I believe in second glances.
On first glance, I assume.
On first glance, I expect, I misspeak, I box someone in and hide the key.
On first glance, I fail to listen, to ask questions, to hear the rise and fall of the human voice, like the ridges of the Grand Canyon or the texture of tree bark.
On first glance, I become important.
I become the storyteller, the Chief in Command, the author of All Things Good.
No stutters or stammers.
No missteps or mistakes allowed.
I am in charge.
I am in control.
And all things will be perfectly strung together as I fine-tune each off key note and minor detail.
Yet with a second glance, mistakes are welcome.
Mistakes are beautiful.
With a second glance, a conversation is welcome, a give-and-take exchange is formed.
There is no monopoly, no ownership.
With a second glance, my shoes get dirty.
My hands get sweaty, my fingers even shake.
With a second glance, a table is formed as we rest our elbows on the cheap wood between us and lean in to listen better.
With a second glance, there is no script as I let myself be surprised by life, by people, by stories.
I listen to the river that is facing me.
The river that erupts over rocks and erodes lands, the river that gives life and quenches all thirst.
The river is aggressive.
The river is still.
It is deep with pockets and corners unknown.
The river is clean.
The river is dirty.
The river holds life within it.
It reminds us of movement, of breath.
The river takes me home.
On first glance, it is water.
On second glace, it is life.
On first glance, we are water.
We are blood and bones, muscles and ligaments made to function and make things more convenient.
On second glance, we are life.
We are sacred.
We are mysterious.