It feels late. Sleep will come.
Yesterday, I was awakened at four AM by a vapour-being, a ghoulish sort of fellow bent on convincing me I was irrelevant.
I laid awake until the sun came up over my city. Then sat at the kitchen window watching.
It was silent. As silent as cities can be. Even the seventh street sirens were quiet for a couple hours.
I sat at the open window thinking about the way street dust smells when flicked by a light rain.
Later that morning I walked by one of our shelters, and–besides wondering how I managed to manage this shelter for seven years–wondered how it was that the faces were all different and the same.
And there are more faces now. And they are spilling out onto the sidewalk.
Today I told the oneiric story–the one that woke me up–to my "therapist" and she gave me her talk on connections–links in a chain–the necessity each of us has, as link, to carry what was good about the past, add to it and place it into a future of possibilities. In other words the necessity for people.
The talk was good, she tells it better than me. But the foot massage was better.
I’m convinced that if everyone got a foot massage like that there would be no crime, no shortage of help for all the faces. Our faces.
And I’m again pointed to the circle of understanding that I can only know mercy as I share mercy and only share mercy when I’ve been shown mercy myself.