Kindness

Kindness is everything. It’s a way of life. It’s love in the form of an action. It’s gratitude for all things, not just for those of one’s arbitrary choosing. If we’re not grateful for loss and pain and death, then we’re most certainly not equal to their perceived opposites. One of those beauties is that if we happen to forget any of this, we’re reminded by new acts of kindness. Some are obvious, as when someone brings a meal to the door of another person in need. Others are more subtle: the breath in one’s body; dusk; death; the blush of a rose. No one can tell you to be kind. No one can claim honestly to be kind. Kindness is the realization that life itself is kind, and that we are, each of us, an expression of that kindness. Knowing this, the natural response is kindness. Imagine how sad and unappreciative it would be to give up on someone who is, for whatever reason, blind to, or seemingly incapable of, kindness. Of course, some of us kick dogs. And dogs reward us with kindness.

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