Gunshot Rings

Would you die for a gorilla?

There's conflict in the Congo. And one man is willing to lose his life as he stands by the side of the gorillas whom he calls his family at Virunga National Park.

You can see it in his eyes that he is not lying.
I know that feeling.

There are certain people that I can look at and I know that I would give my life for them. It doesn't scare me. I can look at them an imagine leaving this world for them and it does not cause me to lose peace. My parents. My sisters. My Grandma. Children.

I have had experiences in my life where death has crossed my mind.
On bus rides in El Salvador.
On mountain hikes in Thailand.
In taxis in Vietnam.
On dark nights in New York.

I have felt before, a sense of calm, in the anticipation of possible loss.
Of my physical being.

I have looked into the barrel of a gun.
And I have run.
The echoing gunshot still rings in my mind.
Only, in my mind.

It's like a reminder
now.

The sense of calm comes from knowing
That I am living how I would like to live.
I hear the ringing and I say to myself,
"Wake up! You have forgotten to message your mother today."

I don't want to die.
No. I very much love this living.

I don't know if I could die for a gorilla. Like this beautiful man in the Congo.
He can. Because he knows that is what he was placed on this Earth to do.
Be one with the gorillas.

Do you know?
Do you know what you were placed on this Earth to do?
Do you ask yourself?

You can do it now, if you haven't done it before.
Just don't do it if it feels like a chore. If it makes you nervous. If you are searching and searching and searching for an answer.
There is no answer.

There's just a feeling.
A knowing feeling.
A hug from your spouse. A touch from the tiny hand of your baby. The wind on your face by the ocean. A cuddle with a good book. The wrapping of your fingers around a pencil.

Get to know the things that make your heart sing.
Or eyes light up.
Or breath become noticed.

This is where you find why you have been placed on this Earth.

You have forgotten.
As I sometimes do.
And you have run away.
As I sometimes do.

Would you like to come back? To this place where you belong?

Deadlines. School papers. Clean the kitchen. Teach a class. Call the doctor. Write the email.

The gunshot rings.
"Your neighbour invited you to lunch. Go and sit with him. He needs you."

I drop everything and I go.
Because something in my heart says it is where I am needed most.

And at lunch, when I see his smile, and listen to him talk
I know that if I go
in this moment
I will be okay.
Because I am already where I belong.

I haven't found a way to make this living sustainable yet
Sustainable in the world that we have created today
Where I have to pay for things with currency
And not things that I create with my own 2 hands
Like food or art
or real things full of meaning
that I would rather put the time into making
that I believe can serve people.

If I could
I would pay people with my smile and my ears
I would clean their kitchens
And organize their cabinets
I would draw them pictures
And make them cards
I would play with their children
And cook them dinner

The world we have created today makes this hard
Institutions ask for papers and taxes and currency
That I don't have
That you need

I spend too much time having lunch with my neighbours
Giving unpaid classes at the school
With my hands in the soil
Writing stories on my heart

I need these things because they give me life
I need to make sure I am living

Gunshot rings.

What were you placed on this Earth to do?

I am doing it.
A little more each day.
Sometimes, not enough.
Maybe, not always the right things.

I need to know that I am alive
This is why I do the things I do

So that when the gunshot rings
I know that Mother Earth will take me
Peacefully back to where I belong.
Where I already am.

I Don't Believe in Chores

There used to be a time when I ran and it felt like a chore.

I don't believe in chores anymore.
I believe in duties.

I used to whine and complain to myself as I pulled on my shorts and searched for my sports bra. I listened to my uneven breathing with angst as I watched my feet slam into the pavement.
I should run.
I must run.
They said I have to.
These were the voices that spoke in my mind.
But I really didn't know. Who? Who was making me run.
And Why?  Why was I running?

Chores.
Doing things because "we're supposed to".

Says who?

You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Not a thing.
Who says so, anyways?
Why should you do it?

If you don't want to do it. Don't!

Even if your mother or father or teacher asks you. You don't have to do anything!

The thing is, when things started to feel like a chore, like you should do it... for someone else or for some reason that doesn't really excite you or empower you, you automatically reject it. You start to feel resentment...and you actually haven't even considered the activity, so much as just reacted to the phrase "you must do exercise."

So, I don't believe in chores.

I do, however, believe in duties.

I clean the house because I know I am so damn fortunate to have a roof over my head. And so I put music on and I clean it with joy.

When I go to New York, I do the dishes because I know that not all mothers still make a home for their daughters and mine does and so the dishes are the least I can do.

I make my bed in the morning and as I fold the sheets I give thanks to the warmth that I feel beneath them every night.

So, you don't have to do anything. But wouldn't it be nice if you did more? Wouldn't it be nice if you considered all that your parents did to give you everything you have? Your own room. Perhaps a college education.

Wouldn't it be nice if you loved your body a little bit more? All that is does for you. Heart beating. Stomach digesting. Kidneys detoxing. All that crap we've created in the environment and food and water- our body doing its best to fight it all for us. Wouldn't it be nice if we did a bit more for it?

You don't have to do anything, but what if you did more?

Wouldn't it be nice if you looked at your teacher in the eyes while she was speaking to show that you respected her time?

It doesn't feel like a chore anymore when I run.

It feels like a gift.
It feels like I'm dancing on the pavement.

I sing in my head. Or maybe out loud. I go into such a trance that I don't even know where I am or where I am going. And. It's awesome.

Tonight, the full moon followed me on my run. It hid behind clouds and then emerged again. It formed halos and rainbows, shadows and symmetries. It was bright and bold and brilliant. Like someone once taught me to be.

And yet every day I falter.
I don't know where I'm going or what I am doing.
I'm just doing what I can and being the way life has made me.

Everyday I learn something new that shapes my perspective. Everyday I forget. I ask questions. I learn again.
Everyday I remember.
Everyday I try to do my best...and somedays...I really suck at it.
But I'm really lucky because I have amazing people in my life. Hands that help me that I must not forget about, like my friend recently wrote me in a Birthday poem.

I have a beautiful brother from Rwanda who taught me about forgiveness.
And so I am learning how to forgive myself.

I have a goddess friend from the USA who taught me how to love my body and my femininity,
And so I am learning how to embrace what I have been given.

And I have a family in Thailand who taught me about duties
And so I am learning how to celebrate my ability to run, clean and care for beings and things.

Today the Moon followed me.
As I ran in a sweet meditation.
Illuminating my shadow.
Reminding me to be humble, for I am made of Earth.
Smiling at me and my nobility, knowing I am also made of his stars.
It reminded me of all that I have to be grateful for. My body and its ability to move. My self and my commitments. And most importantly, the people who have made me who I am and brought me where I am today.

You don't have to do anything you don't want to.

And if you don't do it, know what you stand for.
And if you do do it, darling do it like hell.

Revel in it.
Dance in it. Sing to it.
Flow. Jam. Taste.
Feel it.
Really do it.

And then you'll see there's no such thing as chores.
It's just called living.
And its all your choice how you wanna do it.

Why Do I Always Feel A Little Uncomfortable On My Birthday?

What is a Birthday?

A Birth-Day.
A day of birth.

A time to celebrate birth, itself.
Birth: the creation of life.
A new baby. A miracle. A joy.
The joy of life.

Yes. This is worth celebrating!

Celebrating.
How?
Who?
Me?

I did not bring myself into this world.
Not alone. Not one bit.
A very tiny piece of my birth was my own doing.

What did I do, on November 4, 1987?

Receive.

Receive.
Yes. This is the way I most contributed on my day of birth.
From the umbilical cord.
From the womb.
From the hands of my father and breast of my mother.

From the world- the air that I breathed in. The energies in the room. The love. The attention. The cuddles.

Receive.
The eager curiosity from my new sister. Looking at me. Wondering.
Who is this new baby? What does her presence mean in my life?

I am a by-product of years of recreation that reach back to great grandmothers and great grandfathers that I never knew in physical form.

I am the energies of the Sun and Moon, spinning in the cosmos and manifesting in my tears and laughter and pain.

I am the elements of the world: water and fire, Earth and wind, gaining momentum and dissipating throughout the hours of the day; dancing to find a balance that is often lost. And then found again. Constant rediscovery. Grounds for more celebration.

A never-ending dance.
A flow.
A rhythm.

A music.
I am this, too. I am a smile that is given to me by the hummingbirds that visit my window on early mornings. I am the serenity of the cows that look at me as they graze in the fields across from my shelter. I am the ecstasy of the silence beneath the ocean.

I am the voice of my Grandma, in her accent and fowl language. I am the calf muscles of my father and metabolism of my mother. I am the confidence of my older sister, the creativity of my next sister, and the humbleness of my baby sister. I am the longing to love people of my dog. I am the gratitude of the lady who has let me live in her apartment for 3 months. I am the broken pieces of heart from past lovers that have created more space to be filled with more love from more people and so I am also an expanding heart. I am the poverty of the children I lived with in El Salvador without access to clean water. I am the dedication and perseverance of their single mothers. I am the culprits in corporate America. I am the forgiveness of Mother Teresa. I am the commitment and fearlessness of doing better of Martin Luther King.

I am.

Everything.

And simultaneously, I am nothing, without you.
Without all of this.

It is "my" birthday.
It is the day of my birth.
It appears that way in our world. Yes. I agree.
And I am happy to celebrate.

Because life is definitely worth celebrating.

Every day, life is worth celebrating.
Every day, someone is born.

So everyday, we take the time to celebrate someone.
"Our" birth days.

And so in essence, we are celebrating all of us.
Together.
Everyday.

Let us remember that.

In all the ways we interact. And exchange. Give and receive. We have made each other who we are.
So let's celebrate, together.

Not me.
Us.

This will mean so much to me.
Another reminder,
of how we are all connected.

This is the truth about birth.

Remembering
How and who and what
Gives us life.

Doing our best not to take it for granted. Noticing the moments.
Fully living. Fully loving.
Celebrating.
Togetherness.

I Haven't Accepted That You're Gone

It's been 5 months.
I haven't accepted that you're gone. No. I haven't. When the idea comes to mind, I push it away. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head from side to side until the thought goes away to someplace else temporarily. It's not really working, I know. But it's become a bad habit.

You're not really gone.
It's just that I haven't seen you awhile. I'm just away again. I'm in Costa Rica or Thailand or El Salvador or wherever the fuck it is that I've gone this time instead of choosing to be with you or Dad or Mom or Danielle or Christina or Amanda or Sam or my friends. And you're still at Uncle Joe's house in Long Island.

You're probably cooking in the basement and drinking bitter coffee. And whistling. You're a really good whistler. You're good at so many things. Everything really. ...
And you'll be coming to our house soon. You'll be sitting on my couch and I'll be coming home, too. I'll try not to bother you about biting your nails. And I'll beg you to come for a walk with me and you will curse and say no and refuse over and over and pretend you're annoyed. And eventually you'll get up and come and probably end up skipping down the sidewalk. And you'll talk to all the strangers we pass and you'll make jokes and laugh and you'll say how nice the walk is.

I have your necklace. The one you wore that day at Aunt Linda's barbecue.
I really love it. And I pick it up when I see it and I hold it in my hand. And I can see your hand holding it when you took it off from around your neck and looked at it deeply the way I look at each of my pieces that hold sentimental value and memories.

You didn't buy things.
You collected beautiful pieces that gave you inspiration and made you wonder.
I like that you taught me that without telling me directly. You just taught me through your ways and the look in your eyes when you talked about your porcelain dog or the painting on your wall in your house in Florida or the necklace.
Those things made you wonder.
My life is about wonder.
Thank you, Grandma.

So I have your necklace, don't worry. I hardly put it on, I have to tell you. I do the thing again. The squeezing of my eyes shut and shaking of my head while I hold it in my hand. Because if I put it on that means that you're not wearing it. And I don't like that thought.

You had it on that day at the barbecue. And everyone was admiring it. And I told you how much I liked it, too. We were sitting on the bench next to each other and you were in a bit of pain from the tumor and you mentioned it a few times, but then you'd come back to the conversation and making people laugh. And so you said "oh, you like it that much? Here, take it."

And you took the necklace off and handed it to me for a minute or too. And then you looked at it again and said to me matter-of-factly, "You know what. I'm still alive. I'm still gonna wear it. Give it back."

And I loved this about you. You wanted to live. You enjoyed it. All the moments. It always came back to laughter. Boldness. Brilliance. And laughter. You knew how to work hard and enjoy life, too. Always. And you weren't afraid to say whatever the hell was on your mind.

Not a lot of people live like that Gram, you know that?

Will you promise to always remind me how to be like this?

Promise to remind me to live like you did. The working hard. The enjoying life. The laughter. The "not trying to please the whole freaking world". Just being open and honest and saying whats on your mind. And loving. A lot. Along the way.

Remind me often.

What If You Knew?

What if you knew that I have a 6 year old daughter who never knew her father? What if you saw her standing there curly haired, barefoot in the mud, washing her clothes outside on a rock? What if you watched her in the classroom of 40 children, jammed together in the heat beneath noisy tin roof?  If she makes it to high school, this means she will have largely defeated the odds. Please don't ask her what she wants to be when she grows up. Please ask her what she would like to do if I have enough time to be with her today after I finish making tortillas, cleaning the house, feeding the pigs....

What if you knew that this is my story?

That this is part of my story.

What if you knew that I also longed to be a Secretary? I liked to study and I wanted to be able to be an independent woman. That was middle school. That was when the International organization came to build the outhouses for our community. My parents said they were money-makers. She told me that I was cute and that I should go be around them. They would buy me cookies and juice. They were nice to do that, I thought.
Then one day, they gave me a baby.
I didn't understand at the time.
Now I do.

What if you knew that I'm interested in world politics? I don't have access to many books or a computer. I just like to talk to people and ask them questions. And, sometimes, the news comes up spotty on my little television. I don't understand it all but I like to think. What if you knew that I liked to smile? I am a little shy to do so. But I am sarcastic and my toughness is just protection over my sweet vulnerability. I learned that from the men who bought me cookies and juice.

What if you knew that I work really hard? My father does not go to the fields often anymore because he drinks a lot. He says, "What good is it anyways to go? I only get $4 a day." His beans and rice don't provide like they used to. Not since the land has dried up and all the trees have disappeared. Not since the imports became so cheap. He can't compete with the prices and anyways alcohol is cheap. It's like those little bottles of Pepsi that cost less than a bottle of water. I'm not mad at him, though. I just keep working really hard. My friends parents have more money. But they have gotten so sick from working in the industrialized sugar cane fields. I can't stand the smell they bring when they get on the buses covered in chemicals and pesticides. So my father drinks sometimes. Then he goes to sleep. I don't blame him so much, we don't have any other options for work. We are farmers. And we live on a farm.

What if you knew that I am not so unhappy?

I have work. I have children. I have a family.
We are safe here. We don't have much so money so the gangs don't bother us.
My neighbors are around when I need them.
There's not much to complain about when you keep busy.

What if you knew that I am okay?

Sure, I could improve my health. Of course, our house needs a new roof. Damn, I'd love to be able to be a Secretary.

I'm okay, though.

Inside me I have a heart that beats and it grows when I give and receive hugs from my daugther and have good conversations with friends and people who listen.

I like when people come and sit down in front of me and look me in the eyes. It feels good to be respected.

I am a strong woman. Physically and emotionally. Life taught me to be this way. I am also organized, dedicated and hard-working. I don't talk about these things. You just see it in in my calf muscles and the squint in my eyes. You can see it in the way I have my room kept, alongside that of my mothers, daughters, sisters and nieces. You can tell because we get by. We have food on the plate almost every meal.

Not everyone in my community is like this, no. Sometimes, I think people want to stay in poverty. I don't see them working. How did this happen? I don't know. It makes me sad. Do they thing the NGOs will continue to keep coming and giving? Even with the outhouses, paved road, and little spurts of money, I don't see those people changing. I don't see their attitudes getting better or contributing more to our community. No, not everyone who lives here with few resources work hard. And I don't know why! Maybe this is just part of their human nature.

But, I am a strong woman. A mother who works hard. A good friend. And I have a lot to share if people would listen.

I have a lot to offer. But nobody knows about me. They just know the stories that get sold on the internet that flash faces that look like me.
Hardly anyone really listens.
Only a few have sat before me and asked.
Only a few have seen into my eyes.
I would share the things that I know and the things that I can do.

I need help. Of course. Don't you?
Don't you need help with your taxes and your marriage? Don't you need help with your heartburn and your depression? Don't you need help?
But what if someone doesn't understand your bank statements or your relationship with your wife? What if they don't know what really makes you sad?
Does their money fix you?

How can someone help if they don't really understand?
If they don't really listen.

What if you really knew?

What if I asked you to question what you have been told your whole life?
To forget it all.
And, just sit there
and be with me.
As two human beings.

This One Is For The Women

{and men are welcome, too}

It's Friday night and I'm alone in a bathtub full of lavender epsom salts, rubbing my body with Dr. Bronner's peppermint body goodness and sipping on peppermint tea. The double-peppermint-dosage is a mere coincidence.

I'm watching a documentary that is analysing what is both wrong and right with the world.
I'm lying in the tub reflecting on my deepest desires.

Alone on a Friday night.

Ironically, one of my deepest desires is to be a loving partner and mother. I want to build a little home where I know the creaks in the floors and the spider webs in the corners. {I kinda like spider webs}
I want to be the one who cleans it, rearranging the spices on the counters occasionally and changing the placement of homemade decorations, photographs of my travels and flowers that I pick on my walks home. {Maybe someone can help with the floors}.

I want to be the one who raises my children. A few dirty-handed girls and chubby faced boys...or whatever is gifted to me. I want them to play outside and know animals and the spider webs in the corners. ...Or whatever feels right to them. I want them to explore.
I want to watch them.

I want to love my partner. I want to smile when he walks in the door and I want to have long talks over meals that I make, or he makes, or we make. ...Or maybe that we order, once in awhile. I want to go out sometimes, and have a beer or two. I want to watch him laugh with his friends. I want to hear about his ball games and tell him about... my ball games. ...Or, just sit quietly.
I want to hold hands.
...And other things, too.

And, so, here I am.
In all my glory.
Alone on a Friday night in a bathtub overflowing with peppermint.

I am 27 years old. And I am single.

And so, one may think, after reading about some of my deepest desires, that I am unhappy.
Or, far from what I want in life.

One might ask, as I am often asked, 

"When are you going to start your real life?" 
"What are you doing?"
"What are you going to do next?"

And I sit here, soaking in my peppermentness, alone on a Friday night

And I feel effervescent.

Truly
Madly
and
Whole-heartedly.

I feel free. I feel good. I feel open. I feel real.
I feel
Me.

Inadvertently, I feel happy.
I just choose not to use this word because it doesn't quite capture what it is I am feeling.
No words do, as a matter of fact.

It's just this feeling I feel. I guess it's like how you feel when you are running down the soccer field, if you are a soccer player. Or riding a sweet wave, if you are a surfer. Or finding a beautiful gown, if you are a designer.

This is how I feel.

Immensely grateful.
Free.
Wild.
And

Comfortable in my skin. Even more than that. Joyful in my skin.
Even sexy, I'd say, as long as my readers are all women....

It's too dangerous to feel sexy anymore as a woman walking down the streets in Costa Rica, or New York, or anywhere really. Too many dogs are out there after the skin that hangs off the back of your arms and even more ravenous are the men who lean out truck windows and make faces that leave you regurgitating lunch in your mouth. {oops, side-tracked}

Yet, the truth is, I do
feel it.
Not always, no. I am a human. A female human, to be exact. {well, kinda. I'm quite masculine}
So, I don't alllllways feel sexy.

However, these days, I've been feelin' it.
And I'm not ashamed to say it. Not in the least. 'Cause it's been a battle. One that I am used to losing. That I sometimes feel like I am supposed to lose. I'm not supposed to feel sexy.

And I just don't f*cking buy that anymore.

So, here I am, on a Friday night, rubbing my body with some peppermint body wash, sipping on peppermint tea, in a steamy bathtub,

and I feel f*cking awesome.

And it's a nice little ritual I do, whenever I get the chance. Which isn't often these days since I do not have a bath tub... mostly because I do not have a house... and because I am living on my friend's couch in Costa Rica... and Costa Rica is pretty freakin' hot so I hop in the ocean or a pool and not a steamy tub...

However, at this time I find myself in my house in New York and Fall doesn't feel like it used to feel 8 years before I moved south...

Anyways, the ritual involves the scene above. And as you rub yourself with a hot cloth of steamy smelly goodness, you give thanks for each and every tiny piece of your god-for-saken body. You love your toes, all of them, from the big to the very small. You love the soles of your feel and you press into them with your fingertips as you massage those little guys that carry you ALL day and you hardly once thank them. Damn you. Make the time!

And you love your ankles as you rub them. Your calves and your thighs. And all that's underneath there, too. Those muscles and ligaments, bones and tendons. All the little blood cells dancing beneath your surface.

You keep going, loving your body, the only true home you have been given, your vehicle for walking through this world, your partner.

Did you hear that? I'm talking to myself now.
Your partner.

This is all you have sometimes. Even if you "have" someone, you never really have them. You just have this body.

And you can share it, yes! And I fully plan on sharing it.
And so, what better way to prepare for sharing it than to love it as much as I possibly can right now?

Physically, emotionally, figuratively, literally. Love it.

Give it water and rest. Joy and healthy food. Do special things for it. Spend time in nature. Experience pleasure. Be in awe of your human form. Realize the power of your own body. Awaken.

And as you love it, yourself, your body, your partner
Realize that simultaneously you are loving your future partner, your family, the world, as well.

And for all those who ask me and wonder,
What I am doing? And When I am going to start my real life?

I let them wonder. For I know, if they are asking these questions, then they have no f*cking idea what they are doing themselves.

And, if they think they do, I smile...

Realizing that none of us really know what the f*ck we are doing. We are just doing our best, each and every one of us, everyday. We are doing our best given the experiences life has dealt us.

I don't know where I am going. It would be quite boring if I did.
And quite arrogant, also. Don't you think?
I never know if my plane is gonna land. Or if I will choke on my kale.

So, more and more, I practice appreciating each moment.
Doing things consciously.

Full of effort. Full of love. Fully me.
Which, often times, involves the presence of my weaknesses, my ego, and my past patterns,
that I am still working on dissolving
{in peppermint tea and body wash}

And I so have a brilliant idea of the things I love and want and need in life
And every moment I am living those things

It's just that some of them have longer time lapses than others in the physical world
{such as the partner}

And, I'm {pretty much} okay with that.

Because I am so very grateful at this very moment.

And
that's all I can be.

And all I really ever want to be.

Don't Ask Me Where We Met. Tell Me.

It's the opposite of what I think it will be.

I kinda loved my morning at Jury Duty.

I'll save you all the details of the cool conversation I had with the dude next to me from Yonkers and the lady who made me laugh about putting more time on my parking meter- however, I promise you there are good stories there too.

I was only there from 8:30am - 12:30pm and now I'm clear for 6 years for serving. I missed my first assignment because I was out of the country and it just so happens that the second one fells the only 2 weeks I am in New York...

And this is what it was like:

Upon handing us our certificates of service, the judge looked at us.

His face was wrinkled and he walked hunched over.
His eyes, however, were deep and steady.

And they looked at each one of us as he spoke.
He moves his head, looking around the room, speaking directly at each one of us. And we can feel it.

And then, he points to me and makes a joke.
I blush.
"Am I flirting with him?" I ask myself in my mind.
I have a thing for older men.

He says we can go now. Our certificates are in his hand. But he says, lastly:

Just do me a favor. Tell your friends and family that jury duty is not about having a root canal. Tell them that it's not so bad. Remind yourselves that if you ever fall victim of a crime or need some help for whatever reason that you'd like a fair jury, too. 

And one last thing, 
"What's my name?" 

None of us know. Not one. No one answers.

He looks at us. Not with contempt. Not with anger. Just as a human being.
Actually, I feel a softness.

Right. He continues. Day after day I run into people on the streets. In the grocery story. And people stare at me. And they don't say hi. But here I am fearing that I threw them in jail at some point. It makes me a bit nervous.

So say Hi if you see me okay? Don't ask me 'how do I know you? where did we meet?'. 
Tell me. 

And he walks out.
Before he does, he glances over at me again. Or maybe its the dude next to me from Yonkers.

I smile.
Again blushing.

But also with such a deep feeling in my heart.

I really don't know what life is about. I am learning that more and more. I realize that we don't know anything at all.

That is- when we try to explain it- we cannot.
Life is not words.

Life cannot be captured in spoken or written words.

Same goes for

Peace
Love
Happiness

These are all experiences. These are feelings.

The smell of an orange. The cuddle of a dog. The sunrise.

We know it. Because we feel it.
But we cannot explain it.

No words can explain or capture the essence of these things.
Yet, we try to do so. And in doing so, it is lost. Because it is different for each of us. Yet we all know and share that feeling.

I guess this is what happens in the "real" world.
We see a judge before us and we think that he is a judge.

We forget that he is a human being. We forget that he is just another vehicle of love- who wants to make us smile by handing us a certificate, so that we can go home to our loved ones, our dog, our couch, or wherever it is that we think we would prefer to be instead of serving someone else in their hardship (aka jury duty).

We forget that he is just like us.

Underneath the gown.
Beneath the wrinkles.

He's just another human being who likes to laugh. And smile. And share with people.

I really liked jury duty yesterday morning.
I thought about it all day long.

Things aren't always what you think they will be.
And people aren't always who you think they are.