Here’s what it looks like outside, this morning. Supposed to stop raining, for now, at around 9 AM. But who knows what’s next weatherwise, and when and for how long?

Meanwhile, I want to convey here an extraordinary encounter I had in my nearby bank branch during yesterday’s gloom. It’s as if the dark was shot through with light! With LOVE.

First, to set the stage:

Dogs are allowed. So Scampi (have been told he’s a “schnoodle”) trots in there like he owns the place. In fact, he garners so much attention that I’m surprised he’s still allowed in. Especially since, twice, in past month, when noticing a man in a uniform there (UPS driver), he barked, fiercely, twice each time, guarding the bank. And his bark, believe me, is awful: high, shrill, triggers my hair-trigger nervous system every time. Yesterday, when it happened for the second time, I joked, out loud, with a number of clerks nearby: “Hmmm. I wonder if he had another life in Nazi Germany . . .?”

Joking like that is endemic, for me. I simply can’t help myself. Just like the new code word that I must use when I call up my accounts: It is, shshsh, don’t tell . . . oops! I guess I shouldn’t say it here; but just know that it refers to my so-called social “status.”

And I say it, each time, very conspiratorially; the clerks love my calling out my advanced age in public.

So, yesterday, as I was doing my business, there was another man doing his business at the next window. I had noticed him briefly on the way in; old, like me, and looking somewhat excited, though hesitant, and even scared, as he walked around his small truck with camper atop it. Scampi of course, had gone up to him, and though distracted, he had stopped to offer his hand to Scampi’s curious nose.

So I went in, preceded by tiny King Scampi. And on up to one of the clerk stations. As I was doing my business, I happened to overhear the clerk next to mine ask, curiously, “Oh, and where are you going?”  That’s all. Didn’t hear the response. Didn’t think much of it. That nearby exchange had just blown through me, like the wind.

 

But then, when I  was done, and stepped aside, so did the old man, the two of us momentarily and inadvertently facing each other; divine timing, exact: as if the entire scene was staged.

I asked (like I so often do, engaging strangers in conversation): “Where are you going?”

And he told me: “Moss Beach,” which I picked up as located in some state east and south of here. Also picked up on his internal excitement.

“Oh, is it on the ocean?” I stood still, waiting . . .

“Yes!” To my look of curiosity, he continued, excitement now visible: “I am going to visit my cousin, whom I have not seen in 35 years!”

“Wow, 35 years! That got to me.

“How wonderful! Glad you’re still having adventures!”

His face was filling with joy.

I asked him how old he was. After a tiny moment of hesitation, he answered: “I’m 81.”

“Oh, well I’m 83!” I replied.

With this mutual admission, our communion was total. The two of us were one.

Yes, I couldn’t help but mind and heart meld with this wizened old man who, likely, had never engaged in a conversation such as the one we were having. My gaze had reached across the five foot chasm to his, and it was illuminated with joy, like that of an innocent child. I imagine my face appeared the same to him. Because I too, felt illumined with joy. The joy of discovery, moment by moment, that I am still alive!

Our communion was total. We had entered a higher, more soulful dimension, together, for a brief, but lingering moment in 3D. Both of us fully and utterly present, we had together, without even trying, opened space.

“SO GRATEFUL . . .” we both murmured, meaningfully, at once.

 

With that I wished him well, and to have a wonderful adventure.

His face was beginning to tear up as he turned away, embarrassed, murmuring, “Bless you.”

 

Wow, this little scene, standing in full public view, witnessed by others, in a bank! This moment of utter communion. Two beings, both aging, both growing old, rather than getting old, for one blessed moment, together, as One.

When unlikely scenes like this one are actual, what is not possible?

Remember, re-member:

OPENSPACE IS A VERB