like a shadow or a friend

Things are a little rough again, here in the Houses of Slightly Regressed Healing -- I called us the Houses of Pelennor Fields a week or two ago, and I think that may still hold true. I would really like it, if I could come out of this seemingly endless tunnel into a place where every single day is not a trial of my resilience. On the other hand, apparently my resilience is kind of kick ass; and through all of this, I continue to have extraordinary friends, and exceptional family, and really excellent poetry.

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

—Naomi Shihab Nye, "Kindness," from Different Ways to Pray, 1980 (reprinted in The Words Under the Words, 1995).