“The secret of true success, of true happiness, is this: the man or woman who asks for no return, the perfectly unselfish person, is the most successful.” Swami Vivekananda

One day last week, in the aftermath of a winter storm that dumped several inches of snow over Chester County, the Chester County Press reporter went on a scavenger hunt for ice melt salt.

His journey took him to several normally reliable sources and at each stop, he was told that the inventory had been plundered within hours of the storm, so he motored on, determined to find what his driveway and his walkway desperately needed. On his fourth visit, he entered a convenience store halfway between Landenberg and Lincoln University and there it was: a large supply of the solution contained in large containers. He grabbed three and took them to the front counter, but there was no one tending to the register. A long line of customers began to stand in line behind the reporter holding their purchases and, realizing that the line was getting longer, he poked his head over the counter and saw an attendant, a man of Indian descent, on the floor and in the act of prayer. In the sliver of space he had, between the counter and the back wall of cigarettes and betting games, the man contorted his body into a peaceful fold, his eyes were closed and for just those precious moments, the world he lives in – with all of its hurried obligations and compendium of uninspired but necessary duty – had vanished. 

It was not the place of the reporter to interrupt the attendant, nor was it his place to inquire as to the ritual of the man’s chosen religion, whether it is any of the Dharmic faiths such as Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism or Sikhism. Rather, he stood quietly and patiently, as did the other shoppers in line with their hot dogs and coffee and soft drinks and candy and milk, who began to see for themselves what was happening behind the counter. 

For nearly two minutes – an entire lifetime in the pay-and-go world of convenience stores - the only sound that was heard in the convenience store was the white noise murmur of the refrigerators and ice slush machines.

Against the cataclysmic events of the past few weeks that have continued to conspire in a country that has been torn up in the divide of its differences, it was the most hollow, beautiful and welcome sound the reporter had heard for weeks. Everyone in the line that was forming behind him, the reporter thought, had the choice to become an agitator. Everyone in that line had the right to demand service, to request that the line continue to move, one purchase after another. 

No one did.

Soon, the man behind the counter lifted himself off of the floor, exhaled a quiet sigh, and completed the reporter’s transaction, and then another and another until the line that patiently waited for him to finish his prayer slowly receded.