Yesterday, at our local food co-op, I decided to “work with” a clerk, an older man, probably in his late ’60s or early ’70s, who has been working there for the past several months. I have a sense that he doesn’t want to be working, but can’t avoid it. All the other clerks are as usual, friendly and helpful, but I have never seen him crack a smile, or even speak in anything but a low mutter, anytime I go through his line. Frankly, he seems depressed, and quite used to being depressed, cut off from those around him.
“Work with,” for me, means, first find something about a person’s appearance that I really appreciate and mention it. And there was one, his hair: thick, greyish/brown. So I launched in.
“Did anyone ever tell you you have magnificent hair?” I said as I as busily arranged groceries in my backpack.
It was as if I had addressed him for the first time, or rather: as if I was the first person who had really addressed him, not just the role he was playing of a grocery clerk.
“I don’t remember,” he said, after a pause (to get his wits about him?).
“Well, you do. Magnificent! Many people your age don’t have any hair!”
“I know.” He replied, then: “It’s just hair.”
Okay, that was the extent of the exchange. But you know what? From that moment on, I could sense a spark of aliveness kindling within him, and reached out to me energetically, in a subtle fashion, as we completed our transaction.
That’s an example of my “work” these days, as a crone. Wherever I am, wherever I go, my intention is, with small, short encounters, to acknowledge and/or ignite aliveness in my fellow human beings.
Just passing another on the street is enough; we can greet each other, soul to soul, and often do. My direct gaze penetrates, activates, and the mutual frisson lifts both our hearts.
In my work as a Crone, my aim is homeopathic.
