The pilot draws a picture of a boa with an elephant in its stomach, both interior and exterior, and shows it to the grown-ups. He asks them what they see in it. They say it's a hat. Grown-ups are unable to see what the Pilot sees. I show my friends a Garfield cartoon and see if they can see me in Garfield. In that cartoon strip, Garfield needs to claw something. He claws the curtain and is very satisfied. In the last picture of the strip, Jon asks where his new curtain is. And Garfield's thought bubble has these words: Define "new" to me. I want to know if you can see the Garfield in me.
The Little Prince asks the fox how he can tame him. The fox says,
"You must be very patient,
First you will sit down at a little distance from me-like that-in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day..."
Words are the source of misunderstandings. Sometimes, we only need a silent presence. I like John's reflection today at the Morning Eucharist. Job's friends have spent seven days and seven nights with him in silence. In such silence is the possibility of real human connection. Words may mislead; words may hurt. If you can spend some silent moments with some of your friends without feeling ill at ease, it means your friendship with them is both strong and enduring. It means you can experience moments of unmediated love. John sat with me on one of the benches outside of his office today. There were some moments when I just looked at my hands. There were no words. There was no need for them.
The fox tells the Little Prince a little secret, "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." The important thing is, whenever I eat an ice cream that is of your favourite favour, I always think about you.
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