Maybe the mold is bullshit?
The mold. The status. The title.
Did you ever think that everything you thought you were supposed to be was bullshit?
What if the face that you want to show was never meant to be?
What if you have the wrong idea of beauty?
I’ll never forget his face or his sign, both his way of communicating his pain and suffering.
Cheekbones like lifeless leather.
Calling out for a brother’s help or a brother’s hand...
HELP ME BROTHER.
His sign read “homeless”.
I can read but I didn’t like what it said.
I didn’t like what he was feeling as he held the sign against his chest, such a bold statement for a fellow human to make.
His sign should have read “FUCKING HELP ME".
I’m on the side of this fucking highway and all you BITCHES are driving past without a glance!
I reckoned to not be an infamous prick at 5:12pm.
How the hell did I have eight dollars cash in my wallet that day? Not sure.
I never carry cash. I don’t remember how I accumulated eight greens.
The traffic light stood still and red. I was sure of the fact that I was supposed to encounter this man, this human.
I rolled down my window and he started slowly at me, anticipating the big bucks, the good shit I suppose.
I don’t have the good shit but I do have eight dollars.
I handed this nameless human my eight bucks and looked directly in his gaze, he knew that I knew exactly how he felt.
He knew that I had worn joyless shoes before, stood in a joyless trance.
My smile spread as he spoke, “Thanks for helping an old man out.”
The eight dollars didn’t mean shit at this point. All that mattered was the fact that joy was being exchanged, like a fair trade. He gave me a grin and I gave him some green.
The wind was alive and so were we.
We were alive too.
Materials were a thing of the past and spiritual matters became something.
Someone’s face will tell you cold truth about their life, past and present. I don’t know how much life I have to share but I will give what I have ready and available.
I wanted to spend hours with this human but I didn’t.
I didn’t spend hours with him.
I didn’t stop my hamster wheel of a schedule to live with him and feel a bit of his world.
I wanted to.
Wayne Myers once shared to give no matter the circumstance or hurt, give whether you know the money will be put to good use or not, give it and give it again.
My job is not to dictate when or where this human spends this money.
My job is to give when I see someone in need.
I don’t care if his last eight dollars were spent on a needle fix.
I do care about the exchange of our smiles in that moment.
My fingers felt silly waving goodbye as the light turned green and time switched gears.
Honk honk honk. Move move move.
People were ready to GO, ready to get HOME.
HOME to their steamy dinners and comforting families.
They craved it; they craved their homesteads, their people. It’s a beautiful craving to have. I support it. However, we have to learn to stop, we have to learn to look.
I’VE WORKED MY EIGHT HOURS! GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY WAY!
I thought about parking my car in the intersection and twerking on top of my hood to throw everyone off of their agendas.
I wanted to scream, “STOP! There’s a human in need here!”
The earth is a home for us all.
Roof or no roof. Grass or plush sheets.
Compassion and unconditional love must continue somehow.
May gifts and touch precede any form of xenophobia.
His sign should’ve read “human” instead of “homeless”.
You’re a human, baby.
We’re all humans here.
Photo Credit: Lee Jeffries