Paperwork and Poetry

I walked into a bank today — polished floors, glass walls, five staff standing around, each likely earning close to six figures. They smiled politely, shifted papers, and waited for signatures. It struck me how much energy and money go into maintaining this one branch — rent, utilities, salaries — all to keep a system alive that mostly circulates numbers on screens.

The young man who helped me open an account was kind. His nameplate gleamed under fluorescent light. I asked where he was from — “India,” he said, and smiled. I told him I had been there, that it was where I wrote some of my best poetry.

When I asked what he noticed most about the difference between India and Canada, he paused. “People there are more generous,” he said. “If you buy five oranges and ask for one more, they’ll give you two.” He also spoke of respect — how elders are still called sir and madam, how warmth still flows between strangers.

And I thought — perhaps the world doesn’t need more bankers, but more poets, artists, builders, people who listen. More spaces where generosity, respect, and connection replace paperwork, profit, and formality.

Imagine if all that money spent on sterile offices and advertising was redirected into creating healing spaces — homes of the heart, where people could rest, connect, and rediscover what truly matters.

The future we dream of at Healing Havens isn’t anti-bank, anti-business, or anti-modern. It’s simply pro-soul.

It’s about re-humanizing our systems — bringing warmth where there is glass, laughter where there are signatures, and compassion where there are contracts.

Healing Havens