I was reading TeddyKev's journal entry about his homeless friend(s) today, and it reminded me of a guy I once knew.
When I lived in Los Angeles, I used to walk past this particular homeless guy every day-- he always sat on the landscaping at the side of a bank that I walked past on the way to work and to train (which was pretty much the sum of my activity when I lived in LA-LA).
What made this guy interesting was that he always sat in the same spot (when he wasn't sleeping), and he never talked, moved or did anything at all. He sat, and stared forward into space. Occasionally, I would pass by and he wouldn't be there, but those times were the rare ones.
I never spoke to him, but I thought about him a lot, and crafted stories for myself as to what he did when he wasn't sitting completely still, and how he got by (since he wasn't panhandling or hustling). Just before I left LA I thought to myself that in a sense he was a true mystic. After all, what do mystics do? They retreat from humanity and go to the mountaintop to be alone and ponder mystery.
One aspect of being homeless is this psychic and physical disconnect from the stream of humanityyou become sort of "invisible" to them, as they try to ignore you. You are both constantly surrounded by people and completely isolated from them simultaneously; you are for all intents and purposes on a mountaintop, alone.
Once I had that epiphany, I started leaving the guy the occasional can of preserved foods, etc. For all I know, he was so evolved he didn't have to eat and could subsist like the legendary Taoist immortals on pure air and water, but fuck . . . it was Los Angeles. There was no pure air or water to be had, so I thought I should help out at least a little.
When I lived in Los Angeles, I used to walk past this particular homeless guy every day-- he always sat on the landscaping at the side of a bank that I walked past on the way to work and to train (which was pretty much the sum of my activity when I lived in LA-LA).
What made this guy interesting was that he always sat in the same spot (when he wasn't sleeping), and he never talked, moved or did anything at all. He sat, and stared forward into space. Occasionally, I would pass by and he wouldn't be there, but those times were the rare ones.
I never spoke to him, but I thought about him a lot, and crafted stories for myself as to what he did when he wasn't sitting completely still, and how he got by (since he wasn't panhandling or hustling). Just before I left LA I thought to myself that in a sense he was a true mystic. After all, what do mystics do? They retreat from humanity and go to the mountaintop to be alone and ponder mystery.
One aspect of being homeless is this psychic and physical disconnect from the stream of humanityyou become sort of "invisible" to them, as they try to ignore you. You are both constantly surrounded by people and completely isolated from them simultaneously; you are for all intents and purposes on a mountaintop, alone.
Once I had that epiphany, I started leaving the guy the occasional can of preserved foods, etc. For all I know, he was so evolved he didn't have to eat and could subsist like the legendary Taoist immortals on pure air and water, but fuck . . . it was Los Angeles. There was no pure air or water to be had, so I thought I should help out at least a little.
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In all seriousness, I like that one, too. Even "one day at a time" is a good one.