I'm riding in a tram with you, just sitting on the bus staring out the
window enjoying the passing show, watching it all go by. This is
peoplewatching at its finest. I'm aware you're here but we're not
engaged right now. There's
nothing going on.
And then I see your reflection on a window.
I'm astonished. And I'm astonished that my astonishment comes on me
so suddenly ...
It's hard to tell which comes first: the gasp that utters itself using
my lips as its vehicle, or my world weary heart melting like a
snowflake on a crisp spring morning.
We often say about special human beings that they're creatures of
light. It's hardly likely we'll ever actually see them
comprised of light. It's mostly only a metaphor. But we say they're
creatures of light nonetheless. In other words, saying they're
creatures of light is speaking figuratively and even
conceptually. Yet we're clear about what we're referring to.
Saying a human being is a creature of light is
good enough for
When I see your reflection on the window, yes it's you I
see reflected on the window, it's your physical countenance, it's your
face. And then there's the light coming through your reflection on the
window. What I'm given, like some kind of divine gift, like some
kind of profound insight by this natural phenomenon, by
this play of light courtesy the eternal indefatigable laws
of physics which are neither metaphorical nor conceptual nor
intellectual, is a once in lifetime vision of you as who
and what I know you to really be, a vision of you as who you really
are, as how you really are, as a creature of light, a
bright creature of light, a creature of bright light.
A swath of white light is upon your head, a pure white aura, a clear
white halo, from where it blends into the clouds above the tram, a
perfect enunciation of the way the entire universe loves
you and blesses you as its ambassador. A tributary of snowy white cloud
comes up around over your right shoulder as heaven rests its hand on
you. You accept it,
allowing it to be there.
There's a flicker of a smile on your lips. You're not smiling
at anything. It's the smile of content. It's your smile of
appreciation of who you are. You know who you are. This is
your moment. When the entire universe reaches out and
you in the rivers of its love, that (by definition) is
your moment. When it's your moment, you're entitled to be
content. You're entitled to smile.
The reflection on the window captures the private moment between you
and yourself as you're knowing who you are, as you acknowledge who you
are, to yourself, for yourself. It's the most intimate,
the most private moment there can be between a human being and himself,
reflected on the window of the tram like the Milky Way galaxy is
privately inscribed on the night sky for every human being who's ever
walked the face of
to see and wonder and be in awe about.
Your eyes are closed, easily relaxed. You radiate peace, calm, even
ecstasy, bliss. I glance over at you - I must. Your eyes
are open! I angle my gaze so I can see both you and your reflection at
the same time. Your eyes are attentive. But in your reflection they're
closed, easily relaxed. It's a fascinating anomaly which simply serves
to enhance the immediacy of the moment.
If I saw anyone else's eyes closed the easily relaxed way your eyes in
your reflection are closed, I'd say they're
Yet when I look closer at your closed eyes, I realize it doesn't mean
Neither does it mean you're
When your eyes are closed, what it means is your eyes are
closed and that's all it means.
It takes me a moment or two to realize what I'm seeing is both the
physical you (eyes open) at the same time as I'm seeing who you
really are (eyes closed easily relaxed). I break off my
spring loaded tendency to explain the anomaly I'm seeing. Instead I
just sit in my seat here on this tram with you, watching it all, taking
it all in, making it all up,
moved to tears
by it all.