On Foot, Down the Mountain

We sat on the short cement stoop together. She talked. I listened. I had met her before and it was always the same. I couldn’t understand most of what she said. She was speaking so fast, rambling on. No pause for me to respond. Even if she did pause though, how would I respond when I understood very little of her words? Good thing she didn’t pause. I nodded, smiling at her. I can be present to her. Sit with her. Show her that she is worth my time. I can stop my day for her.

Sometimes she looks away while she is speaking. Sometimes she looks directly at me, into my eyes. Sometimes touching my arm or my face. I’m not sure if she is all there. But she is here, and that’s what matters. Be present.

I know she came from far away, walked here on foot, down the mountain. Someone took her home in a car to spare her feet and what was left of her shoes. She came back a few months later, on foot, down the mountain. Lather, rinse, repeat. Listen. Be present.

And again, she came back, on foot, down the mountain. And again. 

With each visit, I understood more and more of her words. Still no time to respond. Speaking rapidly. Rambling on.

Then she pauses.

She looks me in the eye.

You are different, she says. When I come here, even though you don’t understand what I say, you sit with me and you listen. You are different than everyone else.

Then she rambles again. On and on. Without a pause or a place to respond. 

But now I know, there is value in sitting and listening. 

I suspected before, but now, I am certain.

Be present.