In 1969 I was giving a series of lectures in New York City. Every night, taking the bus up Third Avenue, I got the same extraordinary bus driver. Every night it was rush hour in one of the busiest cities in the world, but we had a warm word and a caring presence for each person who got on the bus.
He drove us as if he were sculling a boat down a
river, flowing through the traffic rather than resisting it. Everyone
who got on the bus was less likely to kick the dog that evening or to be
otherwise hostile and unloving, because of the loving space that driver
had created. Yet all he was doing was driving the bus. He wasn’t a
therapist or a great spiritual teacher. He was simply being love.