His letter was a reply to one I had written him, in which I had been woefully bewailing my recent health crisis (described in Parts One, Two and Three of this series), mixed with a quietly shrieking angst over my impending fortieth birthday in February. My friend, the good Frater W., is nearing his 42-year mark (which, I recently found out, is traditionally one of the "multiple-of-seven'' crisis years in a man's lifetime).

In his letter, my friend described his current perception of his "vital powers" as waning, when, until recently, his perception of said powers had been one of a waxing. He referred to his fight against the "battle of the bulge", and his (I'm sure it's not as bad as he thinks) receding hairline. (He wrote that a receding hairline was explained by a biologist in his acquaintance as "nature's sign to other warriors that you are no longer of consequence.") He also (and rather rightfully so) pointed out sections of my rantings which smelled strongly of hubris.

I became inspired to reply, having recently had a few things confirmed about my gnosis of my own ideas, and also bolstered by the confidence I gained with a weekend's intense interaction with a new "brother in arms" who has recently burst into my life with hurricane-force psychic winds. While writing my reply letter, the things I had to say to my friend suddenly began to feel appropriate as the next statement in this tale. While this "appropriateness" may not be readily apparent now, it will be by the end of Part Five, next time. Trust me.

What follows is a judiciously edited version of my reply to my friend. Since I have taken care to protect his identity, and this information is stated as well as I have ever been able to state it, I respectfully pray his forgiveness at my posting of it here for all of humanity (at least, those of humanity who can afford access to the Silicon-Hearted Beast) to read, if such prayer is, indeed, necessary.