"The Postal Worker’s Question" [true story!]
Yesterday, when I went into the Kapa’a Post Office, it was very busy. I was there to pick up a package, and when I got to the front of the line, the postal worker took my yellow slip and turned to go to the back room to retrieve my package; when he returned he looked at me intently, and, in a voice, the source of which seemed to come from forever, asked me, “Do you know why we are here?”
For the briefest moment, my eyes met his, time stopped, and we were on that field beyond ideas of right and wrong of which Rumi speaks (http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/show/163347) [remember, this was the post office, lots of people, people in line behind me waiting to be served and amongst all of this, the question was posed.]
“I really don’t know,” I replied. “Perhaps it is all just part of an extraordinary Mystery that we will never have an answer for, a Divine Mystery.”
“But you know,” I continued, “in the midst of it all, there is only one thing that, somehow, makes it all okay, makes any sense at all . . . . and that’s Love. That is the only thing I can think of that provides any meaning and worth at all to this Mystery.”
We looked at each other again, briefly; he smiled, as I could see him struggling, reaching for the understanding or knowing of Love, as he knew it. A slight, barely perceptible smile formed on his lips, and he nodded his head slightly as he handed me my package.