To be an ally is to listen.

If you do not walk in those shoes, listen.

If you remotely relate because of a similar experience, listen.

If your compassion is overwhelming and wants action, act by listening.

Providing safety to speak, to feel, to be, is more valuable than

performative words of knowledge and awareness.

E. Rodriguez y Nogueras

We create our reality, whether through perspective (philosophy) or through energy (quantum physics), so everyone and everything we experience is a mirror, whether a reinforcement of our view or a creation of our thoughts.

E. Rodriguez y Nogueras

Ensure when people regret your death, they miss you & not the

missed opportunities to have known you.

E. Rodriguez y Nogueras

She passed by the car on her jog again this evening. Second day, in a row. It wouldn’t be a thing that stuck except there, usually, weren’t any cars in the park parking lot in the evening.

A smaller town, the park closed at 5pm. She loved that the park was hers for her hour run. She had moved, almost exactly a year ago, to be out of the constant drone of city life. Maybe she was getting older or maybe it never really suited her but small town life was comfortable.

In that year of taking her run in the park, there had been no cars after 5pm. Parents were feeding their kids dinner and there weren’t many teens in the town. The ones she’d seen all hung out at the pizza parlor or in the movie theater parking lot, on the edge of town. She started dinner, planned for an early bedtime and didn’t give the car another thought.

There it was, again. Third time. The odd thing, beyond parking after hours was, each time, there was someone sitting in the driver’s seat, as still as can be. The odder thing was that he sat in a brown suit and brown fedora, staring straight ahead, with the windows up. It was summer.

The even odder thing was that he sat perfectly still. Not that she got to see him for very long. He was in her line of sight for a good ten minutes on her jogs but she never saw him move, in that time.

Fourth day and there it was. This time, a woman was in the driver’s seat. The woman looked at her and smiled. When she smiled back, the woman said, “Such a beautiful evening. My father loved this park. He was responsible for it being built. He always felt the kids in this town needed a place to be but with it closing so early, it doesn’t seem as if they are here, much.”

She had slowed to a walk as the woman spoke. She asked, “Did your father like a brown fedora?” The woman was surprised and stumbled over her words a little. “Well..um...yes. Every Sunday, he wore his brown suit and fedora. Looked very dapper. We’d usually come by here for an hour or two after church, then go home for Sunday supper.”

She smiled at the woman and at the thought of having sort of seen her father, wished her a good evening and continued on her jog.

The big dandelion wisp floated in the, air at the whim of the light wind, up and down, a good 10 ft high. It danced its way back and forth, to one side, then the next, floating high and dipping low. Dancing to the music of wind.

It floated in the wind, watching the trees sway, the dust bits blow along the road, the sky so clear that it could see the stars twinkling beyond the cloud fluffs, even though it was daytime.

The two legged called it a dandelion wisp but, if they could clearly see, would call it a fairy.

She mused about how the old wisteria growing wild on the fence cast a shadow in the shape of a tall, broad shouldered man.

He stood in front of the fence, all of a sudden aware he was visible to her. If he moved, now, she would, surely, be startled, possibly scream. He stood still and hoped she’d look away soon. He had to get back.

She mused about how the shadow didn’t move in the wind with the rest of the shadows cast by the wisteria. She stared at it, as she sat in her car, smoking her organically grown cigarette, taking long drags and slowly releasing each one as she stared at the shape not moving. She studied the fence and the tree vine but couldn’t figure what exactly was casting the shadow nor why everything was swaying in the breeze but the shape didn’t.

He felt the tingle of the call. It was time to get back.

As she finished her cigarette, she wished she had more time to watch the shadow. That was too weird how it did not change. She turned away to walk into the building. She’d taken a long enough break.

He barely waited for her to shut the car door before he dissolved into mist and heeded the call.

The smallest conversations between a caregiver & a child can make such a huge difference. A 3 min convo on what a child wants to do in adulthood, can change who they are by changing who they believe they can be.

E. Rodriguez y Nogueras

If you ever see the phrase 'scrotum to the podium'...I coined that shit!

E. Rodriguez y Nogueras