Your post immediately brought to my mind Danusha Lameris' poem "Small Kindnesses". I keep it on the wall near my desk, to remind me to make a gesture once in a while myself. The smallest of gestures can be the fullest.
Small Kindnesses
I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”
From Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection (Green Writers Press, 2019).
Yes! I agree! I have visited Cork and had the keep honor to stand in its presence. Sadly, that was the first time I had heard of that act of generosity by the Chocktaw Nation. How beautiful.
I love these two lines. It seems the Choctaw, by their gesture, were telling the Irish people, "We are your tribe. You are welcome around our fire because we know what you're going through. Don't give up."
That donation, however inadequate to the task of removing the suffering/genocide, was such a powerful act of resistance to colonial oppression! Thank you, Padraig, for amplifying that beautiful gesture. And thank you, Phil, for sharing this beautiful poem.
You know when sleep catches you unaware on the Coach and you drift away, then you feel a quilt on your toes - a beloved has covered you! What can feel love more than this?
Is anyone else a bit bothered by the "Top First" default post order? I happened to be the first comment, and it quickly was being "liked". I'm not happy that I get an ego boost from seeing the likes and comments. (WOW - my first time being "top"!) It begins to feel like a competition, Ironically, my post wasn't a direct response to the week's question from Pádraig -just a great poem by a great poet. There are so many deep actual comments, that, to me, are more "top" than mine. I keep hoping one of them will jump into "top". When I come back on now, I switch to New First. And look - here I am adding yet another comment to mine. So I started with a question, but I'm withdrawing it. Please don't "like" this or reply. Or, if you want to reply, don't reply to this - start a new thread. I'll check.
I love this poem, so thank you for sharing. The world and its challenges can feel so big, and these words remind me not to get lost in all of that, but to show up for whatever opportunity is in front of me. Also reminds me of how much kindness and warmth there is everywhere.
Hi, Phil. Thank you for posting Small Kindnesses. I read it elsewhere recently, can't remember where, forgot to save it. It an oh yes poem. Please see my comment to Padraig (if you're able; Substack still seems impenetrable to me at times), where I expound a bit more on the effect of several posts I read today. Saludos.
Kathleen, I'll look for your post. I, too, find Substack really mysterious. I assume there must be some training youtube or manual somewhere, but I haven't looked for it.
A favorite of mine - which I include at the bottom of each email. . hoping for deeper connection: "We have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”"
In by best and very limited French, I told the two women I'd approached on the grounds of the cathedral in Lausanne, Switzerland that we were lost and needed to find our hotel. The day was hot, the hike had been longer than we'd anticipated. It was the end of the afternoon. "Weary" barely captures our condition in that moment. They both spoke English and without hesitation they guided us down back streets, took us on a subway and walked us to our hotel. The lively conversation took our minds off our aching feet and hips. At one point, I asked what they had been doing that afternoon. Evelyn looked at me and said, "We were waiting for you." The fullness of this gesture still brings me to tears.
A few years back, in what I now call The Winter of Divorce, every day was hard. I'd been left. I could afford very little food or heat. I survived one day at a time. Every small gesture of kindness was precious—a smile from a stranger, a gentle word, anything that conveyed, "I see you." At the end of each day, I'd take a long walk in the dark reviewing those gifts. I'd get home, write them in my "gift journal," and make it through the night.
oh Dana, what a beautiful practice you did during that Winter... I also went through a "Winter of Divorce" some years ago, and during that time, I felt incredibly connected to so many other beings... and was, like you, so moved by these many gestures of kindness, of being seen.. I think all of that was essential to carrying me through to the next season....
It is a pity! My August of divorce in the tropics in 2020 ended in a together! But after we had signed the temporary separation, I was the one who left our home! I rented a furnished apartment on a farm in the village. Every evening I would God, you mean our love can end? Then after two weeks, the phone call came and he asked, why did you live home? Come back! And I did!!! So I concluded, our love in Hod doesn’t end💕
Hi Dana, I just saw your reply to mine just now! I am so happy for your good love story! With ours, it is truly a new phase - fours years now since our coming together we nothing nothing will ever pull us apart!
I’ve been reminding a dear friend, who is on the verge of divorce, but with kids, etc, it’s so hard, that even divorce isn’t necessarily permanent. I love this, Dana!
It is a pity! My August of divorce in the tropics in 2020 ended in a together! But after we had both signed the temporary separation, I was the one who left our home! I rented a furnished apartment on a farm in the village. Every evening I would ask God, you mean our love can end? Then after two weeks, the phone call came and he asked, “why did you leave home? Come back!” And I did! So I concluded that our love in God doesn’t end💕
Thank you, Mona. And so much yes. When I look back now, I'm truly grateful for that time and even have a bittersweet nostalgia around it with the passage of years. Never, ever would've imagined that when in the midst of it, awaiting the next season. xo
Thank you for sharing, Dana! This is amazing. I can understand it was hard at the time, but in a way, it taught you to be present in each and every moment, that living one day at a time. That, alongside that Winter you were experiencing, is a beautiful measure of duality. So thankful you had some people come alongside you during that period to remind you that you are still very much here and needed. XO
I was shaken to the core by my father's unexpected death. It was the first time death had come so close to me. People sent notes of condolence (pre Internet days) and I read every single one of them, breathing in the love they expressed. Those words were so important to me and helped me feel still connected to him. I decided then and there to always send a note of condolence (in this day and age, not an email or text but a real note) to people who are grieving. I write to tell them what their person meant to me. The small gestures shown to me have gone back out in the world dozens of times since then.
I had the same experience when my husband died. Notes from his colleagues and students helped me know him even better, and now I also send handwritten notes when someone passes. A hug the family can unwrap at their own pace.
Yes! I learned things about my dad that I hadn't known. I didn't really know his work world and the people he had impacted there. The word I read over and over again was generous. I didn't even know. I'm glad now that I can share my connections with the families of the people I know who have died.
In recent years, two former students of mine took their own lives. I sat with that for a day or two so I could write their parents a letter that would mean something. I spoke about how I knew their children. I wanted the parents to know that their children were not forgotten. I knew both kids as middle schoolers and they were both in their mid 20’s when they died. I will always write those hard letters b/c parents deserve that. It’s a poignant gift that I can give to them.
Yes, the sincere words of people who know and love you, and even those who don't, are such gifts, powerful and gentle at the same time. The kindness of friends helped me so much after my father died just before the Covid lockdowns began, and the devastation in my heart was softened by so many of those gestures and words. I love what you say about real notes...
Oct 29, 2023·edited Oct 29, 2023Liked by Pádraig Ó Tuama
Firstly, “gesture” is one of my favorite words in the English language! For the feeling of it, the sound, and also it’s meanings…
Secondly, the first thing I thought of upon reading your newsletter, Pádraig, was a gesture I witnessed (on video recording), maybe many of us did, that has been replaying in my mind, that I’ve forced to replay in my mind, over and over again, … when Yocheved Lifshitz, the 85 year old Israeli woman who had been taken as a hostage by members of Hamas and was being released, was being handed over to a member of International Committee of the Red Cross, was given their hand and walking away, and she turned back towards the man (whose name I wish I knew, who I struggle in how to describe, so I’ll name him here, “Al-Ghafir Moutiq,”) who had kept her as a hostage, and moved back towards him, extending her hand, and saying “shalom” and he took her hand in his, into a handshake towards his heart, and nods… they appear to make eye contact and to me, I see heart contact. Even as I write these words I fill with tears. Not the kind of tears that have flowed endlessly the past two weeks, bearing witness to such a grotesque sea of destruction, devastation, desperation… dehumanization.. helplessness, this seemingly endless river of loss … but seeing this gesture, these are tears that maybe, maybe another way is possible. There has to be. Even as I witness such horrors, and speak up loudly to say “NO,” and “STOP,” and “please, oh god, please,” my practice is to keep my heart open.. open to all. This gesture will stay with me.
..
Thirdly… gestures that float to the surface as I sit with this contemplation…. I was in gym class in the first grade, and as had become usual, I was the second or third to last to be chosen to be on anyone’s team. Despite being physically adept as a gymnast, I lacked the hand-eye coordination, competitiveness, aggressiveness and interest to be any good at American football. There I was, already feeling uncomfortable just simply being - child of immigrants, brown, in a overwhelmingly white Judeo-Christian school) - doing football drills, and it was my turn to catch the ball. Try after try, I just couldn’t do it. The speed of it, the growing anxiety about it…. who knows why, I simply couldn’t catch the dang football. After multiple attempts, the boy who was kicking the ball to me looked around, and at a moment when it seemed as if no one was watching us, including and especially our gym teacher, he ran closer to me and gently tossed the football right into my hands. I’ll never forget that gesture. Ian Incremona. That was his name. The next year or so (okay, more like three), I spent pining after him, rehearsing my name, along with his last name. It seemed like kismet. “Mona Incremona.” It carried me....
…
Many other meaningful gestures come to mind, those received - from my yoga teacher and a gift “returned”… from my father and my student loan… stories for each but this is already rather long... and one gesture yet to actualize - one that has been visiting me repeatedly over the past week given the unfolding horrors in Gaza, as a way of honoring the dead, with their names, recited, and needle and thread in hands to mend the limbs dismembered, families blown apart, gauze to hold secure, absorb the blood that’s been spilled, seeds within each “body bag,” to plant, to return to the soil, this one earth that has seen it all... I imagine this ritual gesture done while reciting the name of each precious sacred life, and a prayer, or a poem, a wish... it’s a vision that keeps coming to me. I hope to make this gesture happen. Will it bring back all the dead in Gaza, and throughout Palestine? No. Will it bring back the dead Israelis? No. Will it end the occupation of Palestine? No. Will it rebuild Gaza? Will it provide homes? Homeland? No, No, and No. Will it alleviate anyone’s suffering? Maybe just my own, maybe. But perhaps it will do something... Re-membering.....
Thank you as always Pádraig for this opportunity to reflect. (I also am so moved by your story of the shoes. Both the offering and how you received them).
I watched that handshake--holding her hand to his heart--and was just in tears. I wish it could be broadcast widely, but of course that wouldn't fit the narrative the west is intent on inscribing into everyone's mind. It was such a profound gesture of shared humanity, of knowing, of seeing another--as you say heart contact. This is who people are. Not governments, not people desperate and moved to fighting. People who want to live in peace, and not in suffering. We need to see it again and again and again. And remember it.
And... (I never shut up lol) ... I found this within the commentary on Levertov's poem: "How are compassion, service, respect for each other [those gifts inherent to the gestures discussed here] and the natural world in conflict with the pursuit of spiritual liberation and freedom from the pains of the world? How are they served by it?..."
I once posed a similar question to a dear friend who had discovered meditation at the age of 85. He'd learned through Vernon Howard's New Life Foundation books and audiotapes. My friend's "beginner's" enthusiasm led him to preach detachment from ego and the world's suffering. One day I asked him, "OK. Tell me the difference between detachment, indifference, and apathy?" We tossed that one around for awhile but neither of us had evolved enough to mark the distinctions. I still haven't. But I believe with my whole heart the following:
"We are all more alike than we are different.
We must all do our best.
We are all just walking each other home."
Thank you all for holding my own and each other's hands on this particular stretch of our journeys.
*******
{Sigh. What did I tell you? I bloviate. All this, and I haven't yet replied directly to Padraig. But it's all good. I've been inordinately blessed with gestures my whole life. And I do my best to nourish and share them.}
thank you for bringing up these questions! adding to your list of "detachment, indifference, and apathy" that you and your friend discussed, I would add the word "equanimity," as taught in the Buddhist tradition, that, as I understand it, and sorry if you are familiar with all this already (here we go, Mona, bloviate! happy with the new vocab) - equanimity is not indifference, but it's more like the sun, that shines indiscriminately upon all the world... it cares, and cares deeply, but without discrimination... and I think it also has the capacity to hold the truth that I cannot save you, you are responsible for your own actions.... and yet, this is one wing of the bird (often called wisdom) and other wing is compassion. We need both. I feel like equanimity is very far from me these days.... but I try to come back to it, in the act of letting go of my fixed ideas and concepts... and enter into a more sky-like, sun-like space... into a more spacious space. space for everything to have it's place. and simulataneously, the paradox, working ceaselessly to end suffering for all beings, knowing the task is impossible. (I win the prize for bloviation I think!). :-)
That gesture from Mrs. Lifshitz brought me to tears as well. And her and her husband's identities as folks trying, in their own ways, to sow peace brought all of the complexities of the war (or whatever feels right for you to call it) to center stage for me. My pastor entreated us to live in the grey areas last week. Perhaps because that's where our humanity will be.
Also, I loved your story about the gesture from your classmate that you had a crush on afterwards. Similar story for me, except HE was the one with the crush!
yes... thank you for all this Sam... and they were peace activists... and how much more there is to all this than this mainstream narrative. so so sad.
and you were the crushed on, eh?! sweet!! thank you for your kind words.
Few, if any, more beautiful prayers have ever been recited to the indifferent heavens. And one of your names is Magician of Words, Mona. Deeply moved by your comment. Thank you.
omg, Kathleen! what you wrote here is so beautiful... and your words are much too generous. I actually learned a new word from your additional comment (and I see now, from the name of your sub stack!) - bloviation. I feel that might be a more fitting name for myself. I was scrolling past my comment to read yours and it went on and on and ... !! well, grateful for this forum that somehow invites me to write. and for your beautiful words. today is Día de los Muertos, and I plan to do my gesture, ritual, offering... reciting the names of the dead, starting tonight. thank you again for your kind words.
I grew up in a middle class neighborhood with Barry Goldwater parents. Kind people but somewhat judgmental of those with less. There was a kid in my school with much less, worn out clothes, kind of a ‘tough’. I was overheard by a teacher demeaning him to a friend when a teacher touched me on the shoulder and said that I should try to understand his situation. He rattled off several possible reasons for his poverty, not that “he should fix himself” which is what I learned at home. 50+ years later I still bristle when people blame the less fortunate for their situation. A kindly delivered impactful gesture delivered at the right time by a teacher I respected. Thank you
Wonderful story of compassion modeled by your teacher. Yet perceiving someone as less fortunate is also a judgement. It's when we insist on seeing a person's substance no matter what fortune is the path to seeing that person's humanity in a just and compassionate way
Wow, this is beautiful. Not only the tenderness and wisdom of your teacher, but your vulnerability in sharing it -- and how this moment changed your life. Thank you.
Hospice entered (invaded) our home a mere week ago. Yesterday my son in law nailed a big 31 into the front porch pillar to reduce the inquiring calls of the newly assigned hospice workers unable to find our front door.
His small gesture nailing up those shiny gold house numbers became a WELCOME sign to each of these merciful strangers finding their way into the intimacy of our day to day lives, until the death of one.
As imperfect as each individual gesture may be, together they are expanding the ways to reach in and add life giving gestures for comfort, courage, clarity, consolation, while offering a full on 24 hour hot line!
Let me count the ways that I gestured in that same day- caregiver/cook/shopper/
maid/ laundress/secretary/banker/driver/and a first, plumber!
I wake this morning liking the word gesture, this breaking down of the hundred ways I gave to my partner just yesterday. I am thinking of these as gestures from my heart to his. Can’t fix him. Can’t control the outcome. Can’t make this dying a big spiritual event without pain. Can’t hide the sadness and the joy when our 7 year old granddaughter comes to visit papa with a drawing of two kitty cats and a heart. Can’t do it alone.
Gestures continued thruout yesterday, too numerous to mention. An unexpected letter from a distant aunt praising his poetry. A box arrived with 100 copies of his newly published chapbook, The Last Day. His sole mission was to disburse copies to his poetry collective that morning and he did. A gesture overflowing with accomplishment and completion.
Thank you once again Padraig. I am seeing our family life as illuminated by a thousand gestures, warm hands, loving hearts, uplifting gestures of laughter as our grandson flung himself into the leave pile his papa had painstakingly attempted to rake. Perhaps his last rake, who knows?
So moved by this, Juju. How incredible that you can notice and appreciate all this in the midst of what you and your partner and all are going through. 🙏🏾❤️🩹
Thank you Carrie. I am so aware these days of the heart treasures our children and grandchildren and great grandchildren provide us in later life. And the immense tug on my heart for their journey ahead to be fruitful in loving kindness and heart wisdom.
Phil posted Danusha Lameris' beautiful poem "Small Kindnesses" above, which I had never read before (thank you Phil!) and it immediately reminded me of a cascading act of kindness I saw on campus the other morning. As each student entered the library, they turned and held the door for the next student who turned and held it for the next, and so on. These interwoven gestures were made all the more powerful due to the gap between the student holding the door and the student entering--Sometimes it was brief but other times it was a long, almost uncomfortable pause. Even so, each gesture was accompanied by a smile and a “Thank you.” A small series of fortunate events that brighten each’s present moment.
I felt the need to add onto this because another small gesture in connection with our conversation occurred this week.
Since the first time I heard it, I have been obsessed with the artist Kishi Bashi’s album “Omoiyari” a Japanese word that he says is roughly translated as “refer[ring] to the idea of creating compassion towards other people buy thinking about them.” Last semester I talked at length about this album with students in my philosophy of art class. One of those students works at the campus radio station and placed a copy of the album in my mailbox. A small unsolicited *gesture* that truly warmed my heart.
I think what this world needs, in the midst of hate, fear and intolerance is to create cascades of kindness and omoiyari.
My teenage son wrapping me silently in his arms after a difficult night involving an angry visit from his estranged father, unhelpful words & actions from his stepfather, & the disappointing cancelation of a special trip.
I don’t even recall the occasion... First Communion? A birthday? Graduation? It came as a $1 bill in a greeting card with the poem, “If, for boys.” It came from a woman up the street, my Mom’s friend. It came at a time when a shy, skinny, overly self-conscious boy needed to be recognized and affirmed, more than 60 years ago.
Oct 29, 2023·edited Oct 29, 2023Liked by Pádraig Ó Tuama
Is it gesture a gesture when someone has forgotten your name?
A couple years ago at Christmas time, I was in the credit union behind someone with a cute kid. The kid was a ebullient and boisterous, and they reminded me of the friends I had had in grade school, who were usually funny and warm-hearted. As I smiled at the child, their mom turned around and said, I know you. From where? I rattled off the many places that I had been to and organizations I've been with. A she interrupted me when I spoke of the community college that I had worked at, and said no, not school, it was before that.
Eventually either she or I figured out that we had gone to middle school together. She had been one of my bullies, but not one that I feared, because her bullying was overt. I could tell that it came from a place of self-loathing, and that knowledge defanged her in my mind and my imagination. She was an irritating person, not a scary one.
I think she may have forgotten all of this, or maybe not. She said, you were so sweet! And I, having waited so long for the chance to speak truth to my bullies, interjected, and said, you were sarcastic.
Then, she did something curious. She didn't acknowledge my comment, but she did. She spoke of the mental health challenges of the people in her family, and how she wanted her child to have a better life, to be taught something better than what she had been taught when she was young. I was still a little bit frozen in that moment, but now I'm getting chills as I retell that story from a few years ago.
That was her gesture, not of repentance or anything, but of something deeper. Of reflection and explanation.
We didn't really say much after that, but I wished her a good holiday season. She smiled, and said Merry Christmas to me.
I'm reading your book, Pádraig. I feel like saying hello to the gestures of atonement, even when we've forgotten the specifics of what we're atoning for.
That's very moving Sam - thank you. That disclosure, the story, the way that she offered a story in response to your comment. And the bravery of your truth-telling in that moment too. Thank you. Hello to you.
Her reply seems to show she must have been aware of how she was in her younger days and that she wanted to be better for the next generation. I hope you got what you needed from the exchange.
Yep, so true about her self-knowledge. Thank you, Elaine. I didn't right away, but now looking back, I see how generous she was with her words. After some thinking about it, I really have.
I was for many years a quite comptant critical care nurse. I am a good follower of patterns. If the agreement was that my patient should not die on my shift I could usually make this true. For keeping people alive in suffering I often felt conflicted. The only gesture of worth was sneaking a bit of ice into the parched mouth of a person in my care. A gesture must feel like something to the receiver.
I respectfully -- and sincerely, as I know how difficult your job must be -- disagree. I'm not a Christian, nor any other kind of theist. But the Christian Bible contains much wisdom. Matthew, after much exposition about not advertising your deeds to other people, goes on to say, "...when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. ..." I interpret that to mean that "in secrecy from your own self." The value of the deed is the deed itself.
Well,if I had not known I was being kind I would not have been able to do the job. Critical care nurses do a great many things to people that cause pain. I preferred being a hospice nurse. I disliked keeping people alive. I did it for money. I can't keep that a secret from myself.
Wise words, Stephanie. Confronting the truths in one's heart is the seed of growth.
I volunteered as an in-home hospice worker once -- just companionship, respite for primary caregivers. During training our teacher related the following anecdote:
An elderly gentleman, beloved by his family, had slipped into unconsciousness and his doctor pronounced his condition terminal. His family all gathered at his bedside and held his hand, whispered their love, wept. After some considerable time (his family was quite large), the gentleman opened his eyes and said, "A watched pot never boils."
I remember so well the days of busyness, flying around wherever I was to get things done, to make things happen. Even so, now and then, I would hold the door open for an older person who always thanked me. In September, I turned 70, and I am now the one who receives the open doors. Many say that our society has become harsh, angry and self-preoccupied. Those open doors are a symbol of what lies deep within a person's heart. There are really good people out there!!
The gesture that is often overlooked in the U.S. but is quite common in other places is the intimate gesture of holding hands. As I get older, my desire for more intimate connections with friends and acquaintances grows, and the moment that I’m sitting with someone or out for a walk, or when my partner and I just want to acknowledge each other without words we reach out and hold each others hands. That joining of of skin and muscle, our heartbeats and warmth is so special that I mark every opportunity that it happens as truly special. It has happened more often with women than men (go figure) but I hope to increasingly add this simple gesture to the times that I share with the men in my life. It is a small gesture but that simple touch can mean the absolute most.
Yes, I find myself reaching out more and more to people too (especially since the pandemic). The other thing I do all the time now? Shout joyfully to someone's back as they are leaving my presence, "I love you!" because why not?
touch is so incredibly important!!! even moreso to the people who feel unseen. I would LOVE to have someone hold my hand. it is such a small gesture, but it can be amazing!!!
It can be amazing! I know Covid made it hard for people to want to shake hands or touch at all, and I hope we can get back to the place where it is common. We really need each other, and we have to accept that part of our humanity.
Right? I work in an elementary school and I hug my coworkers and students constantly. One of my coworkers, who is not a touchy feely kind of person, just shakes her head at me and reminds me often, "omg, Danielle! You are going down, sister." COVID be damned. It is worth it to me. People need to be loved and I'm going to get it at some point anyway, so I may as well continue being my hugging self. The staff, in particular, love it. I have people seeking me out for hugs.
My husband and I have been together 50 years, married 48. We still hold hands. Sometimes now it is to steady one or the other, but often it is simply and silently to celebrate our love.
One of the sweetest memories of my parents . . . when entering their room to say goodnight when visiting them, sitting together in bed, holding hands and talking ideas . . . . That was in their 62nd year of marriage. Thanks for sharing.
Your post immediately brought to my mind Danusha Lameris' poem "Small Kindnesses". I keep it on the wall near my desk, to remind me to make a gesture once in a while myself. The smallest of gestures can be the fullest.
Small Kindnesses
I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”
From Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection (Green Writers Press, 2019).
I meant to add that the sculpture is beautiful, ethereal. It looks as if a breeze would lift it to flight.
Yes! I agree! I have visited Cork and had the keep honor to stand in its presence. Sadly, that was the first time I had heard of that act of generosity by the Chocktaw Nation. How beautiful.
I suspect they understand the full impact of loss of place and the generational trauma of violence and hunger.
The installment was not performative. It is imbued with spirit and relationship.
And flight is what we need at this time! I to fly above the heart ache. To escape the mandane. It is feathers
"Mostly, we don't want to harm each other." Thank you for this, Phil.
I love her writing. She has a Substack called Fleeting Temples. https://danushalameris.substack.com
I, too, recommend her Substack and her published collections.
Thanks for this link. I didn't know she has a newsletter. I love her poetry!
Me too! I’m taking a workshop with her now. She read her poem “Haunts,” and it’s haunting me. You might like this Verna. https://open.substack.com/pub/pocketfulofprose/p/learning-from-ada-limon?r=qqbxq&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web
thanks, Mary. I also love Ada Limon, of course. I subscribed to your substack and am looking forward to reading more.
Welcome Verna. I’m so glad you subscribed. Here’s to beautiful poetry and prose.
Oh, yes! I love this poem and keep it on my kitchen refrigerator. I read it all the time and so appreciate its kind words. Thank you for posting.
"What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”"
"We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire."
I love these two lines. It seems the Choctaw, by their gesture, were telling the Irish people, "We are your tribe. You are welcome around our fire because we know what you're going through. Don't give up."
That donation, however inadequate to the task of removing the suffering/genocide, was such a powerful act of resistance to colonial oppression! Thank you, Padraig, for amplifying that beautiful gesture. And thank you, Phil, for sharing this beautiful poem.
Oh, I love that poem. When circumstances in the world, make me ache for humanity, those words restore my faith. Thank you for including it!
Thank you for reminding me of this poem. I loved it when I first read it but it slipped away. You brought her back. It was indeed a small kindness.
You know when sleep catches you unaware on the Coach and you drift away, then you feel a quilt on your toes - a beloved has covered you! What can feel love more than this?
Yes, I love this too. I collaged it into my poetry journal. Thanks for reminding me of it.
Beautiful -- thank you!
Thank you for this poem. A perfect reminder of what makes life liveable.
Is anyone else a bit bothered by the "Top First" default post order? I happened to be the first comment, and it quickly was being "liked". I'm not happy that I get an ego boost from seeing the likes and comments. (WOW - my first time being "top"!) It begins to feel like a competition, Ironically, my post wasn't a direct response to the week's question from Pádraig -just a great poem by a great poet. There are so many deep actual comments, that, to me, are more "top" than mine. I keep hoping one of them will jump into "top". When I come back on now, I switch to New First. And look - here I am adding yet another comment to mine. So I started with a question, but I'm withdrawing it. Please don't "like" this or reply. Or, if you want to reply, don't reply to this - start a new thread. I'll check.
I love this poem, so thank you for sharing. The world and its challenges can feel so big, and these words remind me not to get lost in all of that, but to show up for whatever opportunity is in front of me. Also reminds me of how much kindness and warmth there is everywhere.
Hi, Phil. Thank you for posting Small Kindnesses. I read it elsewhere recently, can't remember where, forgot to save it. It an oh yes poem. Please see my comment to Padraig (if you're able; Substack still seems impenetrable to me at times), where I expound a bit more on the effect of several posts I read today. Saludos.
Kathleen, I'll look for your post. I, too, find Substack really mysterious. I assume there must be some training youtube or manual somewhere, but I haven't looked for it.
Phil, I do believe I found it! It's @On Substack. (There's my perennially missing link again. Gosh darn it! And goddammit too, for good measure.
Phil, please see my comments speckled throughout this entire comment thread. Saludos.
A favorite of mine - which I include at the bottom of each email. . hoping for deeper connection: "We have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”"
Thank you for posting this. It helped trigger my response below.
In by best and very limited French, I told the two women I'd approached on the grounds of the cathedral in Lausanne, Switzerland that we were lost and needed to find our hotel. The day was hot, the hike had been longer than we'd anticipated. It was the end of the afternoon. "Weary" barely captures our condition in that moment. They both spoke English and without hesitation they guided us down back streets, took us on a subway and walked us to our hotel. The lively conversation took our minds off our aching feet and hips. At one point, I asked what they had been doing that afternoon. Evelyn looked at me and said, "We were waiting for you." The fullness of this gesture still brings me to tears.
"We were waiting for you." What a wonderful reply.
What a wonderful reply they made!
"We were waiting for you." - wow! I love this. Thank you for sharing.
Wonderful story on kindness!
the kindness of strangers who treat you like family is like nothing else in the world. It says here, you belong. Love this story so much!
That is so lovely.
Wow! Not exact but it reminds me of the biblical walk to Emmaus!
That is amazing! I love that! Thank you.
Thank you for this exquisite picture of humanity. Such a gesture. Thank you!
A few years back, in what I now call The Winter of Divorce, every day was hard. I'd been left. I could afford very little food or heat. I survived one day at a time. Every small gesture of kindness was precious—a smile from a stranger, a gentle word, anything that conveyed, "I see you." At the end of each day, I'd take a long walk in the dark reviewing those gifts. I'd get home, write them in my "gift journal," and make it through the night.
oh Dana, what a beautiful practice you did during that Winter... I also went through a "Winter of Divorce" some years ago, and during that time, I felt incredibly connected to so many other beings... and was, like you, so moved by these many gestures of kindness, of being seen.. I think all of that was essential to carrying me through to the next season....
It is a pity! My August of divorce in the tropics in 2020 ended in a together! But after we had signed the temporary separation, I was the one who left our home! I rented a furnished apartment on a farm in the village. Every evening I would God, you mean our love can end? Then after two weeks, the phone call came and he asked, why did you live home? Come back! And I did!!! So I concluded, our love in Hod doesn’t end💕
Believe it or not, my ex and I remarried. Our first wedding was July 13, 2013. Our second was August 13, 2020. 💕
Hi Dana, I just saw your reply to mine just now! I am so happy for your good love story! With ours, it is truly a new phase - fours years now since our coming together we nothing nothing will ever pull us apart!
!!
I’ve been reminding a dear friend, who is on the verge of divorce, but with kids, etc, it’s so hard, that even divorce isn’t necessarily permanent. I love this, Dana!
Kituyi Betty
Writes Kituyi’s Newsletter
1 min ago
It is a pity! My August of divorce in the tropics in 2020 ended in a together! But after we had both signed the temporary separation, I was the one who left our home! I rented a furnished apartment on a farm in the village. Every evening I would ask God, you mean our love can end? Then after two weeks, the phone call came and he asked, “why did you leave home? Come back!” And I did! So I concluded that our love in God doesn’t end💕
Thank you, Mona. And so much yes. When I look back now, I'm truly grateful for that time and even have a bittersweet nostalgia around it with the passage of years. Never, ever would've imagined that when in the midst of it, awaiting the next season. xo
the bittersweet nostalgia
- I get it! The incredible thing that time (and process/healing…) does. ♥️
Oh, those gestures of kindness really through us a rope sometimes when we need it.
Yes. So much.
Kindness at a time of grief and disorientation is grace. I love the idea of a gift journal. You have shared your gift with me. Thank you.
Hearts to you, Miriam!
That “I see you” and the simple ways it can be said. Wow!
♡
Thank you for sharing, Dana! This is amazing. I can understand it was hard at the time, but in a way, it taught you to be present in each and every moment, that living one day at a time. That, alongside that Winter you were experiencing, is a beautiful measure of duality. So thankful you had some people come alongside you during that period to remind you that you are still very much here and needed. XO
♡
It's also the gesture you gave to yourself
Oh, I love that, Amy. Thank you.
♡
I was shaken to the core by my father's unexpected death. It was the first time death had come so close to me. People sent notes of condolence (pre Internet days) and I read every single one of them, breathing in the love they expressed. Those words were so important to me and helped me feel still connected to him. I decided then and there to always send a note of condolence (in this day and age, not an email or text but a real note) to people who are grieving. I write to tell them what their person meant to me. The small gestures shown to me have gone back out in the world dozens of times since then.
I had the same experience when my husband died. Notes from his colleagues and students helped me know him even better, and now I also send handwritten notes when someone passes. A hug the family can unwrap at their own pace.
Yes! I learned things about my dad that I hadn't known. I didn't really know his work world and the people he had impacted there. The word I read over and over again was generous. I didn't even know. I'm glad now that I can share my connections with the families of the people I know who have died.
Because of your message, I remembered someone from 40 years ago and how I sent a loving letter to the mother of a friend who took his young life. 💐 🌹
In recent years, two former students of mine took their own lives. I sat with that for a day or two so I could write their parents a letter that would mean something. I spoke about how I knew their children. I wanted the parents to know that their children were not forgotten. I knew both kids as middle schoolers and they were both in their mid 20’s when they died. I will always write those hard letters b/c parents deserve that. It’s a poignant gift that I can give to them.
Yes. The very essence of gesture. 💐🌹
Yes, the sincere words of people who know and love you, and even those who don't, are such gifts, powerful and gentle at the same time. The kindness of friends helped me so much after my father died just before the Covid lockdowns began, and the devastation in my heart was softened by so many of those gestures and words. I love what you say about real notes...
Firstly, “gesture” is one of my favorite words in the English language! For the feeling of it, the sound, and also it’s meanings…
Secondly, the first thing I thought of upon reading your newsletter, Pádraig, was a gesture I witnessed (on video recording), maybe many of us did, that has been replaying in my mind, that I’ve forced to replay in my mind, over and over again, … when Yocheved Lifshitz, the 85 year old Israeli woman who had been taken as a hostage by members of Hamas and was being released, was being handed over to a member of International Committee of the Red Cross, was given their hand and walking away, and she turned back towards the man (whose name I wish I knew, who I struggle in how to describe, so I’ll name him here, “Al-Ghafir Moutiq,”) who had kept her as a hostage, and moved back towards him, extending her hand, and saying “shalom” and he took her hand in his, into a handshake towards his heart, and nods… they appear to make eye contact and to me, I see heart contact. Even as I write these words I fill with tears. Not the kind of tears that have flowed endlessly the past two weeks, bearing witness to such a grotesque sea of destruction, devastation, desperation… dehumanization.. helplessness, this seemingly endless river of loss … but seeing this gesture, these are tears that maybe, maybe another way is possible. There has to be. Even as I witness such horrors, and speak up loudly to say “NO,” and “STOP,” and “please, oh god, please,” my practice is to keep my heart open.. open to all. This gesture will stay with me.
..
Thirdly… gestures that float to the surface as I sit with this contemplation…. I was in gym class in the first grade, and as had become usual, I was the second or third to last to be chosen to be on anyone’s team. Despite being physically adept as a gymnast, I lacked the hand-eye coordination, competitiveness, aggressiveness and interest to be any good at American football. There I was, already feeling uncomfortable just simply being - child of immigrants, brown, in a overwhelmingly white Judeo-Christian school) - doing football drills, and it was my turn to catch the ball. Try after try, I just couldn’t do it. The speed of it, the growing anxiety about it…. who knows why, I simply couldn’t catch the dang football. After multiple attempts, the boy who was kicking the ball to me looked around, and at a moment when it seemed as if no one was watching us, including and especially our gym teacher, he ran closer to me and gently tossed the football right into my hands. I’ll never forget that gesture. Ian Incremona. That was his name. The next year or so (okay, more like three), I spent pining after him, rehearsing my name, along with his last name. It seemed like kismet. “Mona Incremona.” It carried me....
…
Many other meaningful gestures come to mind, those received - from my yoga teacher and a gift “returned”… from my father and my student loan… stories for each but this is already rather long... and one gesture yet to actualize - one that has been visiting me repeatedly over the past week given the unfolding horrors in Gaza, as a way of honoring the dead, with their names, recited, and needle and thread in hands to mend the limbs dismembered, families blown apart, gauze to hold secure, absorb the blood that’s been spilled, seeds within each “body bag,” to plant, to return to the soil, this one earth that has seen it all... I imagine this ritual gesture done while reciting the name of each precious sacred life, and a prayer, or a poem, a wish... it’s a vision that keeps coming to me. I hope to make this gesture happen. Will it bring back all the dead in Gaza, and throughout Palestine? No. Will it bring back the dead Israelis? No. Will it end the occupation of Palestine? No. Will it rebuild Gaza? Will it provide homes? Homeland? No, No, and No. Will it alleviate anyone’s suffering? Maybe just my own, maybe. But perhaps it will do something... Re-membering.....
And lastly what comes to mind is a gorgeous, deeply moving poem by Denise Levertov, “Beginners.” https://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/Poets/L/LevertovDeni/Beginners/index.html
Thank you as always Pádraig for this opportunity to reflect. (I also am so moved by your story of the shoes. Both the offering and how you received them).
This is so beautiful Mona (Incremona). x
this brings a smile to my heart! needed that. ❤️🩹 thank you, Pádraig.
I watched that handshake--holding her hand to his heart--and was just in tears. I wish it could be broadcast widely, but of course that wouldn't fit the narrative the west is intent on inscribing into everyone's mind. It was such a profound gesture of shared humanity, of knowing, of seeing another--as you say heart contact. This is who people are. Not governments, not people desperate and moved to fighting. People who want to live in peace, and not in suffering. We need to see it again and again and again. And remember it.
Yes yes yes yes and yes. To everything you say here. Thank you, Freya! “This is who people are.” Yes. 🙏🏾
This gesture of pure humanity extended from hostage to the one who delivered her to freedom was breathtaking💔❤️🩹
And... (I never shut up lol) ... I found this within the commentary on Levertov's poem: "How are compassion, service, respect for each other [those gifts inherent to the gestures discussed here] and the natural world in conflict with the pursuit of spiritual liberation and freedom from the pains of the world? How are they served by it?..."
I once posed a similar question to a dear friend who had discovered meditation at the age of 85. He'd learned through Vernon Howard's New Life Foundation books and audiotapes. My friend's "beginner's" enthusiasm led him to preach detachment from ego and the world's suffering. One day I asked him, "OK. Tell me the difference between detachment, indifference, and apathy?" We tossed that one around for awhile but neither of us had evolved enough to mark the distinctions. I still haven't. But I believe with my whole heart the following:
"We are all more alike than we are different.
We must all do our best.
We are all just walking each other home."
Thank you all for holding my own and each other's hands on this particular stretch of our journeys.
*******
{Sigh. What did I tell you? I bloviate. All this, and I haven't yet replied directly to Padraig. But it's all good. I've been inordinately blessed with gestures my whole life. And I do my best to nourish and share them.}
thank you for bringing up these questions! adding to your list of "detachment, indifference, and apathy" that you and your friend discussed, I would add the word "equanimity," as taught in the Buddhist tradition, that, as I understand it, and sorry if you are familiar with all this already (here we go, Mona, bloviate! happy with the new vocab) - equanimity is not indifference, but it's more like the sun, that shines indiscriminately upon all the world... it cares, and cares deeply, but without discrimination... and I think it also has the capacity to hold the truth that I cannot save you, you are responsible for your own actions.... and yet, this is one wing of the bird (often called wisdom) and other wing is compassion. We need both. I feel like equanimity is very far from me these days.... but I try to come back to it, in the act of letting go of my fixed ideas and concepts... and enter into a more sky-like, sun-like space... into a more spacious space. space for everything to have it's place. and simulataneously, the paradox, working ceaselessly to end suffering for all beings, knowing the task is impossible. (I win the prize for bloviation I think!). :-)
That gesture from Mrs. Lifshitz brought me to tears as well. And her and her husband's identities as folks trying, in their own ways, to sow peace brought all of the complexities of the war (or whatever feels right for you to call it) to center stage for me. My pastor entreated us to live in the grey areas last week. Perhaps because that's where our humanity will be.
Also, I loved your story about the gesture from your classmate that you had a crush on afterwards. Similar story for me, except HE was the one with the crush!
yes... thank you for all this Sam... and they were peace activists... and how much more there is to all this than this mainstream narrative. so so sad.
and you were the crushed on, eh?! sweet!! thank you for your kind words.
☺️
Beautiful gestures reflected upon here. Thank you, Mona.
Thank you, Christine 🙏🏾.
"...Each of us has a name..."
Few, if any, more beautiful prayers have ever been recited to the indifferent heavens. And one of your names is Magician of Words, Mona. Deeply moved by your comment. Thank you.
omg, Kathleen! what you wrote here is so beautiful... and your words are much too generous. I actually learned a new word from your additional comment (and I see now, from the name of your sub stack!) - bloviation. I feel that might be a more fitting name for myself. I was scrolling past my comment to read yours and it went on and on and ... !! well, grateful for this forum that somehow invites me to write. and for your beautiful words. today is Día de los Muertos, and I plan to do my gesture, ritual, offering... reciting the names of the dead, starting tonight. thank you again for your kind words.
Mona...You notice so deeply. The beginning of gesture.
oh Ron, what a kind and beautiful thing to say. thank you 🙏.
I grew up in a middle class neighborhood with Barry Goldwater parents. Kind people but somewhat judgmental of those with less. There was a kid in my school with much less, worn out clothes, kind of a ‘tough’. I was overheard by a teacher demeaning him to a friend when a teacher touched me on the shoulder and said that I should try to understand his situation. He rattled off several possible reasons for his poverty, not that “he should fix himself” which is what I learned at home. 50+ years later I still bristle when people blame the less fortunate for their situation. A kindly delivered impactful gesture delivered at the right time by a teacher I respected. Thank you
Wonderful story of compassion modeled by your teacher. Yet perceiving someone as less fortunate is also a judgement. It's when we insist on seeing a person's substance no matter what fortune is the path to seeing that person's humanity in a just and compassionate way
Wow, this is beautiful. Not only the tenderness and wisdom of your teacher, but your vulnerability in sharing it -- and how this moment changed your life. Thank you.
Yes, a great reminder not to be afraid to speak up in those moments.
I love your question -- filled to the brim -- with what?
In my case -- in the poem I wrote about a small incident -- the gesture was filled to the brim with unspoken delight.
Rendered, Briefly, Uninvisible
Yesterday, on the subway,
a charming, strapping young man
put his arm around me
to brace me from tipping over.
He and I never spoke,
just smiled at each other a couple times,
hanging on the poles,
and he kept his arm there long past the time I needed it.
I snuggled into him,
lingered in his heat, his faint cologne wafting over me,
and my thoughts floated along,
vague warm thoughts of a middle-age woman
rendered briefly uninvisible.
My kids, ages 9 and 7, just stared.
I told them he was my robot protector
and the young man played along,
nodding and beeping…
We all got off at the same stop and the man dashed off.
My son asked, "Who was that robot man? Was he your boyfriend?"
I smiled. “Maybe he was.”
We laughed for a whole two blocks,
wondering what
Daddy would say.
that is SO sweet! love this. thank you for sharing.
How delightful! Made me smile. :) Thank you, Camille.
Me too!
Oh, my. What sweetness.
Lots of gestures in your poem. Thanks for sharing.
Hospice entered (invaded) our home a mere week ago. Yesterday my son in law nailed a big 31 into the front porch pillar to reduce the inquiring calls of the newly assigned hospice workers unable to find our front door.
His small gesture nailing up those shiny gold house numbers became a WELCOME sign to each of these merciful strangers finding their way into the intimacy of our day to day lives, until the death of one.
As imperfect as each individual gesture may be, together they are expanding the ways to reach in and add life giving gestures for comfort, courage, clarity, consolation, while offering a full on 24 hour hot line!
Let me count the ways that I gestured in that same day- caregiver/cook/shopper/
maid/ laundress/secretary/banker/driver/and a first, plumber!
I wake this morning liking the word gesture, this breaking down of the hundred ways I gave to my partner just yesterday. I am thinking of these as gestures from my heart to his. Can’t fix him. Can’t control the outcome. Can’t make this dying a big spiritual event without pain. Can’t hide the sadness and the joy when our 7 year old granddaughter comes to visit papa with a drawing of two kitty cats and a heart. Can’t do it alone.
Gestures continued thruout yesterday, too numerous to mention. An unexpected letter from a distant aunt praising his poetry. A box arrived with 100 copies of his newly published chapbook, The Last Day. His sole mission was to disburse copies to his poetry collective that morning and he did. A gesture overflowing with accomplishment and completion.
Thank you once again Padraig. I am seeing our family life as illuminated by a thousand gestures, warm hands, loving hearts, uplifting gestures of laughter as our grandson flung himself into the leave pile his papa had painstakingly attempted to rake. Perhaps his last rake, who knows?
Falling leaves
Life’s cycling
No grasping
Laughter remains
So moved by this, Juju. How incredible that you can notice and appreciate all this in the midst of what you and your partner and all are going through. 🙏🏾❤️🩹
Thank you for your care ❣️
Gutted by your words . . . and deeply enriched. Beautifully written . . . beautifully shared. Arms around you in these days . . . .
Your gesture of heart touches me. Thank you. 🙏🏼
Your words are sunlight to my heart. Thank you for taking the time in this time of grief and aching love.
Miriam, how gentle your words - sunlight to my heart- land this evening as I soon turn in to the dark of night where time relaxes.
Wishing you well. 🪷
Thank you for sharing this; sending you thoughts and wishes for the journey ahead. the image of your grandson in the leaf pile is beautiful.
Thank you Carrie. I am so aware these days of the heart treasures our children and grandchildren and great grandchildren provide us in later life. And the immense tug on my heart for their journey ahead to be fruitful in loving kindness and heart wisdom.
Phil posted Danusha Lameris' beautiful poem "Small Kindnesses" above, which I had never read before (thank you Phil!) and it immediately reminded me of a cascading act of kindness I saw on campus the other morning. As each student entered the library, they turned and held the door for the next student who turned and held it for the next, and so on. These interwoven gestures were made all the more powerful due to the gap between the student holding the door and the student entering--Sometimes it was brief but other times it was a long, almost uncomfortable pause. Even so, each gesture was accompanied by a smile and a “Thank you.” A small series of fortunate events that brighten each’s present moment.
"a cascading act of kindness". Save that phrase. I like to think your use of it was the first ever. I'm not going to google to find out.
I felt the need to add onto this because another small gesture in connection with our conversation occurred this week.
Since the first time I heard it, I have been obsessed with the artist Kishi Bashi’s album “Omoiyari” a Japanese word that he says is roughly translated as “refer[ring] to the idea of creating compassion towards other people buy thinking about them.” Last semester I talked at length about this album with students in my philosophy of art class. One of those students works at the campus radio station and placed a copy of the album in my mailbox. A small unsolicited *gesture* that truly warmed my heart.
I think what this world needs, in the midst of hate, fear and intolerance is to create cascades of kindness and omoiyari.
My teenage son wrapping me silently in his arms after a difficult night involving an angry visit from his estranged father, unhelpful words & actions from his stepfather, & the disappointing cancelation of a special trip.
What a rough day for your son and you. I imagine the hug was just what you both needed.
I don’t even recall the occasion... First Communion? A birthday? Graduation? It came as a $1 bill in a greeting card with the poem, “If, for boys.” It came from a woman up the street, my Mom’s friend. It came at a time when a shy, skinny, overly self-conscious boy needed to be recognized and affirmed, more than 60 years ago.
One of the things I love so much in these responses are the paths I go down following the poems!
Is it gesture a gesture when someone has forgotten your name?
A couple years ago at Christmas time, I was in the credit union behind someone with a cute kid. The kid was a ebullient and boisterous, and they reminded me of the friends I had had in grade school, who were usually funny and warm-hearted. As I smiled at the child, their mom turned around and said, I know you. From where? I rattled off the many places that I had been to and organizations I've been with. A she interrupted me when I spoke of the community college that I had worked at, and said no, not school, it was before that.
Eventually either she or I figured out that we had gone to middle school together. She had been one of my bullies, but not one that I feared, because her bullying was overt. I could tell that it came from a place of self-loathing, and that knowledge defanged her in my mind and my imagination. She was an irritating person, not a scary one.
I think she may have forgotten all of this, or maybe not. She said, you were so sweet! And I, having waited so long for the chance to speak truth to my bullies, interjected, and said, you were sarcastic.
Then, she did something curious. She didn't acknowledge my comment, but she did. She spoke of the mental health challenges of the people in her family, and how she wanted her child to have a better life, to be taught something better than what she had been taught when she was young. I was still a little bit frozen in that moment, but now I'm getting chills as I retell that story from a few years ago.
That was her gesture, not of repentance or anything, but of something deeper. Of reflection and explanation.
We didn't really say much after that, but I wished her a good holiday season. She smiled, and said Merry Christmas to me.
I'm reading your book, Pádraig. I feel like saying hello to the gestures of atonement, even when we've forgotten the specifics of what we're atoning for.
That's very moving Sam - thank you. That disclosure, the story, the way that she offered a story in response to your comment. And the bravery of your truth-telling in that moment too. Thank you. Hello to you.
Thank you Pádraig. Hello to us 🙂
Her reply seems to show she must have been aware of how she was in her younger days and that she wanted to be better for the next generation. I hope you got what you needed from the exchange.
Yep, so true about her self-knowledge. Thank you, Elaine. I didn't right away, but now looking back, I see how generous she was with her words. After some thinking about it, I really have.
very moved by this story. thank you for sharing, Sam.
Thanks, Mona. ❤️
Thank you for writing about that tender interaction. Something deep and important happened there and it gives me hope.
Thanks Gracie. Me too. ❤️
Powerful. Reading these responses is like living everyone's gestures as one's own. Thank you. 💐
Yes!! Thank you Miriam!
YES!!!
<3
I was for many years a quite comptant critical care nurse. I am a good follower of patterns. If the agreement was that my patient should not die on my shift I could usually make this true. For keeping people alive in suffering I often felt conflicted. The only gesture of worth was sneaking a bit of ice into the parched mouth of a person in my care. A gesture must feel like something to the receiver.
I respectfully -- and sincerely, as I know how difficult your job must be -- disagree. I'm not a Christian, nor any other kind of theist. But the Christian Bible contains much wisdom. Matthew, after much exposition about not advertising your deeds to other people, goes on to say, "...when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. ..." I interpret that to mean that "in secrecy from your own self." The value of the deed is the deed itself.
Well,if I had not known I was being kind I would not have been able to do the job. Critical care nurses do a great many things to people that cause pain. I preferred being a hospice nurse. I disliked keeping people alive. I did it for money. I can't keep that a secret from myself.
Wise words, Stephanie. Confronting the truths in one's heart is the seed of growth.
I volunteered as an in-home hospice worker once -- just companionship, respite for primary caregivers. During training our teacher related the following anecdote:
An elderly gentleman, beloved by his family, had slipped into unconsciousness and his doctor pronounced his condition terminal. His family all gathered at his bedside and held his hand, whispered their love, wept. After some considerable time (his family was quite large), the gentleman opened his eyes and said, "A watched pot never boils."
whoa. wow. thank you for sharing.
I remember so well the days of busyness, flying around wherever I was to get things done, to make things happen. Even so, now and then, I would hold the door open for an older person who always thanked me. In September, I turned 70, and I am now the one who receives the open doors. Many say that our society has become harsh, angry and self-preoccupied. Those open doors are a symbol of what lies deep within a person's heart. There are really good people out there!!
We create acts of beauty. We do this.
I agree! there is so much warmth and goodness everywhere.
Happy Birthday.
The gesture that is often overlooked in the U.S. but is quite common in other places is the intimate gesture of holding hands. As I get older, my desire for more intimate connections with friends and acquaintances grows, and the moment that I’m sitting with someone or out for a walk, or when my partner and I just want to acknowledge each other without words we reach out and hold each others hands. That joining of of skin and muscle, our heartbeats and warmth is so special that I mark every opportunity that it happens as truly special. It has happened more often with women than men (go figure) but I hope to increasingly add this simple gesture to the times that I share with the men in my life. It is a small gesture but that simple touch can mean the absolute most.
Yes, I find myself reaching out more and more to people too (especially since the pandemic). The other thing I do all the time now? Shout joyfully to someone's back as they are leaving my presence, "I love you!" because why not?
That’s lovely. I’ve been more effusive with telling folks I love them too. It’s a really nice gesture I think.
touch is so incredibly important!!! even moreso to the people who feel unseen. I would LOVE to have someone hold my hand. it is such a small gesture, but it can be amazing!!!
It can be amazing! I know Covid made it hard for people to want to shake hands or touch at all, and I hope we can get back to the place where it is common. We really need each other, and we have to accept that part of our humanity.
Right? I work in an elementary school and I hug my coworkers and students constantly. One of my coworkers, who is not a touchy feely kind of person, just shakes her head at me and reminds me often, "omg, Danielle! You are going down, sister." COVID be damned. It is worth it to me. People need to be loved and I'm going to get it at some point anyway, so I may as well continue being my hugging self. The staff, in particular, love it. I have people seeking me out for hugs.
So true!
My husband and I have been together 50 years, married 48. We still hold hands. Sometimes now it is to steady one or the other, but often it is simply and silently to celebrate our love.
One of the sweetest memories of my parents . . . when entering their room to say goodnight when visiting them, sitting together in bed, holding hands and talking ideas . . . . That was in their 62nd year of marriage. Thanks for sharing.
What a lovely image and a lofty goal. Thanks for sharing!
Tears. Love is precious. Thank you.