Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Metta

"This guy, with the thinning, curly black hair and olive complexion," I write in my notebook as the train rocks me gently back and forth, "and this blonde woman playing solitaire on her phone sitting on the subway, I wish them happiness."

"I don't care what they've done," I continue scratching, "or what they've done, and I certainly don't care if they have good thoughts or bad, because none of those things matter."

"And this guy reading over my shoulder," I write slowly and clearly, tilting my notebook so he can get a good look, "I wish him happiness, too."

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