He sat there, slightly slumped. Hi gaze was hazy, his movements slow, as if he had to push through the heaviness of his own thoughts just to say ''hello.''
But he said it. With effort. With hesitation. As if even he was surprised by his impulse to connect.
I felt his distance.
His inner world wrapped in fog.
Yet his eyes searched for something, perhaps meaning, perhaps just warmth.
Later as I walked toward my car, I turned around.
His eyes had found again.
So i said ''hello'' once more.
This time, his voice was softer, more open.
'' Hello, '' he replied.
Then added:
''Isn't it a holiday for you today? Friday? I know Muslims, Friday prayers. That's a celebration, right?''
I smiled.
'' Not a celebration in the way you mean, but yes, it's a blessed moment.
Just like every other day we pray. Five times a day.
Five moment of connection, with Allah, with ourselves, with the Earth.
Maybe that is something to celebrate.''
He nodded.
Silent for a moment.
As if he felt it, but didn't quite know how to place it.
And then came the mirror:
'' You... You're standing. I can see you standing.''
I replied gently,
''Yes, you can. But do you see yourself standing? Or are you just... sitting?''
He looked at himself, his posture, his presence.
''I'm mirroring you, aren't I? He said.
''You're standing. I'm sitting. But I see you.''
''That's it, '' I said. ''Because I see myself, you can see me.
But do you also see yourself. In your sitting, in your being?''
He looked at me.
Eyes half-closed, half searching. It touched something deep in him. Too deep maybe. Too confronting.
''What are you saying? Are you police or something?'' He said, half joking, half defensive.
''No,'' I smiled,'' Just a social human being, curious about your presence.''
'' Yeah, but why do you want to know about my emotions?''
''You don't have to share anything, you don't want to.''
He shrugged, ''Yeah, yeah...''
I had touched something tender. A boundary appeared.
Yet I could feel he still wanted to speak. Not from depth, but from the surface. From safety.
I wished him a pleasant afternoon.
He thanked me, but lingered.
Wanting to connect, but not knowing how.
Pushing me away, perhaps, not from rejection, but from pain.
Protecting a part of himself that once longed to stand, too.
We spoke past each other. yet touched something real.
I dove into the deep. He remained on the shore.
And that, too, was perfect. A moment where water meets land. Depth meets resistance.
His words, I'm sitting here, aren't I?''
Suddenly echoed with layered meaning.
Yes he sat.
Not just physically, but in life.
Paused. Weighted. Still.
And I stood.
Not only on my feet, but in my power.
I stood, because I had learned to stand.
After years of falling, fleeing, forgetting.
I stood, because I had remembered myself.
And in doing so, allowed myself to be seen.
This wasn't just a casual moment.
It was a sign. A mirror. A quiet teaching.
A man on a bench.
A woman standing in her light. And in between. The silence where truth reveals itself.
Reactie plaatsen
Reacties