Life As Performance Art 47

There is a white-crowned sparrow singing outside, often in the mornings, and sometimes in the afternoons. I think they are nesting in the garden across the alley. It looks like a lovely place, nestled between two apartment buildings, one of them like mine is for social housing. I would like to think that it is their garden as the market rental tower next to them appears simply too soulless to merit something so beautiful. It is a private garden, and likely I will never get to visit, which in a way is unfortunate as there is such a paucity of public gardens and parks in the downtown core. The sparrow is still singing, as though nothing else matters than defending his territory and seeing with his mate to the thriving of their species for yet another generation. I am thinking how that little garden has helped make my time living here tolerable, especially now that most of my view of the sky has been blocked by a thirty story condo tower across the street. For social housing, one could do worse than where I am living, here in Candela Place. This is a nice building I live in, and in my experience, well-managed, and the tenants seem for the most part, nice, decent and friendly. One could do worse for living downtown, especially rent, which in my case is so heavily subsidized that I end up having to pay but a pittance every month. I would otherwise be sleeping on a sheet of cardboard on the sidewalk, if I still wanted to live here. It is rather an odd state to be living in. On one hand, it is as though there is always a sword hanging over my head, but I feel safe and cared for where I am. The weather this May has been mostly lovely and often summery. And the flowers and the trees in their new foliage are nothing less than spectacular. The white crowned sparrow has stopped singing for a while and I have just enjoyed a good breakfast. My day at work will be a meeting with a colleague, followed by a visit with a client, and maybe three hours in between to walk, maybe sit in a friendly coffee shop with my sketchbook. After recently visiting the ostentatious homes of two couples in my church, I do not feel all the worse for my poverty, but blessed for what I do have, and even more blessed for what I do not have, because even now I have maybe a little more than what I truly need, and I do feel at times very sorry for those who have way more than they need. What a burden that must be for them, even if they don't seem to know it at the time. This having to serve two masters, to live a christian, or ostensibly Christian life, while enjoying such luxury and comfort as to keep one safely distant from the poor,k for whom the very Lord we purport to serve became himself so very poor. It seems I have always lived rather close to danger, and especially death has really marked my life in so many forms and ways, with the passing of so many loved ones, but my safety isn't in my circumstances, but in the living God who keeps me safe and joyful in the midst of this delicate and intricate balance of life. The white-crowned sparrow has begun singing again, and his anthem of life will resonate across this beautiful new day.