I’m all shoved and wedged into a mountain of pillows on my bed, testing what dosage of narcotic can give me some relief while still keeping my mental faculties in place.
Oh, wait. I lost my mental faculties. Traded ‘em in for a handful of magic crazy beans long ago. I’m still waiting for my beanstalk to grow. I hear there’s gold up in them there clouds.
For real though. As I lay here, shifting back and forth trying to find any comfortable position, I can’t help but be filled with gratitude.
I just moved Noah and me to a place downtown within walking distance of the homeless district. I love the homeless, I love working with them, learning about what brought them to where they are, and spending time with them. Being close to all of that a lot more often was one of the reasons I chose where I chose to live.
As I watch the semi-busy street from my bedroom window high above, I see a homeless person pass by every twenty or thirty minutes. The last one to pass was a man, hunched almost in half, a cardboard signed folded beneath one arm, lost to what harshness life has dished him. The way he walked told me that he, too, was in a lot of pain. The way he walked told me that he is probably almost always in pain. But he doesn’t have a giant bed, with 600 thread count sheets, and a television in front of him to help take his mind off of it all. He just has the view of the pavement below him as he inches his way up the street. He just has the harsh looks and judgments of people who withhold their change in case he uses it to buy beer. God forbid he escape life like we all have to once in a while.
A sharp stabbing pain just shot through my entire body as I was writing that last paragraph. This is something I’ve come to expect the last few days. They hit me out of nowhere. Yet, something about it makes me realize something…