Pavement Poetry

Walking along to the Post Office the other day, I began noticing the pavement. There it is: ordinary, foot-friendly, home to a fallen leaf, chewing gum, dogshit, grime. An endless weave of gray canvas. I began to ask myself the question Pema Chodrun recommends: 'What IS this?' That simple inquiry is just Pema's way of encouraging us to see without judging. 'What IS this?' After several minutes, voila! I began to see the pavement as a work of art. I thought: 'I could slice out two feet of this, frame it, and put it in a museum." I wasn't kidding. Even now, I can see it hanging with aplomb on a long slow white gallery wall. Artist: God. Cost: priceless.

My inquiry continued. When I got to the Post Office, I found myself in line behind a blind woman with her ultra-kind seeing eye dog. 'What IS this?' The woman's turn came, and I helped direct her to the clerk. It turned out she wanted to fill out a Change-of-Address card. The clerk leaned out to me and said: "Will you help her?" I said, "Sure." We walked to the side table, and the woman gave me her name and address while I filled in the form. Then I directed her back to the clerk, who thanked me. The woman thanked me. Yes, and the second clerk next to the first one thanked me. Thankmania! Well appreciated, I got my stamps and left. On the walk back, I kept on asking:'What IS this?' A stranger passed by me, turned around, smiled, and said "Hi!". I smiled back. Shortly afterwards another stranger came towards me, smiled, and said "Hi". I responded. Then a third stranger, turning a corner, looked at me and waved. I waved back. 'What IS this?'

I don't remember having strangers on a street greet me before this. All I know is that if ever there was evidence that human angels exist under our facades and are able to hear the footsteps of a judgment-free walk to the Post Office, this was that evidence.

'What IS this?' I have no idea. But I do get one thing: that under the apparent multitude of divisions before us, everything is connected. Always.