Paper Cranes

Where some girls have necklaces or dice hanging from their rearview mirror, I have a simple origami crane. It is crude, made from an index card, torn through the middle to string a piece of hemp through it. But it is not just some frivolous piece of paper art. That crane was given to me by a man named Michael. Michael plays guitar as if he could somehow give musical shape to his soul simply by picking out the right chord progression. He has a rough life, but he does not dwell on his own problems, preferring to focus on the people he draws with his music. He'll sit outside the cafe and play for hours, talking with but mostly listening to the people who pause and dare to break from their plans to sit with him. Sometimes he tells me their stories, and through him I have been impressed with the beauty of human existence. Everyone has some deeply felt grief, everyone has a heart wrenching joy, and who that person is in his essence... that is worth knowing. I want to know people like Michael knows people. As stories, as a muddled whirl of laughter and pain, as human beings worthy of a listening ear and a loving heart.