Unwritten Letters: The Correspondence That Never Was. By Abir Hayet

Context: An imagined letter from Nikola Tesla to Leonardo da Vinci, reflecting on their shared struggles as visionaries and contemplating a potential collaboration across time.

My Dearest Maestro Leonardo,

I write to you not as a mere admirer of your genius, but as a fellow wanderer lost in the vast wilderness of creation. As I sit in my laboratory, surrounded by the hum of coils and the crackle of electric arcs, I find myself yearning for a kindred spirit

someone who understands the burden of seeing too far beyond the horizon, where others dare not gaze.

Your "Vitruvian Man" once captivated me, a symbol of the perfect harmony between art and science, the divine proportion that you so masterfully captured in ink and parchment. It speaks to the core of my own pursuits: to bring light to the darkest corners of existence, to reveal the hidden symmetries that bind the universe together. Yet, for all the brilliance of my machines, I cannot help but feel the weight of loneliness, the isolation that comes from dwelling in realms few can comprehend.

In you, Leonardo, I see a reflection of my own struggles. You, who dissected cadavers by candlelight to understand the mechanics of life; you, who sketched flying machines long before the skies were conquered by man. We both have faced the limits of our times, pushing against the boundaries of what was deemed possible, only to be met with skepticism, misunderstanding, and, at times, outright hostility.

What might we have accomplished together, dear Leonardo? I imagine a collaboration that would have bridged centuries, fusing your mastery of form with my command over energy. Picture a city illuminated not just by the sun, but by a symphony of light, where your mechanical birds soar above, powered by the same currents that drive my wireless transmissions. A place where art and technology intertwine so seamlessly that one cannot distinguish where the hand of the artist ends and the mind of the scientist begins.

But more than inventions, it is the pursuit of truth that binds us. You sought it in the contours of the human body, the flight of birds, the flow of water. I seek it in the invisible forces that govern the universe, the unseen patterns of energy that shape our reality. Yet, in this pursuit, we are both haunted by the same specter doubt. For every breakthrough, there is a lingering question: Have we gone too far? Have we glimpsed something that was not meant to be seen?

There are moments, Leonardo, when I wish I could step back from the precipice. When the light of my own discoveries feels blinding, not illuminating. You must have felt this too, as you stood before your unfinished canvases, knowing that no brushstroke could ever truly capture the divine. It is a cruel paradox, to be driven by an insatiable curiosity, yet always to be left yearning for more.

I recently uncovered one of your lesser-known works, a sketch of a machine that seems to defy the very laws of physics as we understand them. A perpetual motion device, perhaps? Or simply a flight of fancy, an idea not yet ready to take form? I cannot help but wonder if, in your time, you glimpsed a future where such a machine might exist perhaps powered by forces not yet discovered in your era. This discovery has inspired me to revisit my own experiments, to explore avenues I had once abandoned as mere fantasies.

Your notes, so meticulously detailed, reveal a mind that was both analytical and wildly imaginative. You saw the world not just as it was, but as it could be a vision I share. And yet, like you, I have often found myself misunderstood, my ideas dismissed as impractical or impossible by those who lack the imagination to see beyond the present.

There is a certain kinship I feel with you, Leonardo, as though we are two sides of the same coin separated by time, yet united in our quest to uncover the mysteries of the universe. We are both, I believe, haunted by the same question: What is the true purpose of our work? Is it to leave behind a legacy, a testament to our genius? Or is it something more profound, more elusive a desire to connect with the divine, to touch the infinite, if only for a fleeting moment?

I cannot help but think that if we had met in life, we would have recognized in each other a shared destiny. Perhaps we would have found solace in our shared loneliness, comfort in the knowledge that we were not alone in our struggles. Or perhaps we would have clashed, our egos too large to coexist in the same space. But I like to think that we would have collaborated, creating something truly extraordinary an invention or a work of art that would have changed the course of history.

And yet, even as I dream of what might have been, I am reminded of the limitations of our respective times. You lived in an age of discovery, when the world was still largely unknown and the possibilities seemed endless. I live in an age of industry, where progress is measured by the speed of machines and the profits they generate. In such a world, it is easy to lose sight of the true purpose of our work to seek knowledge, to uncover the truth, to illuminate the darkness.

As I conclude this letter, I find myself contemplating the idea of legacy not just the physical artifacts we leave behind, but the ideas, the dreams, the visions that transcend time. Perhaps, Leonardo, our greatest invention is not a machine or a work of art, but the inspiration we offer to those who come after us. In that sense, we are both immortal, our influence echoing through the ages, shaping the future in ways we can scarcely imagine.

So, my dear Maestro, let us continue our work, separated by time but united in spirit. Let us push the boundaries of what is possible, not for the sake of fame or fortune, but for the sheer joy of discovery. Let us create a world where light and art, science and imagination, blend together in perfect harmony a world that future generations will look upon with wonder and awe.

With the deepest respect and admiration,

Nikola Tesla