"He whom they flee is the one you move toward"
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)
Story III:
One Breath
Saturday the 22nd was the Autumn Equinox. A time to celebrate the bounty of the harvest and to mark the change in seasons - to note the coming cold and darkness. A few winters ago I was walking around the area of NW 22nd Place and Burnside Street, picking up kitty food. It was early and I was sad and hadn’t been able to sleep. It was bitterly cold. I heard a man singing to himself accompanied by the music of rattling recyclables. A hood covered his head and a black plastic bag was slung over his shoulder, from which came the song of glass bottles and aluminum cans. Freedom. Freezing outside. Miserably cold. Yet he was singing while he worked.
I approached him and said good morning and he greeted me with a big hearty, “Hello,” matched with a wide, toothless smile. Despite the smile he seemed shocked that I was talking to him. After all, my mental illness, physical liabilities and poverty are camouflaged by a tall guy with a kind smile, nice clothes and boots, and a long stride. The hardest things to get help for are the invisible wounds. That is why I don’t care how people like this guy got to where he is. They are there. I believe with all of my heart that the fault lies with all of us. Us meaning the community. We are only as good as our neighbor. We are all brothers and sisters. Once you are warm. Once you are dry. Once you are clean. Once you are fed. And once you are loved and spoken too then, and only then, can the healing commence. Then, and only then, can all of those things — things like pulling yourself up by your own boot-straps — that the elites of the world preach, be accomplished.
Anyway, this man with the hearty “Hello” did not reek of alcohol and had a level eye. I handed him $2. My wife had made good tips the night before, after us having had no money for days. We always like to give some away when we are rewarded. I told him I wanted him to take the $2 and get something warm for his belly. Food, or hot chocolate or coffee or whatever. If he wanted to get a beer, I had also provided him that opportunity. But I told him to be safe, and to take extra time in the store shopping for his purchase, as it would be warm inside.
He smiled and said “thank you, sir” with the most grateful, kind, yet surprised-that-this-was-happening look on his face, as he reached for the money. I told him that I appreciated him and that I appreciated what he was doing out here — trying to care for himself. He was confused. I explained to him that I appreciated him walking around peacefully gathering cans and working for himself. Helping himself. It’s hard work simply surviving. We are all veterans of this life.
Who says all of these people on the street don’t want to live, that they have given up on life and themselves? If that were so, they could easily jump from one of the many bridges under which they find shelter. Many people all over the world simply leap in front of trains. We have many of those here too. Heroin makes you feel really good, if you wake up, but using Heroin is pleasure seeking behavior and self-medication, not active suicidal ideation. Men and women like this guy, however, can also be strong, admirable people who just don’t know how to ask for help. They don’t know how to ask for help for many reasons, but have often been brave enough to break away from some sort of oppressive life. Where they are is better than where they came from. Dwell on that thought for a moment. Forever.
Why I didn’t ask his name I don’t know, and I guess it doesn’t even matter at all, but I always prefer proper social etiquette. He had a strong, confident handshake that he himself initiated. After thanking me wholeheartedly a few times he told me that, “It has been pretty hard out here the last month.” But he said it with a smile. I told him that I have been freezing all month too and that I live indoors. I told him that I can’t afford to turn on the heaters. We bonded in that moment. Who’s situation was worse? Didn’t matter. Reciprocal empathy. Understanding. Togetherness. Support. We are not all alone.
Although I wanted to take him with me and do more for him, I settled for wishing him a good day and continued strength as I forced myself to walk away. I told him that I cared about him and he smiled again. As I got about a half a block up the street I turned to find him looking at the bills I had given him. On my way back to my car a few minutes later I spied him strolling down the street like a darker version of Santa, but with that same bag of goodies over his shoulder and that same friendly, approachable grin.
“It has been pretty hard out here the last month” doesn’t make me feel better about myself or my situation. Rather, it makes me feel a kinship, a bond with my fellow community members, a bond that becomes a small spark of positivity and healing for each of us. My power to assist those in my community who are disadvantaged, oppressed and shut out — those that can’t help themselves — does not fall into the category of financial assistance alone ($2 is, after all, a small amount in the grand scheme of things), but rather in more direct, life saving actions. In other words, if people like me don’t create opportunities for acceptance and hope inside of moments of love and recognition at least once in awhile, those moments will become farther and farther in between for people like this man, until they cease to exist entirely. And thus, we all cease to exist.
Everyone of us needs the opportunity to come up for air once in awhile. If the disadvantaged and disregarded in our communities don’t get any gasps of fresh air they will never be capable of seeking the assistance that so many elites preach that they need. Frankly, many times the “help” that they, we, are told to get doesn’t exist. What passes for a support system in this country is just a facade placed over a structure and foundation that has crumbled. I’m thinking that maybe people should be the structure.
We are all one breath away from each other’s existence.
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