So I woke up this morning thinking the world itself and at least half its problems were on my head, shoulders, chest, hips, on down to my feet, not to mention my brain activity was less than desireable. Between and 1-10 I "were" sittin at a 2! Of course I won/t go into the details, but there were many or so I thought. I had run out of HEMP milk for my morning coffee, which makes all my bodily functions work each day, and now having said that.....lite us "Move" on. I stopped at the local PDQ/KwikTrip/7-11/StopnGo and so on and so on... and I bought a cup of 1/2 decaf, 1/2 coffee to get myself going. Oh duh on the going thing. I meant to get myself more awake. While choosing the size coffee cup I wanted to purchase a man walked past my rear side and as he did I smelled his aura or laggering cigarette smoke...He was then aside me purchasing a doughnut when his cell phone rang. He listened to the caller. Then his words were slow, phlegmatic, and deep. He said, "OK, yes, well we will just deal with it, it is all we can do." He was about 43 years old, blonde hair below his ears, almost to his shoulders, a black leather jacket, jeans, and don't forget the aroma of cigarette smoke. I purchased my coffee and began to walk to my car when I saw a man leaving the store with a cup of joe and in his other hand a hot dog. Yes it was too early for a hot dog. He was an overweight man dressed impeccably... tie and all getting into a small sports car. (the perfect job, no one to fix him a decent breakfast, BUT, still appeared perfect until her bent over grabbing his tie as though something big needed to be fixed. And it did. He has spilled his perfect coffee on his perfect tie. I could "feel" his thoughts. Should I go back home and get a new tie? Or try to get thru it and drive on to the perfect job in the perfect car with the perfect stained tie? Then I see the previous fellow coming out the store doors with his coffee in hand while trying to dial up his wife? girlfriend? Mother? with great and deep concern on his face. My spirit could sense and feel his pain. Maybe because he looked like my son, the son in prison. Yet for whatever reason he touched my spirit. Deeply so. I also noticed his vehicle was an older truck with brush in the back. He is a low level worker. He is our middle class. He is a survivor. Do recall I overheard him saying to uplift his other half...'We will deal...we have no choice." And so he will... Dammit. Bless it. Both! It sure took me away from myself. I happened to notice I wasn't the only one with a problem or ten. Amen
