i've been frequenting the post office almost twice weekly these days, in an attempt to sell all my belongings so i can put off getting a real job and make my switch to buddhism a bit easier down the line. i've seen a beautiful array of situations take place and i've wanted to write about each of them. i wanted to write splendid paragraphs that could prove Lawrence Kohlberg completely wrong. america still has morals. my writings would detail the random acts of kindness and merry humor i've witnessed as i wait in line on an average of 15 minutes per visit.
something strange happens when you enter the post office, its like a world warp or something. maybe each one of them there is a veteran of these lines that move slowly but effortlessly. maybe they engage themselves here because they do no where else. lending what little spirit they have left to the rest of the room. i don't really know the physics behind it. but to sum it up, i've seen racial boundaries passed, and old people that felt young.
but yesterday it was better than all that.
there was a lady, a woman, a caregiver. she was with a man, could have been a brother, friend. it's really unimportant. he was handicapped, using a walker. taking a step back for every two steps forward. his hands were shaky. i looked to his eyes though, i wanted to feel his pain, i wanted to see what it looked like. a man robbed of normalcy. but when i saw his eyes there was no pain, there was a tender and warm happiness. i saw he was in high spirits, but i figured he was masking the real pain, but it just wasn't there.
she was an inch short of ecstatic.
he asked her if she could hold the door.
she said no, never, i will not do it.
as she was holding it wide open.
it couldn't have been opened any wider.
he, at a crawls pace, got through the door.
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