Gene from Ohio
“Hello!” said the caller.
“I wanted to speak to the Walking Monk.”
“Yes, that’s me.” I had noticed the origin of the place where the call came from. It was Ohio. I was surprised. I’m here in India.
“This is Gene. I met you on your walk. I’m the car salesman. Remember? It was raining. I called you into my shop in Ohio. I told you I know someone from Ontario, like yourself. He’s from Wawa–a friend of mine. Lives here now. You met him.”
Of course, I remember. And Wawa? Well that is a notorious place for hitchhikers in Canada. In the sixties and seventies the word was, “Don’t get dropped off in that place. You’ll never get out”
“Gene, it’s a pleasure.”
“I wanted to know how you’re doing? I can send you a donation,” said Gene.
Gene was one of those happy-go-lucky guys, generous as anything. He told me he was willing to give me the shirt off his back. Literally. He was serious, especially when he saw me all wet. His kind is rare. He melted my heart.
When he understood he had called India, he was conscientious. “I won’t hold you up too long. It gets expensive.”
He’s melting my heart once again.
Of all the people and places…. I was flabbergasted that someone would go out of their way as he did. I recall he appeared to me as a cross between Burl Ives and the sun–a jolly fellow. I think he’s a saint. I’ll follow up when I get back home.
May the Source be with you!