Passing By

You could see him in the distance. A familiar person dressed for warmth on a cold winter’s day. Walking the other way. The sky and your mind had been grey for days. But today is sunny. Blue sky. A gentle breeze. A radiant day for a walk.

He is closer now. Your pace does not slow. You prepare the usual bland niceties. But this time, something unexpected moves in you. And you hear a gentle whisper… Do not pass them by. But the routine exchange is already underway. Words said with mechanized precision. Good-natured and polite. But empty. And unconscious. Another mindless ritual. The whisper is already forgotten.

They are behind you now. And you can’t walk anymore. Another gentle whisper… Why didn’t you stop? You find yourself standing there on the road. You look back and he has already moved away. Out of reach.

You remain standing in the same place. He is further behind you now. Your heart leans into you with poignant feelings of loss. You see a few clouds passing by, and you notice that they have seen you. A cold January breeze touches you. More feelings of loss. Somehow, you feel the wound is necessary.

So, you start walking again now wondering why you feel so strange. Your steps are more tentative now. And uncertain. Your heart is heavier, but your mind is mercifully quiet. Something within refuses to leave you alone. And you say out loud… Why didn’t you stop?

As you turn and head toward your house in the distance, you are walking in a different way. A way that encourages openness to living rather than closure to life. A way that cultivates creative communion rather than routine contact. Moreover, a way in which life never passes you by.

You look up and hear the clouds chuckle as they follow the winds. They are moving on now. But riding on the winds, even they refused to pass you by. There was communion.

I’m closer to home now.

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