Three Men

What are we entitled to?

There’s more than three people here tonight.

But these ones stand out.

The Butcher is contemplative, his body coated in white bubbles, the plastic stool and wash basin to him part of the most sacred ritual.

He’s done this before.

The Baker kneads his towel, methodically, ridding it of the soap that he knows must not enter the bath. His hands are sturdy, powerful, well used. These same hands fold this now clean towel into a perfect square, and balance it on his head as he dips into the steaming pool.

He needs this.

The Candlestick Maker is already in the sauna. Heat is his playground. Hissing water hits the rocks and blasts what may as well be pure fire our way. But he, being familiar with fire, is undaunted, unbowed.

A statue.

We are entitled to nothing

For these men, this is a daily ritual. They make their way here every day. And I imagine that, for the entire month of March, they have devoted time to this.

Imagine, showing up every single day for an entire month

We are entitled to nothing

But we deserve to care for ourselves

Because at the end of the day

That’s all that is left

The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker are here every single day

A gift, they give themselves.

The gift of clean, of heat, and of time, to simply be.

Tonight, I’m their guest.

And, so.

Imagine, showing up to give yourself a gift. One that you weren’t entitled to, but in the end remember you deserved

Here we are, yet again. And you showed up, even if only for a couple of these days

Finding heat, and care, and time to simply be

Who knew that words, and art, and energy could offer so much that is good for our soul

I remember now

and I am grateful for the company.

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