I’m as small as it gets. I’m a joke. A laughingstock. I barely count. I don’t try to be an expert, because I’ll be outed very quickly. I don’t try to be spiritual, because I have so many perverted flaws I’d be exposed as the joke I am. I’m as small as it gets. 

Being small ain’t so bad. Being small means nothing to hide. Being small means I might help someone, maybe not on a big scale, but maybe one to one. Where the world doesn’t notice, but it’s the world to that person.

Being small means maybe I can reach somebody where the expert can’t. Something that helps them get through a day because they see something in me that’s good, and I seem so entirely small myself, they don’t have to aim too high to find that good place in themselves, too.

Being small means the moment my ego gets afraid of being exposed, I can laugh. I can say, “Hey, I’m just small,” and the ego feels relieved and unafraid. It says back to me, “Oh, yeah, we’re going with that bit. I don’t have to pretend or worry I’m anything big.”

Being small gives me an interesting point of view. All the grown-ups running around being so important, just like when I was a little kid. But, they wear so many frowns and worries underneath their important clothes and degrees. I can go laugh and play and make things in the dirt under the stairs again, at least in my mind.

Being small means I don’t have to fight back when someone disagrees. I can say nothing. Or, I can say, “Maybe you’re right. I never thought of it that way.” Being small means I might cut through to the good in people right away instead of trying to find a spot on the crowded ladder.

Being small means I can accept other people’s ideas and names for God, or no god at all. Because I can see the god shining through them when I’m small enough.

Being small lets people feel unafraid of finding shelter under me, because they know I will never judge them. How can I? When I am so much smaller than they are.

Being small lets me feel big in a place I can’t measure or touch with rulers or slide measures or degrees or awards. But, it’s a beautiful big warm place inside. Even my ego, which fought for years to be right and good and important, seems to sigh and say, “Thank you, I like it here, too.”

Being small sets me free.

I love you. You’re very big to me.

In memory of Bullseye.