conversations

Ramon

Ramon drinks. A lot. He's also closer to god than most people i know.
He calls me "gringi;" to the english speaker it sounds like GReeengy.

I'm standing outside. It's the middle of the day, in the middle of town, in the middle of life here. He walks by, slowing down as he sees me. and we talk.

He greets me: Gringe! How is the day treating you? Perfectly, i tell him. Really?Me too.
He's barefoot, and has clearly just come from a full day's work in the near-by fields. He's dirty, tired, and grinning.
As if directed by something greater, we both look towards the sun. and then towards each other. He tells me, there is no greater gift than the sun. but tell me this, gingi,where does it the sun go when it departs?
There is no greater cause for humility than being asked such a question.
Well, i don't really know for sure, i say. But, i think that we surround the sun, that we travel around her, though we're covered in darkness during the night.
He's surprised. He says, really?
Yes, i say. The earth travels around the sun. We are not the center, but a small thing, traveling around the light.
He's amazed. As am i.
Well, he says, are there really other worlds?
Again, i am humbled by my friend's confidence in me in his asking me such a question. there was once a time when Ramon was suspicious of me, and would not talk to me.
Back to the conversation, i say: other worlds? Yes, i think there are other worlds, other galaxies, filled with stars that spot the sky. But we cannot see them all.

We continue speaking, both of us with our arms folded, in a comfortable posture, enduring and enjoying our shared sun.
A few minutes later, we shake hands, and Ramon heads towards the shade, his shade, well deserved.

..........
Rosa Linda

Twelve minutes north of here, by bus, is a bustling town. on it's edge is a public, catholic school. on this morning, the school director, a nun, calls me.
Hello?
William? Yes! Might you come and speak with me for a few minutes??
I accept and, a few hours later, i an standing in the entry way of a beautiful refuge, a true solace. i am soon greeted by a short, purposeful woman.
She says: god bless you. thank you for coming. can we have a coffee?
I smile and, accept.
First, she has to make a call. So, i sit. and watch. the children are at recess, and i am swept up in that beautiful inclusiveness of the school yard. Laughter, delight, hope. only too soon does my hostess return, all too easily noticing my envy.
She says: they're my students. aren't they happy? yes, i say, they're beautiful.
she motions for me to follow her. helplessly, silently, i accept.
we walk through the school yard. one student, maybe 8 years old, forgets his crush for a moment, and looks at me with unbelieving eyes. i wink at him, and we share a moment of trust, a moment of recognition of spirit. the music of life stops. in that time, it's just the two of us, sharing a glance, and then the world's chorus comes crashing in, on cue, and life resumes.
recognition. acceptance. and we both move on, his attention towards some dark-eyed beauty, mine towards destiny's brevity.
the library. the chapel. the classrooms. we visit them all. i talk to different groups of students. to teachers.
and then, and urgent phone call. a secretary arrives to tell the director that another awaited visitor is here to see her. she considers me, and tells her friend that it can wait.
such honor. towards me. it feels undeserved.
finally, we arrive to the teacher's lounge. this, the hard part. i have to tell her: i am not an english teacher. and i belong to a different town.
her eyes well with tears. mine do too. she sheds any pride. please, she says, all i am asking is one day a week. you can come, assist the english teacher, talk to the students, play sports, and just, be. once a week, for the morning, this can be your home; i offer this to be your home.
i take her hands, and tell her: thank you. i accept.

........

more conversations soon, i promise.