Dear Mother:
In the center of the universe is a tree and from that tree extends a big branch hanging over the Well of Fate. I spent one hundred days trudging uphill through the frigid cold of the universe to reach the tree. I shed my sack, climbed the tree, crawled onto the branch and hung upside down. I was suspended over a swirling abyss – the bubbling waters of Fate. Every event of human life was down there. Every possibility. For humans and for the gods every event was out of our control. We were victims and pawns of the tidal movement in the Well of Fate.
For eight days I went without food or water as I was suspended. I was seeking that which plagued me. My ordeal. Lack of power over my life and others. I had grown very weak and tired. I was prepared to die to get what I wanted.
On the ninth day of weakness, despair, and fervent praying something spat up from the Well. I caught it. It was a small stone with a letter on it. I was confused but excited. I placed it my small bag. More stones shot up. On the tenth day, nothing more came from the Well. I climbed down from the tree and went to my sack where there was food and water. When I had slaked my thirst and hunger, I crossed the universe and went to my cave by the molten silver sea.
I played with the stones and lined them up. I created words. I created sentences. To create is a lonely endeavor. I spoke to no one.
I created a poem about love and was able to obtain a lover. I created a poem about death and was able to destroy my enemy. I created a poem about war and was able to get men to fight each other.
The stones were power. I had power. Words were power. I was now in control of fate. By creating sentences I created possibilities. There was no end. I could create new worlds. I could recite my words and change the minds of men.
On the hundredth day of possessing the stones, I could no longer create. I bashed the walls of my cave. My power slacked. I lost confidence. My lover left me. I had so many new enemies.
I fled my cave and now walk the kingdoms hoping one day I will have the power of words again.
Perhaps if I suffer once again…I will go back to the Well. If I die then I die. If I survive, I will visit you mother and perhaps as mother and son we can wield power and change the minds of men.
Yours Truly,
Odin