I met a blind man one day, sitting on a bench alone in a city park. He was dressed modestly, with dark shades shutting off the entry to his soul, holding a black cane in his right hand with a wooden handle that was trimmed in gold.

But most notably, even more than his worn-down shoes that looked as if he had traveled a thousand miles, he was wearing a straight face that screamed out to me - loud from the depth of his worn-down soles. One free from emotion.

He didn't smile. But neither did he frown. And he never once lifted he head to look up.. even though we sat and talked for quite a while. He just kept his head hanging down... as low as his spirit existed...