among the multitudes

  

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When I confront a human being as my Thou and speak the basic word I-Thou to him, then he is no thing among things nor does he consist of things. 

He is no longer He or She, a dot in the world grid of space and time, nor a condition to be experienced and described, a loose bundle of named qualities. 

Neighborless and seamless, he is Thou and fills the firmament. Not as if there were nothing but he; but everything else lives in his light.

―Martin Buber

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I am who I am.
A coincidence no less unthinkable
than any other. 

I could have different 

ancestors, after all. 

I could have fluttered 

from another nest 

or crawled bescaled 

from another tree. 

Nature's wardrobe 

holds a fair 

supply of costumes: 

Spider, seagull, fieldmouse. 

each fits perfectly right off 

and is dutifully worn 

into shreds. 

I didn't get a choice either, 

but I can't complain. 

I could have been someone 

much less separate, 

someone from an anthill, shoal, or buzzing swarm, 

an inch of landscape ruffled by the wind. 

Someone much less fortunate, 

bred for my fur 

or Christmas dinner, 

something swimming under a square of glass. 

A tree rooted to the ground 

as the fire draws near. 

A grass blade trampled by a stampede 

of incomprehensible events. 

A shady type whose darkness 

dazzled some.

What if I'd prompted only fear, 

Loathing, 

or pity? 

If I'd been born 

in the wrong tribe 

with all roads closed before me? 

Fate has been kind 

to me thus far. 

I might never have been given 

the memory of happy moments 

My yen for comparison 

might have been taken away. 

I might have been myself minus amazement, 

that is, 

someone completely different.


—Wislawa Szymborska
Among the Multitudes

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