I’ve met many kinds of folks—folks who lived for the day, folks who could see years into the future, folks who made every word they said feel like a hammered nail in the annals of history. I’ve met folks who are unlike any other, extraordinary would be an understatement.
They weren’t special in the conventional sense. They didn’t sparkle in the sunlight or anything like that. At face value, they were your everyday, average people. Except they weren’t.
Perhaps, it was in the way they spoke or the way they carried themselves. A word, a glance, a laugh—I can’t put a finger on it. I speak in weak abstraction, I admit, but there aren’t enough ways to string letters together for who they are, none that are known to me at this point in time.
They were the kind of people who held so much life inside of them. Wherever they went, they carried a certain light and they understood the world in a conscious and present manner that fail to register in most. Being in their space meant realizing that many of us only live in parts.
We’re stunted in the senses that throw enquiry into our humanity. Many of us are walking, missing in the chunks we left for the taking. While others make you question physics. How can a person not yet collapse at the mercy of their boulder heads atop bite-sized bodies? We live in parts, worn down and weary. But every once in a while, we meet someone who is a universe all on their own. And we can’t help but worry for them, having seen the greed that exists.
But they are infinite in their own way.
More than a collection of dust as the gravity of their being collapses in on themselves, a nebula of sort that puts the sun to shame—more spirit than flesh. A force—ever-expanding in the vastness of time. They live in ways, in waves. Of love. Of kindness. Of contribution.
And we are grateful all the more for their simply being here.
We’re stunted in the senses that throw enquiry into our humanity. Many of us are walking, missing in the chunks we left for the taking.