Gratitude - Appreciating Workers of the World

A Hundred minutes?
A thousand?
Hours of our lives,
You and I must have spent inhaling fumes,
Surrounded by ingenious magical machinery.

Rumblings and stirrings in the big machine stomachs as they feed.

The gas pumping experience used to be a
meaningless time of my existence --
lost in my own daily dramas, I'd be staring
blankly into the eyes of the formless shapes
of the cars, trucks, busses, and motorcycles
all around me.

And then, one warm sunday afternoon I head something in between the hissing of the pumping gasoline, the vehicles turning on and turning off.

I heard the rhythms of the corner gas station - one by one as in an orchestra, the different sounds would come together to dance and play, over and under each other.

The rumbling of the motorcycle driving by providing just the right bit of interest, surprising the orchestra go-er that I was.

The machines slowly come to life, one by one - joining in the chorus and adding to teh beat, the tempo.

The thumping beats all stirring something deep in side of me.

Might not be in some ancient tribal drum circle ceremony, but with my eyes closed, it sure does work a similar magic on my heart beat.

Just breathing in the sounds and finding the intricate melodies in the engine of the old RV next to my little white hybrid.

Can't focus on the machines for long without remembering all those brave men and women of the auto industry - engineers to janitors to paper pushing, office going computer workers.

Brave for going into work every day, taking this world on to earn a living for their families.

They go thankless to their jobs, dreary as they may be, to allow us the pleasure of physical mobility.

The freedom that these machines provide me cannot be diminished.

No different to a human rights worker, protesting the imprisonment of innocent civilians the office workers of this world are bearers of their own little peace of freedom fighting.

Pumping gas, i honor them, their work, and their hardships. Not as glamorous as other workers, these humans are critical to my freedom and peace in this land.

And I drop into myself, stillness and gratitude full my belly as my car's belly fills up in unison.

Gratitude to each and every human experience, the chain linked expereinces that bring me to the place that I am here - at this gas station.

Less than three bucks for a gallon, somehow paying a little slice to each of the thousands of people in the chain - bringing oil deep from some faraway land like Saudi Arabia and pumping it into your car.

A moment of silence to honor these human hearts. Then back to my car and on my way.