Across the water

I think that we lack imagination if we imagine friendship or relationship as any one thing. There are as many ways to be with people as there are people. And relating to others does not always mean understanding them. Or being easy in speech, in the exchange of information.

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We sit here, on this earth, in all its complexity. Near one another. When I see the woman on the street selling baked goods, I see her and acknowledge her bravery and beauty. It has not been an easy year, she is easily over seventy, and she asks me if I have come to the city alone.

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I don’t understand what it means to be her. And with her words in the language of her birth, she is building a bridge to me. “Where are you staying?”

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To be in proximity and share the same space can be as healing as a good conversation, when the eyes on you are curious but kind. We exist near one another, settled into our own bodies. We vibrate outward, little stirrings in the air that sometimes reach a distant shore. There is a lot of space, and yet we somehow manage to see across the water.

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I cannot know your life or ever experience it. May I keep my eyes gentle and curious. What did you eat for breakfast? Where have you been today? Maybe in the simplicity of being close, even through words or in pictures, we can build a bridge. Or maybe we just respect our witness of one another. Our proximity can be an acknowledgement of one another’s beauty.

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