The Other Type Of Feeling

You know that feeling?

The excitement you get when you see someone

And that someone’s a stranger

A stranger creeping up on the ground itself

Cautious and casual as not to disturb the air

And they think they’re not being watched

Yet secretly hoping that they are, because

What they’re creeping towards, they believe

Is gold, mercury, or an ancient artifact

An artifact no one but them has discovered

Or ever will—first—in their own time,

And in that moment you get excited too

Except you get excited for a different reason

And when their discovery turns to a shameful frown of defeat

Your lips turn upward towards the sky

Chuckling to yourself, kind of happy, kind of sad

Yet you understand enough to feel commradery

Wishing that stranger was your friend

Just so you could kick em in the pants

A holy moment.

Taking a moment

to examine your palm

is a holy moment.

And those lines, well

they’re the most honest

you’ll ever read.

From the Kindness Rock Project. Topanga, California

Miraculous People

What I saw that day, my mind insisted were people,

running back and forth—silhouettes—they were equal.

What I saw that day, I just couldn’t conceal

their shape was mine, it almost didn’t seem real.

See original thought comes before the prequel,

because the love we’re born with exists before evil.

What I saw that day, sure I know they were people,

while my beginner’s mind worked, I couldn’t help but feel

—their heart’s skip beats—my heart was healed,

by what I saw that day on a beach filled to equal:

coexistence at birth, we’re miraculous people.

strangers to ourselves.

My eyes burn

with exhaustion

scanning the airport

for any sign of life

though heads down turned

there is none

just a few lone stragglers

who look around

the same as I

unwilling to accept the courtesy

of pleasant conversation

we remain

strangers

and

strangers to ourselves.