Wouldn`t it be just so lovely, Gentle Reader, if all we had to do was all join hands together and sing Kumbaya over and over again with our eyes closed and then all the world`s evil would be vanquished and the New Jerusalem would be lowered to the earth? Oh, why do we keep dreaming even if our dreams never change anything and every morning we are going to wake up to the same evil that was contaminating our world when we were closing our eyes to go to sleep last night? We will be waking up to the same evil inhabiting us that didn`t go away while we were sleeping.
Now, all over the news, the massacre of six innocent Muslims in Quebec City by some evil little douchebag likely pushed on by President Dump's gospel of hate, just on the heals of his ban on Muslims from entering the US. The dumbass vote has spoken and already we are paying for that life-support for an anus with the weird comb-over, the short-fingered vulgarian.
Even one person being hurt from those satanic policies of his indicates our failure. We have failed to do our part, to be the community, the friends, the extended family that others were needing: the vulnerable minorities who are targeted; and the pathetic dumbasses who spew their hate on such easy targets.
There are so many convenient targets of blame that I don't think it would be constructive to finger-point, plus, by demonizing others for not agreeing with us we are only adding to the hate. I will say this: there is a vision of our humanity, a higher vision of what we could be, what we are in potential and almost always fail at achieving. What can we do to promulgate this vision? This vision of love?
I try to begin, simply by saying hi to strangers. My daily minimum is two strangers a day. And all it is is a hello, maybe a how are you or a lovely day, but only just enough to remind others that they are not alone, to connect if very briefly, to snap them from their illusion of solitude. Today, only two didn't respond: an Asian man in his forties in the wealthy neighbourhood, possibly a Chinese millionaire who doesn't speak English, or thinks he's too important to acknowledge a stranger, or because he is fearful and doesn't trust strangers. Who knows? I wished him a nice day, anyway. The other was a young Caucasian male, perhaps fourteen years old. Now from him I would not expect acknowledgment, given how parents, justifiably, instill in their children the fear of strangers. Everyone else responded well. Some even smiled. That's all that matters.
This morning, at work, I did ignore one fellow who lives on the street who was following me trying to get my attention so I would buy him something to eat. From time to time I have given money to this man, who sleeps on the sidewalk at Broadway and Granville, but lately I have had to hold back. I work in this area, and I don't want to build a dependent relationship with him. But I also don't know what else is going on in his life, neither feel I assured that he would tell me the truth. I was lied to so many times by so many pathetic addicts and other lost souls during my years of street ministry that I still instinctively don`t believe what I hear. I am out of my depth with this individual and would prefer to interact with him if I had others working with me. I did say to him today that I couldn't help him because I am on a tight budget, which I am. Still, I can afford to fly down to Costa Rica for a month and he lives on the pavement. I don't know if he has an addiction. I suspect that he probably does.
It's like feeding crows. I have stopped feeding them because recently a whole flock of perhaps twenty or more came flying towards me on the usual day in the usual neighbourhood and I knew I had gone too far. My pleasant stroll through a vintage neighbourhood to my final worksite of the week was about to morph into a scary scene from a Hitchcock movie. So, I no longer feed the crows. But people aren't crows. I am open to interacting further with this guy on the street, but it would have to feel appropriate, and right now I can't think of an appropriate setting for this person unless I were to volunteer to work with the homeless. I cannot do this right now because my work in mental health already takes all my energy. And some of my clients are also living with homelessness. I feel though that I can help them better, not because I am being paid to do this, but because I am working as part of a team. The pay simply helps keep me alive so I can continue doing good. The trip to Costa Rica is a lucky side product from good budgeting skills and paying very cheap rent.
Today I have enjoyed coming home to my safe, warm and affordable little apartment. I have just cooked and finished a tasty and nourishing dinner and I feel that I have so much still to look forward to in life, despite that I am almost sixty-one. I know and accept that my middle name is not God and that I can only do what I am able to, which is still better than nothing as well as not excusing me from doing the extra that God may one day ask of me. I stubbornly believe that God has not abandoned us and I hold on to the hope that more of us will catch more than a glimpse of that beautiful vision of our humanity.
Even though they are forecasting snow in a couple of days I am clinging to the image of the beautiful lovely daffodil blooming today by the sidewalk, this thirtieth day of January. Whenever I am tempted to despair, I will try to remember that daffodil.
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