Out and about this morning, and one of my stops was Roca Jack's. I've never been there before, but a friend recommended it when I asked for information on locally-owned coffee shops that roast their own beans. My daughter and I enjoyed a rhubarb muffin, I had a darned good coffee, and there was an artist working on a widow painting for the summer. He was young; a hippy type with a rasta hat, battered backpack, and faded pants and sport jacket. As I was putting my daughter in her car seat, he turned and said, "excuse me? I just wanted to tell you that you are fricking radiant. Enjoy your life...I know you will."
Such a nice compliment, and yet I wish I could see what that person saw. I don't see any particular radiance in me...in fact one of the prime things I feel is wrong with myself these past few years is that any radiance I might have had has been dimmed, covered up, or lost. I certainly don't feel radiant. More like harassed, worn down, and stagnant. Perhaps he saw my love for my girl, though even that is always tinged with worry. She's so small, so tiny, and so many people's happiness seem wrapped up in this one little life. How can she hold it? How can I live up to the responsibility of taking care of it?
But perhaps the best lesson to take from this encounter is that as worn down as I sometimes feel I, like everyone else, have a core of purity, of radiance, that will endure. An indestructible inner essence that is still available...if only I can find it.
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