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.
Technorati Tags: Homelessness, Hope Mission, Beauty, Peace
That was very beautiful in a melancholy sort of way…and I’m glad you have a “therapistâ€, though I did wonder—isn’t that supposed to be the role friends play? Why are we so resistant (some of us anyway), to be with friends, and tell those stories, until we’re recounting the experience in the past tense?
“I can only…share mercy when I’ve been shown mercy myself†is the truest thing, but we can only be shown mercy when we let others in at the time of needing mercy, and we sometimes resist that, or at least save it only for a spouse, or someone whose therapeutic services we’re paying for. Not those of us who wear our feelings on our sleeves so much, but those of use more inclined to be reserved and private….but maybe this part of the profound loneliness that haunts us sometimes?
I submitted something similar to what follows yesterday, but it’s still not shown up, so I’m going to try again….
That was a very beautiful and melancholy post…and I’m glad you have a “therapist†to remind you of your relevance. “I can only…share mercy when I’ve been shown mercy myself†is the truest thing, but we can only be shown mercy when we let others in at the time of need, which we don’t have much trouble doing when we’re paying for the services of someone to listen and massage, or when it’s a spouse, but isn’t that also what friends are for?
Maybe our reserve, our tendency to privacy (or if we’re the kind who wears everything on our sleeve, our friends’ reserve) is part of the profound loneliness that haunts us sometimes?
Thank you Connie for your comments…profound and true enough to be repeated. (They finally returned from the ether-net)