casi cielo

Oliver Windell Holmes Jr

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I met a man this morning on the lightrail in Portland. Except they don’t call it the lightrail. Just like they don’t use umbrellas. Things are different here. But that’s extraneous to this story. This man told me I could sit next to him, that he wouldn’t bite. I laughed a little under my breath, smiled and sat down.

That awkward silence when no one says anything when you’re pretty much snuggling on a public train because the seats are the size of chairs from kindergarten…yeah that happened. Then he started a conversation, just small talk asking about where I was going (airport) , where I was from (Denver), what I was doing in Portland (Justice Conference), oh you work for the courts? No, social justice, human rights advocacy. Oh…

So, naturally, I asked where he was headed. He said to the grocery store and then he didn’t know, whatever the day held.

There was something terribly attractive about this man. Maybe it was the fact that he said he wouldn’t bite. Maybe it was that he was taking the “lightrail” to the grocery store. Maybe it was his stark, blue eyes that smiled even when he wasn’t. Maybe it was the freedom in his day, his lack of plans.

Then the conversation changed. I don’t know why he told me, but he said he was debating going to church. A friend had invited him to go for a while, but he was reluctant, resistant even. He hadn’t been in a year or so because of things people had done.

People. People will always do things.

I don’t know what I said. But I asked him about his story and told him a little of mine. Miles apart, years apart, we were in the same place. Coincidence? He didn’t think so. He said this morning he didn’t know what to do, but he did now. I don’t even know what I said, but he had clarity. Had I convinced this man to go back to the institution I myself was sick of? Turned off by? What had I done?

I didn’t want that man to get off the train. I’m Dove. (maybe Doug?) he held out his hand. I slipped my sheet white, freezing cold hand into his. I’m Laura. I was smiling. He said thank you, he was so glad to have met me even though we’d probably never see each other again. Then he stood up and shuffled through my luggage and got off the train. My mind was stunned. I heard a knock on the window and looked up just in time to see him smiling, hand out in a still wave, walking into his day.

I don’t know how to explain it, I didn’t feel anything the way people talk about feelings. It wasn’t any physical thing, I didn’t feel warm and fuzzy inside, no tingly sensation. But for the first time, I think in my life, I understood and experienced joy. (not a feeling) A connectedness with my mind and my soul. A connectedness to another person. Connection. Connect. Con. nect. C.o.n.n.e.c.t.

Simple word. Not simply done.

Yes, I know now that there is such thing as a soul. And a personal soul. My soul, Dove’s soul. I can’t get that image out of my mind—his hand reaching out, through the window. Thank you, Dove, for your story. For stretching mine.

Grungin’

couldn’t have said it better myself

I am thankful beyond words

I love these two

‘the cafe’ look is everything wonderful.

(via thatluciegirl)