“I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk down a
crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by. Or how strangers still
say “bless you” when someone sneezes, a leftover from the Bubonic plague.
“Don’t die,” we are saying. And sometimes, when you spill lemons from your
grocery bag, someone else will help you pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to
harm each other. We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot, and to say thank
you to the person handing it. To smile at them and for them to smile back. We
have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief
moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting
temples we make together when we say, “Here, have my seat,” “Go ahead—you
first,” “I like your hat.” - Danusha Laméris
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