Poetry - a recipe for the soul in an upside down world

Last Fall about 2 weeks before the election, I was headed to Hamburg, in Berks County, to help a candidate in a State Representative race. I found myself on a long windy road in Schuylkill County - totally lost and my GPS totally useless. I stopped by a strip mall and saw a couple in car and asked for directions. '

The man, who was the driver of the car, began to give me directions and then stopped and said - Follow me I'll get you where you need to go.

As I pulled my vehicle around (it has a Bernie bumper sticket), I noticed the car had a Trump bumper sticker. The gentleman not only drove me to the main intersection - he got out of the car and began to give me further directions. I was moved to tears and told the man - America is truly great. Your a Trump supporter, I'm a Biden supporter - Thank you!  Thank you! He smiled and laughed and also moved.

This gentleman gave totally of himself and didn't ask me where I was from, my religion, my party - I was a stranger lost and he generously helped me find my way. I think of these poems when I think of this man. - one by Kahlil Gibran and the other by Walt Whitman 

On Giving Kahlil Gibran - 1883-1931 From The Prophet (Knopf, 1923). This poem is in the public domain.

Then said a rich man, Speak to us of Giving. And he answered: You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give. For what are your possessions but things you keep and guard for fear you may need them tomorrow?
And tomorrow, what shall tomorrow bring to the overprudent dog burying bones in the trackless sand as he follows the pilgrims to the holy city? And what is fear of need by need itself? Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable? There are those who give little of the much which they have—and they give it for recognition and their hidden desire makes their gifts unwholesome. And there are those who have little and give it all. These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is never empty. There are those who give with joy, and that joy is their reward. And there are those who give with pain, and that pain is their baptism. And there are those who give and know not pain in giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue; They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space. Through the hands of such as these God speaks, and from behind their eyes. He smiles upon the earth. It is well to give when asked, but it is better to give unasked, through understanding; And to the open-handed the search for one who shall receive is joy greater than giving. And is there aught you would withhold? All you have shall some day be given; Therefore give now, that the season of giving may be yours and not your inheritors’. You often say, “I would give, but only to the deserving.” The trees in your orchard say not so, nor the flocks in your pasture. They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish. Surely he who is worthy to receive his days and his nights, is worthy of all else from you. And he who has deserved to drink from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup from your little stream. And what desert greater shall there be, than that which lies in the courage and the confidence, nay the charity, or receiving? And who are you that men should rend their bosom and unveil their pride, that you may see their worth naked and their pride unabashed? See first that you yourself deserve to be a giver, and an instrument of giving. For in truth it is life that gives unto life—while you, who deem yourself a giver, are but a witness. And you receivers—and you are all receivers—assume no weight of gratitude, lest you lay a yoke upon yourself and upon him who gives. Rather rise together with the giver on his gifts as on wings; For to be overmindful of your debt, is to doubt his generosity who has the freehearted earth for mother, and God for father.

To a Stranger Walt Whitman - 1819-1892 This poem is in the public domain.

Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me, I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.