LETTER… Rabindranath Tagore and Seong Sam-mun

Farewell my friends. Fare thee well.

What shall Christmas become when I am dead and gone?

Will there be mountains of empty shelves in storehouses all over the world heralding the birth of desolation and the death of dreams?

As logic beats the drums for the end of my much-storied life in all but your memories

As you discover that when the sun sets on this chapter of the Akashic Records there will be no light to guide your giving-forth to a better world

What for you shall Christmas become?

Fare Thee well. Farewell My Friends.

I have been as necessary to the churn of the marketplace as I have been to the expression of love’s longing for itself through giftings made in my name I have been as important to the making of friendships and families as I have been to the milking of opportunity by scamps and scammers I have been as vital to human beings as I have been to human doings.

Fare Thee well. Farewell My Friends.

Where do dream merchants go to when they die?

Do they go down? down below? or up? up in the sky?

My hope is … that when you think of me the detritus caused by my demise does not become the fodder for recurring nightmares.

Fare Thee well. Farewell My Friends. We have followed the course laid down by Three Magi across near three millennia through Myra to the Lapland and North Pole and now the desert of this New Judea.

We have kept watch in the fields over the dark night of soul.

Have No regrets. Even though no angels will come to herald the occasion. About my execution in the name of the Gods of reasoning there should be no pain.

For the artificially intelligent realities of ever-present joy in the metaverse are forever available at the push of a button Like the soundtracks of the bells of reindeers long extinct except for at the holodecks of theme parks where snowcaps are made by machines And the cryogenically-frozen advance guards winging their way through time to the far reaches of Alpha Centauri will awaken with my postcards in their memory pockets.

Fare Thee well. Farewell My Friends.

To those dear hearts who have loved and cared for me through the millennia wrapping gifts that swaddled the wellwishes for those whom you loved as well as those whom you wished you could love

To the ones that kept me going over the past centuries holding me up as a symbol of the good and the holy even as machine learning laid waste to mystery and the children began to stop believing in magic

To those who have stood steadfast by my story trying valiantly to keep our soul fires burning even as our world has become hells of our creation and our technology has overcome our humanity. Do not cry for me. I do not need your tears. All I need are your smiles. Arising from the memories that like stars cannot be extinguished.

Fare thee well. Farewell my friends. Where do dream merchants go to when they die? Do they go down? down below? or up? Up in the sky?

My hope is… that when you think of me the smiles engendered by my light become the song-lines for your everconstant dreams of peace and goodwill... and the torch for your transfiguration.

And I will live.

I, the dream merchant, will live. For as long as you live.

Farewell My Friends. Fare thee well. St. Nicholas aka Santa Claus