of it 
>> All in the whole of it
>> 
>> Always the whole of it 
>> Like a finger to a gods' lips Or what is that image that you know that knows you
>> That says yes this is all This is everything
>> This 
>> The whole of it
>> 
>> And I am Him and Her and She Me and My Brother and My love and all love and this it the whole of it in the sand and the air and the water and in the trees
>> 
>> And all of the trees and the sound of cicadas and the
>> Slip of my tongue against the lip of water 
>> And the wet 
>> And that is the whole of it all of it in that moment in that moment and in that whole of all of the whole of it."
>> 
>> 
>> 
>> RHB
>> 202.333.1880
>> 
>>> On Jul 21, 2015, at 10:46 PM, Benjamin Phelan <[email-masked]> wrote:
>>> 
>>> 
>>> For the raindrop, joy is in entering the river -
>>> unbearable pain becomes its own cure.
>>> 
>>> Travel far enough into sorrow and tears become sighing;
>>> in this way we learn how water can die into air.
>>> 
>>> When, after heavy rain, the stormclouds disperse,
>>> is it not that they've wept themselves clear to the end?
>>> 
>>> It is the rose's unfolding that creates the desire to see;
>>> in every color and circumstance may the eyes be open
>>> for what comes. 
>>>                                                                          - Chalip
>=2