Of course<\/em>, I say and let you put the can down with my goods, and you put the green bottle back. Then we stand next to each other. I don't look at you. You don't look at me. We stand next to each other. No words, no glances. Yet the connection between us flows. Our breathing in rhythm. Soles of our feet on the floor. Gaze forward. We are here together. Humbly, gratefully and generously we are both in it. In the heart contact, all principles slip into the background, I am no one's judge, I am unconditional. An impulse deep within me wants to speak to you, another doesn't dare. I feel your pain, your trust. I feel my receptivity. I feel the place in both of us where we are people who struggle. The place where we are both someone's child, someone's sister or brother. The place in both of us where we are completely alone.<\/p>\n Your sharp smell of urine. The others look at you. They look at me. They pull their scarf up over their noses. I look at the feathers in your hair, and it's our turn.<\/p>\n You're not crying. Are you paying for him?,<\/em> the cashier says harshly and nasally, as you've already taken your beer from the conveyor belt and are on your way.<\/p>\n Of course,<\/em> I say, looking for you. Your clear voice in me. Your gaze. Someone's brother, someone's son.<\/p>\n One morning I see you at the S-train station. A distant, distant look in your eyes. One day I see you on the train. I see you. I feel my darkness in the seams. You've probably forgotten me, but I remember you. You, always on the way, your soft gaze. Your feathers, your prairie, your sky. Alone.<\/p>\n
\nYou're not crying, so I can see it.
\nI'm not crying.
\nI'm not crying, so you can see.<\/p>\n
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