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Last letters from the living dead man

Chapter 34: LETTER XXVIII A RITUAL OF FELLOWSHIP
By David Patterson Hatch
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About This Book

A series of automatic letters and essays purportedly transmitted from a departed communicator, offering reflections on the afterlife, spiritual guidance, and social renewal. The pieces move between personal counsel and broad commentary on war, national unity, and moral responsibilities, proposing ideals such as world federation, collective spiritual labor, and an emerging age of higher consciousness. Interwoven are meditations on grief, ritual fellowship, unseen guardians, and practical exhortations for ethical living and communal reconstruction after crisis.

LETTER XXVIII
A RITUAL OF FELLOWSHIP

February 8, 1918.

I HAVE been waiting for you half an hour, as you sat sewing a seam and thinking of your friends in France. It warms the heart now to think of France. The tie between the two great republics is being drawn closer and closer.

Shall I tell you an occult secret? The French mixed their blood with ours long ago, and we have loved them ever since. We are now mixing our blood with the blood of France, and France will love us in the days that are to come.

It is a ritual of fellowship, that mixing of blood. English and French and Americans and Italians, Irish, Scotch, and all the others. Is there not a foundation for brotherhood? The blended blood cries from the ground for love.

I see in the eyes of the French their feeling for our men as they march by, or help in the little ways to which American boys are accustomed. Never again will they look upon us as queer people from beyond the sea.

We have travelled in their country and spent our money and swaggered and talked through our noses; but now we are living and dying with them, and we are brothers of mixed blood.

Yes, go back to France when you can. They always loved you because you loved them, but now you will see that they also love your native land.