Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things,feel the future dissolve in a momentlike salt in a weakened broth.What you held in your hand,what you counted and carefully saved, all this must go so you knowhow desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness.How you ride and ridethinking the bus will never stop,the passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever.Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness, you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road.You must see how this could be you,how he too was someonewho journeyed through the night with plansand the simple breath that kept him alive.Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow.You must speak to it till your voicecatches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth.Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,only kindness that ties your shoesand sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say it is I you have been looking for, and then goes with you everywhere like a shadow or a friend.Naomi Shihab Nye

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