The Mass Ave. Project, Inc. and a Badass Boddhisatva

The Mass Ave. Project, Inc. and a Badass Boddhisatva

by Joanne Arnold 

It’s a cold, drizzly day in Boston. The COVID pandemic has just begun and Justin Downey and his sister sit in his car in the industrial wasteland known as Mass Ave.
He is remembering when she was a baby and they found themselves alone in the middle of the night. He’d climb into her crib at six years old trying to console her one year old cries. Awkwardly changing her diaper. Covering her with a blanket and sleeping next to her to soothe her.
He recalls how they were eventually taken to live in different households. How they maintained a connection despite that separation. How his drug addiction took off. How it led to jail and prison. And then how her own addiction took off.
‘We were both fighting epic battles for our lives.”
Now Justin finds himself on more stable ground. But today his sister is dope sick and needs money.
‘If I can give her $50.00 and help save a shred of her dignity, I will. I know she’ll buy heroin. I don’t judge.’ 

 
NOVEMBER 09 2020_JUSTIN DOWNEY_04-2_FB.jpg
 

She sees his copy of The Bhagavad Gita on the dashboard and picks it up. This epic scripture from Vedic Literature, a dialogue between the warrior Arjuna and Lord Krishna has deep meaning for Justin, having discovered it several years before as he struggled in his own difficult recovery.
‘I never experienced a work of literature that spoke so clearly of love, service and kindness.’
Flipping through the pages she asked Justin to read a passage out loud.
She sat silently. As he reads he notices a tear roll down her face.
Then she says ‘I gotta’ go.’ 

Exiting his car she walks directly into the open air drug market of Mass Ave., a.k.a.Methadone Mile. 

It’s a chaotic scene. People are selling drugs. Stopping at a red light you are likely to see someone shooting heroin. Smoking meth. You’ll see women selling their bodies. There are people in full blown psychosis. Fentanyl, a synthetic drug 50 to 100 times more powerful than morphine and short acting, has people screaming at things no one else can see. 

‘What you’re seeing on Mass Ave is a culmination of the sex trade, the prison industrial complex and big pharma. The Unholy Trinity. It can’t be any clearer. It’s all happening in front of a jail, in front of a methadone clinic, in front of a hospital. What does that say to people? This is what the Buddhists refer to as The Realm of Hungry Ghosts. You are surrounded by brokenness, psychosis, sadness and trauma.” 

“It’s a cycle” Justin continues.”People are homeless. They commit petty crime. They overdose. They are rushed to the ER and revived only to walk straight back into the drug market with no resources to change. You no longer call a dealer and there’s no more of that shadowy behavior meeting them. Nope. It’s right out in the open. And regular working class people trying to get to the hospital are passing through this along with gang members, prostitutes and drug addicts.” 

As resources dried up throughout the state the homeless poured into Boston. Shelters were limiting capacity. Detox’s were shutting down. Now there are tent cities on the sidewalk. Cars traveling at high speeds entering the ramps to the interstate were colliding with these inhabitants. They were getting hit and killed. So the area is now surrounded by fences covered with tarps further isolating it. Inside the fence is a tent staffed by a nurse assisting in overdose prevention. 

“There’s people dying on the street. Girls are being pimped out and smashed up by gangs. There’s human trafficking. Men are being murdered. This is a dark street. This isn’t just people shootin’ drugs. It’s a whole community where flesh and crime are currency.” 

A lot of the people here are the remains to be seen of Justin’s generation and former neighborhood.
“This is the end of the road. The culmination of poverty, crime and drugs. When you’ve been a drug addict for years on the street and been able to keep yourself high from various scams and in and out of jail and detox and it all runs out? And you’re not dead? You’re on Mass Ave.” 

As a kid Justin could walk down a single street in his South Boston neighborhood and see 15-20 people he knew well. Today walking from one end of Southie to another he won’t encounter a single person he recognizes. Gentrification has pushed out those residents and replaced them with people who have no tie to the community. 

As Justin describes it, “We are exiled from our own neighborhood.” 

“ Now my old neighbors have no community. How do people behave when they have no community? Isolated. Depressed. Sad. What do people turn to when they feel this way? They turn to drugs and alcohol. What does turning to drugs and alcohol do? Nullifies pain. It leads to more drugs and alcohol. Which leads to bigger problems. It leads to prison. Incarceration. It leads to selling your body on the street corner.” 

Justin volunteers by distributing donations from Mass Ave. Project, Inc., a non-profit organization created by Justin, Jimmy Bradley, Missey Kane, Ali Fitzpatrick, Carlo Sacoccio and Danny Mack with a mission to supply essential items and support to people living, and dying, on Mass Ave. 

“I don’t always understand love.” Justin states. “But I understand devotional service to people. I understand how to show up for people even if my own life is crazy. This act of showing up to the homeless population down here has become an intimate spiritual experience.” 

 
DECEMBER 10 2020_street sleepers_01-6164_FB.jpg
 

“You’d be amazed at the conversations you’ll have with the homeless population down here. I’m amazed at watching how kind they are to one another. I can hand somebody a pile of blankets and they’ll hand them out to everybody else and not keep a blanket for themselves. This person has f**king nothing. Would YOU give away the last blanket when you don’t have one? 

I often ask their name. They look at me dumbfounded and start crying. Because nobody ever asks. That’s a spiritual experience. A spiritual practice. I don’t know how that doesn’t awake something inside us.
I show up for my sister, of course. But I show up for other peoples’ sisters, brothers and families. Everybody there was a child at one time. They were somebody’s child not knowing what they were coming into the world to face. They’ve been ground up, dropped down, spit out and are basically a puddle on the street. And there’s nobody there to pick them up.” 

“The Boston I grew up in was very racially segregated. Black communities. White communities. Spanish communities. Nobody liked each other. Everybody seemed to hate each other equally. But today everyones neighborhood has been affected. South Boston was a white Irish Catholic neighborhood. South End is traditionally a black neighborhood. Both areas have been gentrified. So the remnants of both these neighborhoods wind up on Mass Ave.”
What may have surprised Justin years ago but he celebrates today, is the working relationship Mass Ave. Project, Inc. has developed with South End Roxbury Community Partnership with Leon Rivera, Dominigos DaRosa, Yahaira Lopez and William Cordero, a group demanding action from the City of Boston related to the escalating concerns of Methadone Mile.
“Tent cities? People dying on city sidewalks? Gutters that you can shovel needles into garbage bags from? How is this NOT a public health crisis? 

But Justin, the badass boddhisatva, returns to his own personal mission.
“I want to flood this area with loving kindness. I’m not crying out to politicians to come change Mass. Ave. I’m calling upon the hearts and minds of people to think differently. I’m in love with this street and I’m not walking away from it. If I can do anything for one person to get out of there, it makes it all worth it to me.” 

“I honor myself in the darkness. I honor myself in the light. When you do that you become a living channel. I feel god within me. If I feel god within me I cannot deny its existence in other people.” 

 
CUSTOMHOUSEWHARF-shelter-August 29 2016.jpg
 

________________________________________________________________________

Justin Downey is a Union Pipefitter currently completing a Yoga Teacher Training Course and volunteering for The Mass Ave. Project, Inc.
He can be contacted on Facebook, Justin Downey or venmo Justin Downey @jtd617 

If you’d like to learn more, or become involved see The Mass. Ave. Project, Inc. on Facebook.
Donation centers include CHAKRA POWER YOGA, owned by Nicole Burrill and WITHOUT LIMITS RECOVERY owned by Maggie Bradley and Jimmy Bradley. Note: Justin’s sister is presently in a residential rehab program. 

Off Mike goes with a bag of toys we supplied this morning...

 
107642667_10157639805251947_7433168226601931713_o.jpg
 

Dear Anonymous,
Off Mike goes with a bag of toys we supplied this morning.
Maybe managing his mood through giving. That's not the whole story, I understand. But it is a medicine I can understand. It connects him to youth in a healthy way in which he seems to prosper.
The guys standing around my car ooooh and ahhhh as we reveal the items. A Barbie doll of color. A WWF action figure. A toy fire truck. Action figures of all sorts.
OOOOOOOOOOO. Ahhhhhh.
And they show in that second the children still in there.
Just for a moment. A crowd of boys, though they are all men.
And then it's off for a beer. Or a smoke. Or whatever it is that is their next step. One man looking better than usual comments,' People trash talk SPICE (a street drug) but when I use it I don't wanna' drink. And I don't wanna do weed. So that's a win.'
And he does look better.
All finding our way. And losing it. And finding it. And.....

Better than Christmas morning.

 
108837421_10157639799771947_4488085943884600285_o.jpg
 

Dear Anonymous,

Better than Christmas morning.

Size 9 and a half. Check.
'Im gonna' have to learn to walk again!' he smiles.
I say 'Oh? Now that you've got your soul returned?'

'You remember I said that yesterday? That I was sole-less.'
His eyes twinkle. '...and now it's back.'
They both fit into their new ground pads, able to cast off sole-less, too big, heavy boots.

You know that feeling? Of something fitting properly? Of not having to schlelp and scuff your way down a street? Trading in the winter boot for a lighter sneaker?

Better than Christmas morning. Thanks Dear Anonymous.

His bag is just too heavy to carry.

 
108947431_10157639794276947_8649967804342343512_o.jpg
 

Dear Anonymous,
His bag is just too heavy to carry.
'Can you hold it for me for a few days?' he asks, with a jaw that has been rearranged and a face with steel plates holding it together.
Yes. Yes I can.
We wrap it up and store it in some corner of my car.
'It was just too heavy to carry.'

Some things are just too heavy. Best to put them down. I agree.

He wants to send a message to Evan Andrews, who he met at the YMCA gym and remembers fondly, before being brutally beat on the streets.
'Tell Evan, I love him too. I will pray for his brother. And him.'

He says this as a declaration. Here we are. Wounded and patched together and wound up in addiction and mental health chaos and here he is. Offering love.

Love it is.

This is the man who wrangled a porcelain sculpture of the Buddhist Goddess of Dawn down to Commercial Street as a gift weeks ago...

 
108003847_10157637427321947_5090002280899636146_o.jpg
 

Dear Anonymous,
This is the man who wrangled a porcelain sculpture of the Buddhist Goddess of Dawn down to Commercial Street as a gift weeks ago. I still cannot imagine how he was able to do that. I remain floored by his generosity. He comes. He goes. He struggles. Everything he has is chronically lost. Everything is always stolen.
And in essence, he is a love. In essence he IS love. And that's the way we meet.
And then everyone goes off as they do. I watch him lumber up the street with bags that seem like they are filled with rocks. He tells me they are supplements. He is going to gain 35 pounds of muscle this month.
'I'm taking before and after photos.' he says.

'Have any shoes?' he asks... I am soleless.' he said...

 
107540461_10157637407336947_5702997046084354543_o.jpg
 

Dear Anonymous,

'Have any shoes?' he asks.
What size?
'9 and a half.'
I don't have any today.
He shows me his right foot. The sole and heel are gone from his construction boots.
'Sole-less. Like me.' he says.

'Hardly without soul.' I say and then he beams this smile no mask can hide.

It has been pouring rain. Guys out here with sneakers have wet feet. They can't wait to get dry socks.
A new book for The Reader. Coffee cake. Coffee cards.
'Hey, you don't smoke but you got a light?'
I am grateful I do.
It is breezy. I cup my hands around the hesitant flame of an old lighter I found in my emergency gear. He leans in to light his cigarette. The cigarette trembles in his mouth. I notice he keeps his hands in his pocket for the most part and when he grasps the cigarette between two fingers they are shaking too.

107616252_10157637425021947_5602541730894481786_o.jpg

I am soleless.' he said.

And though he is struggling to remain upright, and is shaking, he is polite and kind...

 
107820478_10157632048471947_6465067281198394986_o.jpg
 

Dear Anonymous,
And though he is struggling to remain upright, and is shaking, he is polite and kind. The man next to him is wearing a hat we handed him weeks ago and I comment on it. I congratulate him for still having it. So, cigarette in the lips, he quickly points to his mask and smiles. I smile too. Because it is a mask we handed him also several weeks ago. We celebrate this small victory over personal space and belongings for just a fraction of a second.

It's a thing. Some of these guys arrive each morning having lost everything including sometimes the shirt off their back.

One man arrives in tough shape with a shirt that reads NO REGRETS. I comment on it . He says' Yeah....but I got plenty of 'em.'
His eyes meet mine looking up from his downcast face.

Something we have in common.

Haven't seen him in a week so it is good to lay eyes upon him...

 
107665570_10157632038851947_2615623334547966911_o.jpg
 

Dear Anonymous,

Haven't seen him in a week so it is good to lay eyes upon him.
He is struggling. He stumbles into an explanation for his absence and I smile and stop. There is no owing of explanations. There is no throne of expectation willing to dash anyone to the feet of disappointment. Life is hard enough.
Need a clean shirt?
How about a water?
A coffee card. A piece of cake.

Love you.

Living the street life. Always a story. Always a little hustle. Always a smile. Always on the edge...

 
107700102_10157632020586947_7978438314361275298_o.jpg
 

Dear Anonymous,

Living the street life. Always a story. Always a little hustle. Always a smile. Always on the edge. Always a boundary to push. A touch of the outcast. The anarchist. The shark.
But all I can see is a young man who is someones son. A brother.
He always leaves with a 'love ya'.
And I think he arrives with that too. And then I think that is such a good way to arrive and leave, with a 'love ya' spoken or unspoken on our lips.

With that enthusiasm of my children reserved for when they were younger, he reveals 'It's my birthday!'

 
107908884_10157632011796947_6255147909616512458_o.jpg
 

Dear Anonymous,
With that enthusiasm of my children reserved for when they were younger, he reveals 'It's my birthday!'
Happy Birthday, Tyler. Happy 35th.
He got an extra piece of coffeecake, shhhhhhh.
Last year I wondered how you would make it another year. Seriously. And you did. Hell, yes, you did. Congratulations on building a life for yourself.