What my father taught me, as he lay dying. When he would suddenly feel like he was falling, he would reach up a hand… and all he needed was to have the hand grasped. Nothing more. Perhaps a word… gotcha. That is all.
Sometimes… a schizophrenic asks for 5 minutes in a warm room to drink a cup of coffee… Disheveled … and five minutes. Permission is given. A timer is set. A cup of coffee is drunk. Then, raincoat on, umbrella up… with great appreciation, that seen, connected mind… in gratitude, can be in the rain, with a community connected smile.
Five minutes and a cup of coffee. A hand and gotcha… Then, in a safe place of connection… getting back to the work of … negotiating with the staff in my mind… laying down to die…
Is our connection that of being in charge of both sides of a conversation? Is our connection to connect with the moment of common? Or, is our connection to begin, within, to see and choose, with understanding,
What language? We, us? They, them? We, us with a management of both sides of the connection? We, us with connection and deep listening? They, them… are we and us when we ‘choose’ …
The challenge of this moment is that subtle and ‘all the power of the universe’; seeing.
Dancing in the tension of the gap… in that dancing, there is something else. It is the gratitude of a moment when the connection carries across the gap. The circle of all of ‘us.’