And you knew it the minute you saw him. It was in his eyes, the way they looked right at you.
It was in what he said. And didn’t.
Not wasting words for trivialities or trifles. In what he did. He had a point of view, and a purpose. Because he knew that, in the great and grand scheme of things, our time is short.
So we’d better get on with waking up. To treat our moments like they won’t come again.
I hadn’t seen him in a long time. He’d lost his way awhile back, amongst the bramble and brush of taking trains and making meetings and checking his carry-on bags. And, yet, here he was again.
To share his simple truth. That we were born to be awake. To notice our hands.
But if, instead, we choose to sleep. To let it all go by, with distant horns honking and children faintly laughing in the playground outside our closed window, while we turn off the alarm and lay our heads back down into the pocket of our pillow. Then we have also chosen not to care.
I met a man today who reminded me of this. He spoke with passion, and compassion. As if he’d recently faced his own failure. And somehow found the will to start again. His words were water to my parched lips. Funny thing was, after awhile, I realized that I’d seen him somewhere before. And then, after a long and careful breath, I realized something else.
I realized that man was me.
Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.
