Dear Anonymous,
He has quite a presence. Always.
Eats the sugar glazed pumpkin muffin top and shares the rest with the birds.
'I like the sparrows.' he says. And sure enough they arrive flittering wings and pecking beaks.
And we watch.
He tells me the extent to which people are avoiding being close to him and his buddies on the street during the pandemic. 'Movin' across the street and back again and then again to avoid each of us. Like a billiard ball.'
Three days sober, he shares, and he agrees to be photographed.
He stands waiting. Cold. Hungry. Struggling. A pair of pants are clutched to his chest (thank you Dear Anonymous)...
Dear Anonymous,
He stands waiting. Cold. Hungry. Struggling. A pair of pants are clutched to his chest (thank you Dear Anonymous). He comments on the protests and broken windows of storefronts. He has nothing, he says, but what I see. His voice barely audible.
I am thinking about this phrase WE ARE ONE. And I think yes, yes, we are one. As long as this WE includes the staggering 'drunk' on the corner who has just vomited on my shoes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand black with grime. And the young kid in active addiction behind my back desperately trying to steal my wallet or run off with a friends' backpack. As long as it includes the ragged and drawn woman selling her body because that's the condition for her survival. As long as it includes her pimp. And her children. And those that may decry her behavior. We are one as long as it includes that politician that turns my stomach or yours, whose voice comes on the radio and we slam the radio off. As long as it includes people who praise him or her. Yes, as long as it includes that 'idiot' on the highway who cuts me or you off, or gives us the finger for our latest transgression per them. As long as it includes me having the word 'idiot' even flash across my mind. Yes as long as this includes those that will mock mask wearers. As long as it includes the mask wearers. Yes as long as this includes that exasperated man infuriated about getting his coffee order wrong. And that barista just trying to make ends meet struggling with two young children at home without childcare. If it includes her critics. As long as it includes that cop who intentionally kneeled on a mans neck for 9 minutes, killing him. As long as it includes that man who is now dead and as long as it includes his entire community. And the people who are angry about that. On both sides.
We are one. But I sit with those words a bit. If we are one, I don't think we get to select what makes up ONE.
He can't keep much down. Which is not unusual for him....
Dear Anonymous,
He can't keep much down. Which is not unusual for him.
In my own life I imagine the toll irregular eating would take on my body. Of dubious and unpredictable nutrition. Of the effects of irregular sleep on my GI system. Add to that addictions. Past and present. Gives me a stomach ache thinking about it.
It takes its toll. It exacts its price in flesh.
Meanwhile, a regular has disappeared from the streets. He told me he was waiting for a bed in rehab up in Lewiston. Praying he is in that bed. Another has been on such a tear with alcohol everybody just shakes their head when I ask about him. Praying he will find his way. I know this has been his way.
Socks, coffee cards, a few tshirts and boxers today. And no, I never imagined handing out mens boxer briefs on the street. My imagination was not strong enough to imagine their gratitude.
He had requested a little book. He said it helps him to write things down...
Dear Anonymous,
He had requested a little book. He said it helps him to write things down. Makes total sense to me. He smiles when he receives it. Tells me it will help him budget for the next month and rattles off the cost of rent and expenses against benefits he receives. Organized. Clear. Off he goes, coffee cake in hand.
Thank you Dear Anonymous. Thank you. With recent donations we were able to gear him up with pants, sneakers, new t-shirt and boxers. A bounty.
Standing tall. Walking down the street. Upright. It has not always been this way...
Dear Anonymous,
Standing tall. Walking down the street. Upright. It has not always been this way. Sweet smile. Pants ripped out at the knee and shoes split open across the top. But he offers that smile. And it lifts my heart. And he takes a piece of coffeecake from one of the guys that offers. I had none left. Coffee card. Socks. A few words and he's off. And that moment can be my sweet spot on any given day.
All the clothes I have found while out and about, dumped here and there have been washed and now fly out of my car. Insatiable. Never enough. I need. I want. I lost. It was stolen. I need. I need. I need. But there are smiles. There is sweetness. In this moment there is not one of us against the other. In this fraction of a moment. And sometimes in this world that's more than I can imagine. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
He's a sucker for that blueberry coffeecake. Enjoys a coffee card. Loves the socks. And so good to see his smile.
Dear Anonymous,
He's a sucker for that blueberry coffeecake. Enjoys a coffee card. Loves the socks.
And so good to see his smile.
He was some happy with a leather jacket a street friend had donated...
Dear Anonymous,
He was some happy with a leather jacket a street friend had donated. His disposition changed. I know what that feels like. A new jacket. Cut just so. With a solid touch of badass to it. He checks his hair. Even takes off his sunglasses. I know this too. This preparation to be seen. His eyes meet me across the distance of the lens.
See me. This is who I am.
See below to see the next image. When his veneer drops and we stand together on a street at dawn. Laughing. And laughing.
And then this. When we stand. And laugh. And laugh.
He is sitting amongst his stuff. A worn out shopping bag. A folding camp chair. A backpack...
Dear Anonymous,
He is sitting amongst his stuff. A worn out shopping bag. A folding camp chair. A backpack slipping off his shoulders. Hood up and head down.
He waits for others to get their coffee cards. Their socks. And then he hands this to me.
'A gift for you.' he says without fanfare. Without the other guys seeing it. They have since left.
'For you.' which I translate here as to 'us'. To Dear Anonymous.
I believe, but I am in no way certain, this is a statuette of the Hindi Goddess Durga, also incarnated as Kali, Bhagvati, Ambika...and more. She is known as the embodiment of feminine and creative energy. The protective mother of the universe. Multi limbed, (eight arms) she is prepared to do battle from any direction. And yet she sits quietly in lotus position. Two of her hands, palm pressing to palm in front of her heart. If there are folks more intimately familiar with Hindi or maybe Tibetan Buddhist iconography I'd love your clarification.
He seems to be unaware of any story at all. He simply bought it 'off a homeless person', he tells me. To offer as a gift. And so like the streets, she is broken in many places. Hands and fingers missing. But still she persists. Doing what she can even with many of her weapons missing.
I imagine him, he who really struggles to put a card in his pocket, who repeatedly fumbles placing socks in his backpack, he who can barely find his own pocket to put the wrapped coffeecake in....imagine him carrying this porcelain goddess with him on the streets. He who is challenged to hang onto that chair. That bag. His mind some days.
I simply cannot imagine how he has managed this.
With great humility I accept it from him. For all of us. Him included.
All of us out trying to protect the universe with a calm heart and broken fingers and missing parts.
Totally humbled.
I had not seen him without a heavy coat. Neck wraps, scarves, hats, gloves. All necessary just a few weeks ago...
Dear Anonymous,
I had not seen him without a heavy coat. Neck wraps, scarves, hats, gloves. All necessary just a few weeks ago. He was always so cold and woefully underdressed. Today, without hat and heavy gear I feel like I meet him for the first time. And he stepped right into the social distance a lens offers. And that smile. A good start to the day.
And for those who may notice, no one is wearing masks out here. A few carry masks with them if they want to use the bus.
And many are hobbling. Sore, swollen feet. Held captive too long in heavy boots. They have to be able to walk. That's where the sock urgency comes in. It becomes obvious all too soon that foot health is paramount to life on the street.
Sleeping rough. Losing weight. Someone stole my phone. Can't get my stuff...
Dear Anonymous,
Sleeping rough. Losing weight. Someone stole my phone. Can't get my stuff. Emotionally exhausted. Emotionally exhausting. Pierce through that at any moment and you'll find a heart.
The young kid? Black eye healing. Talking rat- a- tat about this and that and his friend down in the park and the girl he was with that had broken quarantine and got hauled away by the police, or winds up at the ER. Pierce through that at any point and you find a heart.
And the guy folded over sitting on the curb staring at his feet? With stories of FBI infiltration and how they sprayed us back in February as a mass control conspiracy? Pierce through that at any seam and you'll find a heart.
Broken. Wobbly. Injured. Beating irregularly. But that heart will beat with yours for just this moment. Heartbeat of these streets.
He reminds me of many young men I have met...
Dear Anonymous,
He reminds me of many young men I have met. Handsome. Young. So young. Stories of lives detoured by drugs. Colleges left. Classes abandoned. Families distanced. The siren of heroin. The mistress who will not be refused easily. It may not be his exact story but some of the refrains are so familiar. The despondency cloaked as survival skill.
He shows me he still has the mask he requested from me last week. Tucked away safely in his pocket. To use on the bus. He shows me.
So many young men. And women. Derailed. I am fortunate, blessed really, to know many that have flourished in recovery. And their about-faces hold me in these moments. Not that I insist it should be any different than it is, but that it CAN be.
Maybe there really is a season, and a time for every purpose, under heaven.
Sometimes the body fails. And there you are on the street. No where to go. No way to clean up or change...
Dear Anonymous,
Sometimes the body fails. And there you are on the street. No where to go. No way to clean up or change.
It's like this sometimes.
A blanket (thank you Dear Anonymous) a new, clean pair of pants (thank you Dear Anonymous) and a coffee card go some distance to supporting a fragile moment. Mike, like all of us would like to be seen in our 'best' moments. But Mike has the heart to share how it is too...when things are not 'best'. Thank you. May you know some comfort today. Some solace from pain. Some relief.
Tyler stopped by to say good morning. Upright. Smiling. And sporting a new haircut...
Dear Anonymous,
Tyler stopped by to say good morning. Upright. Smiling. And sporting a new haircut.
Coffee card and socks always a hit. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
A hard day but not as hard as Tuesday. And that's a win. This is Ed...
Dear Anonymous,
A hard day but not as hard as Tuesday. And that's a win.
This is Ed. He's looking forward to a cup of coffee and says 'I think I will recuse myself and head on down.'
May his day be a good day.
A couple. Only yesterday there were threats of 'I will kill myself' and 'I never want to see you again'...
Dear Anonymous,
A couple. Only yesterday there were threats of 'I will kill myself' and 'I never want to see you again'. Hearts crushed and angry yesterday, placing blame and ordering restraints, saying things in anger that should not be said in anger, turned to soft pink today. Their hearts today walking again side by side. More tissue than muscle today. Admitting to the fracture line we live upon. And the tiptoe dance upon the landmines of trauma that falters. Admitting to the unromantic navigation required to stay alive.
I will cradle hope this morning. Hope stands with his hair down...
Dear Anonymous,
I will cradle hope this morning. Hope stands with his hair down. That's what hope looks like this morning. And it looks like the shelter he creates with his cupped hands, helping someone light their cigarette in the wind.
Struggling. Stresses mount up. Smaller stresses connect to larger stresses. To traumas...
Dear Anonymous,
Struggling. Stresses mount up. Smaller stresses connect to larger stresses. To traumas. Become unmanageable. Highly charged. And then it's desperate. Simply what it looks like from here. Behind my mask.
Racing ahead in established patterns and trying to push pause in newer ones. The drama on the street. The drama in a heart. How we escalate and stand convicted to our efforts and then add escalation in defense. Simply what it looks like from here. Behind my mask. I recognize this thing we humans do. Heartache on the corner.
He comes by this morning to say hello. Has his own place now. Livin' the dream...
Dear Anonymous,
He comes by this morning to say hello. Has his own place now. Livin' the dream. I mentioned he looks so much better than he did deep into last winter.
He says,
'Yeah. You mean when I was hating life?'
Then, the way he lit a cigarette for the man with a bloodied face who stumbles by. The cigarette had already fallen out once, barely noticed but then picked up again. Fumbling, swollen, stiff fingers, clenching soiled bags. A back pack falling off his shoulders.
So he cups his hands tenderly around the end of the cigarette dangling from the man's lips. Like a benediction. And shelters that little flame as it casts a brief glow beneath that drawn up hood. He takes a grateful drag.
That's what love looks like sometimes.
Good morning from all the stories swirling on the street this morning....
Dear Anonymous,
Good morning from all the stories swirling on the street this morning. From the content to the discontented, swirling like some sort of tumbleweed at my feet. Stories of gratitude. Stories of desperation. Stories of the lost. Stories of the found. And I navigate the conspirational. The extreme. The deluded. The fantastic. The painfully real. All filtered through my own tiny perceptions. I can experience a vertigo of logic and reason out here. I tie myself off to the sharing of a few resources. Water anyone? Coffee card? Coffeecake? And bask in the hearts that flutter together like timid moths for just a moment. All of us.
This is Mike. This morning he had this smile. Always good to see him sporting a smile...
Dear Anonymous,
This is Mike. This morning he had this smile. Always good to see him sporting a smile. The alternative can be as grim as this is uplifting.
Lots of water handed out. Appreciation for a coffee card. A pair of socks. Some looking quite content and pleased. Some in pretty rough shape. No one wearing masks anymore. Not even an effort. Except for those using the bus. They tell me they can't ride without one.
There is one. One who shys away from any group at all though on his own speaks as a gentleman. Says he's working on getting into rehab. Says he hopes it's next week. He says ' I'm killin' myself out here.' And he looks worse each day. Scars across his face where he has fallen. He blames his bum knee but he and I and his street pals all know it's more that that. I believe he has good shelter overnight. But he roams from early morning. Leaning on his cane. The lines on his face deepening each day. And the sticky strands of whatever demons follow him are thick in the air as he turns the corner.