meaning....?

Blue on blue.

Letters spelling affirmation. 

High above the littered streetscape

Where homeless hearts in tattered disrepair 

Hand clap to enhance blood flow

To seek warmth.

Bravo!  You've survived another day.

Bravo!  Another coin drops into a hat....

Bold applause

Remember to clap.

Remember to pat yourself on the back.

For what?  

For surrendering spare change with false pride?

Perhaps these letters sneer in sarcasm 

Exclaiming the real truth. 

We can do better.

Bravo indeed.

This week's Photo theme is Letters.  Signs, signs everywhere signs.....  For more shots of the words that remind, rekindle, remark and sell, sell, sell ....... check out Carmi's place right HERE! 

Bath, UK

This week's photo theme is Travel.  If I had my druthers, I'd be a travellin' fool.  I haven't explored near as many places as I had thought I would do by this point in my life and I hope the my future will offer up the chance to.  I did have the wonderful fortune though to spend a week in England at the end of the summer.  The majority of my time was focused on attending the Greenbelt Festival.  The first two days, however, was spent ambling around the city of Bath, which I absolutely fell in love with. The history, the architecture, and the whole feel of it being the land of Jane Austen novels left me smitten to return for a much longer visit.

Above, was the view from my room at the YMCA hostel.  Wow.  I absolutely LOVED it!  It was interesting staying at a hostel again, though this time I chose to have my own room rather than sharing it with 20 others like i did when I backpacked across Europe in the 80's.  The room however had no amenities.  Nada.  But, it was clean and the bed was comfie and given that I hadn't slept on the plane over etc, I figured I was just going to crash anyways.

Well, that was the plan until the fire alarm woke me from a deep sleep at around 10 pm and I had to get dressed and get my butt down to the front courtyard.  Not many even left the building and in fact the cafeteria was FILLEd with Spanish students singing and playing a loud clapping/cheering game.  They were having a blast, but oblivious to the amount of noise they were making.

The only people outside were older folks, all off whom seemed disinterested in starting up a conversation with anyone else.  It was kind of strange.  I had expected a lot of interaction, but there was none.  Couples stayed within themselves.  Groups were focused on eachother.   Given that I was wide awake at that point, I took the risk of entering the cafeteria to make myself a cup of tea, and then went back outside to enjoy the warm summer night....... and to listen to the chattering cheering Spanish kids.

There was a man sitting beside me whom I presumed was another traveller staying at the Y.  I made some comment about the incessant cheering.......... a conversation starter little joke.  He volleyed a comment my way and before I knew it, I was into a chat with him.  Very quickly, he informed me that he wasn't staying at the Y.  Phil, in fact, was a homeless person who had slept on the same bench for the past 8 years.  Well, he got MY attention!! I was full of questions.!!   And once I told him that I used to work with people on social assistance in Canada, Phil too was full of questions.  Our conversation took off in many directions.

I learned about the welfare system, about his family travails, about his struggles with alcoholism.  Phil described his bench, how it was contoured to fit his body.   He talked about the animals that live in the area and how he had tamed them.  He described the whole area, and the other towns I had passed through from Gatwick to Bath and shared a few stories of growing up in Swindon, which looked so worse for wear when I travelled through it earlier in the day.

When I asked him about subsidized housing, he admitted that he couldn't live inside.  He felt too claustrophobic.... to closed in.  He had tried, but it never panned out.  Consequently, he had been living outside for most of his adult life.  Given that he is the same age as me, that means he's been homeless for over 25 years. 

It was a true two way conversation......... Phil was very curious about life in Canada and about why I was travelling alone, why I was in the UK.  When I told him I was going to the Greenbelt Festival in Cheltenham, to meet up with friends I had met through the internet, he was ALARMED!  Once I elaborated a bit on the friendship connections and how long they had been nurtured, he shook his head and told me he thought I was a risk taker!  This from a man who lives hand to mouth every single day!!  It made me laugh...... and I pointed out that his life was risky on a daily basis.

I also described the vastness of the country and how cold it gets in the winter..... how there are a few homeless people in my city who somehow manage to find a place to sleep outside even in -20 degree weather.   I told him a little bit about my family, and about the beauty of it.   Phil then described his dream to me.  If he could, he would have his own cabin in the woods in Canada.  I wasn't surprised and told him so.  There is a sense of freedom and independence captured in a dream like Phil's.  No neighbours, no interuptions, no structured routine.  Surrounded by nature, and left to your own survival skills, a cabin in the woods would be the perfect dream place for Phil.

We talked for an hour or so...... long enough that the Spanish cheering squad had finally called it a night.  There was never a moment when I felt uneasy or in harm's way.  Phil was a true gentleman.  Polite, and just as interested in connecting with another human being as I was, he shared so much of his personal story with me, and when he asked, I shared some of mine.  It was an amazingly open and interesting conversation.... two people who from an outsider would appear to be so very different, found common ground within minutes of meeting.  Our lives have evolved in such different ways. Our experiences, stresses, struggles, opportunities were polar opposites.  Where we met was at a place of hopes and dreams and feelings...... we shared an interest in humanity.

When it was time for me to head back in to try to catch some sleep before a full day of sightseeing and then catching the train to meet up with Pip and Paul in Cheltenham, I stood up to say goodbye.  We hugged like friends do, and wished each other well.  He turned and walked towards the dark alley leading to the road and eventually to his bench, and I headed inside the YMCA hostel feeling very lucky to have met him......... feeling very lucky that my week travelling on my own was no doubt going to be interesting. 

Phil continues to linger in my thoughts.......... I wonder if he's found any comfort tonight?

For more photos on Travel............and maybe a couple of stories to go with them, check out Carmi's blog. 

The view I had while sitting on the other side of the Avon River having a picnic lunch.  Bath Abbey looms large over the centre of this absolutely beautiful city.

gimme shelter....

How does someone living in the land of plenty end up living in squalor down by the river? How does a human being grow up only to be discarded, abandoned, invisible and forgotten? I took these photos of a small outdoor nesting place for a few homeless people in the city of Fredericton. Located down by the edge of the Saint John River, so close to the Delta Hotel that you could shoot your spit and it would most likely hit the bricks. Haves and Have Not's residing as neighbours. The Have Not's know it. The Haves are oblivious. The neighbour on the other side? The Lieutenant Governor's mansion. Nice......

The area is referred to by government and community organizations, and the media as "tent city." Its hardly a city when you compare it to the excessively enormous shanty towns and makeshift communities under overpasses in larger centres. But, it is what it is....a home for the homeless, the transients......the human beings who have either chosen to live outside rather than in, or who cannot and will not abide by the rules of the local Shelters.

If you were walking quickly, or biking leisurely along this portion of the Trans Canada trail, chances are you wouldn't notice the hidden pathways leading to small clearings where human beings have congregated. Summer fauna overlaps the entrances and keeps the secrets behind the leaves...... sort of. Attention has been given to the handful of homeless people by a locally formed committee that was set up to "deal" with the issue. Deemed as dangerous and unsafe due to mental illness, addictions, lawlessness, there is an urgency to rectify the "problem" by finding alternative living arrangements.

There are some who want to use strong tactics to get these "filthy dirty addicts..." out of the city altogether. Put them on a bus.... move them to another town. Get rid of the problem. Quick and clean...resolve the issue by pushing it on. This "approach" reeks of impatience and disregard. No time or interest in finding out why another human being has fallen so far down and away from "functioning in the community" or being "self-sufficiently independent," these strongarmed bureaucrats see them as an issue that needs to be managed. No time to be curious or to see how beneficial it would be to connect in some way with these Tent people in order to learn WHY and WHAT HAPPENED...... They probably spend more time discussing what colour their new office furniture is going to be than truly caring enough to take the time to understand the individual human beings who have fallen.

There are others who sit across from the strongarm types who are quick to say...... Give them housing. They bark out their politics to anyone who will listen .... the issue is not enough affordable housing. The government doesn't have enough affordable housing!! Oh yeah, if only we had a place to park them that would solve the problem, now wouldn't it? hmmmmm......... no. It's not that simple. It also isn't that simple just to pour money into a bottomless pit with no foundation either. Housing doesn't make a home.

If we had all the money in the world, would the issue of homelessness be solved?

Homelessness is a symptom of a much larger systemic problem where one social service department or agency works in a silo providing their goods, while another offers up another package of goods and no one communicates effectively. Communities don't get off scot free either. Its not just a "problem" for the public sector to manage! Everyone plays a role because it isn't an "issue" that has to be solved. It's not a "problem" that has an easy fix answer like some math equation.

A person living on the streets, or down by the river, or in a tent in the woods, on a park bench, in a car, under a bridge, may have a handful of people whom they receive some form of assistance from. Social assistance, food, methadone, addictions counselling, shelter options, medical assistance. Sadly, not one of those helping frontline people have the capacity within the confines of their job description to fully assist this human being. Why? Time. Work constraints. Designated roles and responsibilities don't allow for it. Lack of genuine political will. Lack of financial resources. Community fear. Bias.

So, the perpetual problem continues...... and every now and then when the neighbourhood raises their ire, or when the Queen comes to town the issue of homelessness hits the front page of the local newspaper. Then, it dies down.......... becomes invisible and the human being Have Not's are lost beyond the margins, away from any attention.

Autumn is now here...... and the nights are colder.

abandoned

She sits behind the dull vacant stare of her greying dry eyes under the matted woolen remnants of yesterdays past, unnoticed by those who are supposed to care. She's tried. My God, she tried. But no attempt to reach out to others brought any relief to her once constant aching loneliness. The ache is gone, replaced by stone. Stone lonely.... hardened cold, void of heartsoftness, void of emotion. Inanimate and unloved.

She sits below the road, away from the flow of humanity in a place where driftwood and discards stare at her in mocking abandonment. Her own breathing keeps her company, makes her realize she is not inanimate like the waste she sits amongst. Every day however her breathing becomes more shallow and more laboured as she moves another day farther away from the tender times in her life when she was loved. She remembers she was once a baby too.... a beautiful child of promise. Now if she was to look in a mirror at her cracked lips untouched by another for far too long, at her grey eyes once sparkling in green light now stripped of lifehope......she would simply wonder who the stranger was staring at her.

Disconnected, she cowers in old hunches as she searches for warmth. Ice chatters in the water's waves by the shore. The wind threatens this drab existence and howls down its mournful whistle.

Two lovers wrapped into one another appear up above, dressed in bright coloured coats and matching hats. They stop to look out at the water vista while whispering to each other in their smiling cocoon. Their eyes blinded from seeing anything but their rose coloured view, never catch sight of the old woman just below. She sees them......and catches the aura of promise in the air all around them as they continue to stroll over the bridge leaving her alone again in the wake of none.

Her vacant stare returns. She moves inside herself. The cold presses her temples as she takes her last breath. She slips away into the grey sombre light as the rest of the world carries on beyond the unheard dirge.

Brought to you by this week's photo theme, "drab." You can blame Carmi at Written Inc. if this little piece brought you down.........while I go off to pour myself a drink and try to stir up some happy thoughts. :) DRAB Carmi? Its March in Canada??? Salt in the wound man! Salt. in. the. wound!

Why do the things that connect us slowly pull us apart?

Old Man Willow lives in the concrete part of town, his roots upturned and tucked in the scuffed shuffle of exhaustion. Living on the streets, his shadowy presence looms large. His broad shouldered bearing tackles the comfort of passersby who are afraid of this man with the flowing treebeard and weathered eyes. He rules the streets and in the middle of the night, Old Man Willow owns them outrightly.

"When everyone in this city is safe and warm in the comfort of their homes, when everyone in this city has gone somewhere where there is a roof and a bed, I sit in a hallway at 4 am and wonder if I'm going to make it through another night. Even in the middle of winter, I'm out there and I know I'm the only one. I'm the only one," he says with burdened vulnerability I didn't expect to hear.

Demons and drugs have pulled Old Man Willow into a life of distrusting isolation. His road of darkness has dragged him into the soul of sorrow where defeat eats flesh and leaves weeping wounds. The storms he has endured forced him to bend and twist over and over again and it shows. Life's hurricanes have taken their toll on this human being and have left him with deep in the bone marrow aches and abandoned youthful dreams in tatters.

His dream was to make it to the "show..." He had the natural ability, the athleticism to rise above the ranks of amateurs....to breathe in the glory of the migthy crack of the bat. He was born to play ball in a place where it is a religion. It was in his blood. The ball field was where he belonged. It was what he connected to. It was his love. His love...... but not his fate. His fate was stamped by the choices he made. It pulled him apart like the seams of a worn baseball and left him facing the reflections of acquainted glory in the hallways and on the streets alone, panhandling for a hot cup of coffee.

Beyond the raging anger which sealed his fall from the gracefulness of a limbered soul, Old Man Willow shares his insight with anyone who will ask. Few have asked. He knows it was his own fault, but he also knows he was a victim of the dysfunction he grew up in. Always tough, always on the defence, always fighting to scrape by when others had an abundance of support soared around him, he developed a crusty outer shell. Authority didn't exist in his mind. They were the enemy. They were all stupid. He knew how to throw heat on the mound, but he didn't know how to be coached. He failed at this part of the game.

"I had too much attitude. I didn't listen. I loved to play ball," he says with a life affirming gleam in his eyes, "but I had no discipline. They wouldn't take a chance on me and I don't blame them."

"What happened then?" I asked....

"I partied too much. I fell in love. I figured I had it in the bag then.....that my talent was good enough to make it even though I didn't listen to them......I kept partying and married my childhood sweatheart. We were too young though when I took her away from her family. It only lasted a year and I took her back home and moved on.....I had a few tryouts but I had this big chip on my shoulder. I see it now. I didn't then. I just didn't know how to play THAT game. I thought I was better than everyone else. It was just anger talking. It was just my anger. Nothing's ever come easy."

He sat back lost in the song of his undoing in a place of long ago.

"I could've made it....I was that good. I threw it away.....I threw it away."

The cold years have aged Old Man Willow. His treebeard is predominantly and prematurely grey. His blue eyes have faded. His thick outer shell is calloused with weathered beatings from drugged numbness and broken relationships. Still, when you look beyond his scuffed remnants of this broken man, you see the strength he used not on the ball field, but on the mean streets in order to survive. He used his strength to survive and it has slowly pulled him apart from what he loved the most. It happens to the best of us.

What was glowingly apparent to me as I sat with him in the comfort of a warm office and listened with a combined sense of awe and pity, was an awareness that this man felt emotion far deeper than you or I. He may have had the physical prowess to dominate in a game we shared a love for, but he didn't have the filtering capacity to protect himself from the onslaught of life's feelings thrown with heat. Old Man Willow may scare down the passersby. He may have a shadowy presence which looms large over the concrete part of town. He may even throw a few swings at the demons and not have the self discipline to walk away from a fight. But his true persona is of a sensitive frightened human being who couldn't guard himself from hurt. This is what slowly pulled him apart from the rest. This is what finally took him to a place in his hurt where he finally asked for help.

His help was heard.....by his doctor who has grown to admire his unique patient.....by a doctor who took it upon himself to "go to bat" for a man who has burned many bridges in life. And because of this respect he has for a broken human being, Old Man Willow is going to receive some help. Tomorrow, he moves into his own place. Tomorrow night, his hallway will lead to a bedroom where his own bed awaits made with crisp and fresh sheets. His head will have a pillow. The community, many of whom have wanted to help Old Man Willow, has pulled together to help him. Hopefully he can make the transition from the mean cold streets to a place called home. It won't be easy to break lifelong habits. But, we're all willing to give it a try.....again and again...

and again.......this is life itself.

new learning

Learning is a limitless blue sky expanse; its air so fresh it can leave you dizzy. It's an elixir so tasty it leaves your lips smacking for more. Or it could be the worst tasting cough syrupy mess, it leaves your throat crying out for relief.

it can.....
knock you sideways
threaten your values
tickle your fancy
kick you in the gut
make you blink
fill you with desire
tap your temples
touch your heart
make you cry
open your eyes
stretch your soul
thump you with laughter
stump your senses
bump you in the night.....bump, bump, bump.


today, I learned....

how a man felt when he held his dying grandmother's hand,

what it's like to be lost in the bottom of a bottle of cheap whiskey

that loneliness sleeps in a place of misfit belonging,
how humour seen through rheumy eyes has many layers

that I have much in common with a homeless man

what its like to live a life debilitated by anxiety

how a man knows he has learned many life lessons from his mentally ill brother after he learned to grieve

that paddling down the river is a place where God touches you

how the serenity prayer lifts spirits and offers hope especially in the early hours of sobriety.



Not from a book.
Not from the media.
I learned these lessons from being welcomed into the lives of a few people who shared their insights, their feelings, and their hearts with me today.


I love books....and I love learning from them. They feed my curiosity, quench some thirsts. But what teaches me more are the human beings who are open to sharing some of their stories with me.... Ironically, I was accused today of "always getting off topic" in my counselling sessions by a colleague when I excitedly tried to share one of the conversations I had just experienced. Her perception of me (new learning!!) caught in my throat like a cherry pit. I spit it out and walked away dumbfounded.


wow.... blink, blink, blink...that one tapped me on the temple.


This week's photo theme at Carmi's Written Inc. is "new".........for more newbies, check out his blog, which ALWAYS provides new learning for me.

regrets, I've had a few....dreams one or two....

In life we all have an unspeakable secret, an irreversible regret, an unreachable dream, and an unforgettable love. Diego Marchi.

Tonight, my family and I joined a few others to decorate the local community kitchen. The few boxes of decorations, stored for 50 weeks of the year in my basement, are hauled into the dining room area after the dinner has been served and the place has been cleaned up for the day. In the quiet of the early evening, we begin by pulling out the worn out treasures......the motley looking tree, the garlands and wall hangings, the bows and ornaments.....and assess the array we have to work with. This year, a few colleagues from work donated some new decorations to add a bit of zip to the festive look.

The soup kitchen no question is a cluttered, undersized muddled mish mash of donations. The arborite is worn to the bone.....the chairs, recycled vintages from various boardrooms and offices have most definately seen better days. It's relatively clean (definately the kitchen area is) though the lingering odour, especially at this time of year is a compelling blend of unwashed winter wear, cooking grease and lingering life spices hits you as soon as you walk in the place.

It's an aroma I'm used to..... not so for my children. It is a rank of stark reality to them and it wraps them in wonder of a relatively unknown different world. Even though they have been in the place several times, I can see their discomfort and determination to help make it a little more welcoming and festive for the people who frequent it. I also know that they look forward to offering their efforts every year. It's a good thing.

As we begin to puff up last years bows and turn the little Christmas tree into something more presentable (it reminds me of the tree in Charlie Brown's Christmas.....just needs a little love), I too look around at the empty chairs and the long lines of tables. In no time I begin to hear the stories, the regrets, the dreams, the loves.......I begin to feel the loss, the sadness, the grief, the frustrations. I also see the mingling apparitions where fellowship is felt in the gathering of souls....the volunteers, the workers, and of course the human beings who come for the food. They come for the food, but they also come for the touch of another.

They come for sustenance...body and soul. We need both. For survival.

I found the above quote this morning and it stayed with me all day as I contemplated my own secrets, regrets, dreams and loves. Tonight, as I looked down at the wellworn tables and the overused empty chairs where folks had just sat an hour before to eat their daily meal, I was reminded that every single person on this planet, no matter where they dine or dwell, carry with them similar packages.....unspeakable, irreversible, unreachable, unforgettable.....


our life scars......our war wounds......our imperfections

some just scratch the surface

some puncture deep into the crevasse of our spirits

some we share

and some we take to our graves.

somebody cry why, why, why?

I left this morning in the bitter cold and headed east and then south to Saint John to deliver a 3 day workshop to a group of frontline staff. The temperatures dropped drastically. It had turned the wet lash flakes that seemed to playfully cover the landscape on Sunday night into a mean hardened encasement on the limbs of the burdened trees. Snow had blown onto the highway and mixed with the dangerous black ice that gripped the same colour pavement, leaving the driving conditions intense. Warnings had been voiced throughout the radio morning show.....to be careful.....to go slow.......to take your time.

The sunrise skyline in front of me was a blurred soft salmon like someone had used pastel crayons to colour it in and them used the warmth of their fingers to rub it into a delicate sleepiness. As the sun rose higher into the horizon it too had a blurriness from the thin clouds that covered and captured whatever warmth emanated from it's centre. It was a storm warning sky, familiar to anyone who lives in snow country. It was silently beautiful.

The highway between Fredericton and Saint John is a well known one to me, and it has my utmost respect. Two lanes for the most part, hilly with very few straight stretches, it cuts through the training land for CFB Gagetown which is all forested. In some parts, a brand new serious looking fence separates the road from the forest to keep the moose where they should be..... and not gallavanting along the white dashes. They have been known to do that. Several people have been killed after their vehicles have collided with a moose. The fence is a life saver.

As much as I was keeping my eyes on the road and my brain alert and focused on the driving, I did take in the scenery as I passed by. The trees, mostly mature evergreens were covered in a thick coat of snow, so white it was almost blinding.....so heavy that they were all bent over like they were bowing to the motorists. It was stunningly beautiful, like a winter wonderland picture postcard. If it had been a different day, perhaps I would've been able to pull off the road and take some photos. Instead, I decided I would tuck the picture into my memory in order to be able to try to find the words to describe them.

While I was thinking about how one could describe the depth of winter's beauty on the landscape of this part of the world, a familiar song came on CBC Radio 2 (which by the way has completely enamoured me of late with its changes. I love the music they are playing in the mornings). It had been made famous 20 or so years ago by Paul Simon when he teamed with an African group named Ladysmith Black Mombazo. I remember the first time I saw them perform it.......on Saturday Night Live, and I remember being absolutely bowled over by the feeling that rose out of all them as they sang....knowing I would never forget the song or the feeling. This rendition wasn't accompanied by Simon but rather Sarah McLaughlin. Her voice fed right into LBM's harmony like an angel..........

Homeless, homeless

Moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake

Homeless, homeless

Moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake

We are homeless, we are homeless

The moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake

And we are homeless, homeless, homeless

The moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake

Such a contrast.......a mind awakening contrast.........there I was travelling through a stretch of what seemed like the fairytale version of the North pole with its snow artistry listening to a song that had transported me to the soul full beat of Africa. I couldn't be farther away physically from where this song originated but spiritually as I listened to the words and absorbed the sounds of a language I can't speak or understand, I was right there.

Strong wind destroy our home

Many dead, tonight it could be you

Strong wind, strong wind

Many dead, tonight it could be you

And we are homeless, homeless

Moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake

Homeless, homeless

Moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake

Homeless, homeless

Moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake

Somebody say ih hih ih hih ih

Somebody sing hello, hello, hello

Somebody say ih hih ih hih ih

Somebody cry why, why, why?

Somebody say ih hih ih hih ih

Somebody sing hello, hello, hello

Somebody say ih hih ih hih ih

Somebody cry why, why, why?

Somebody say ih hih ih hih ih

This is a song which entered our world only 22 years ago and helped broaden our awareness of world music. It was a daring thing to do......apartheid was still raging. Nelson Mandela was still imprisoned. Communism was still such a prevalent silencer to millions of people. The Berlin Wall was still a foreboding crippler of freedom when we were introduced to this song. But when you think about it, it's the art......music, paintings, novels, films, poems which always seems to lead the way to change and awareness. This song for me awakened my interests in learning more about African issues.........but also made me realize that some issues.........homelessness for example....and the feelings behind the issues are universally felt.

somebody cry.......why, why, why?

we can relate........communicating through our creativity.

we can relate by recognizing the very idea that we all think, feel, breathe and yearn alike.

we can relate by reaching out and learning about our similarities and differences.

December 10th, 2008 (tomorrow!!!) is the 60th anniversary of the Declaraton of Human Rights. WE still have major homelessness issues. WE still have people imprisoned behind walls. WE still have people who are brave and have tried to speak out about the injustices the see and experience in their countries. Yes, we have made major strides since Paul Simon did us a huge favour by introducing us to beautiful music filled with sounds and language we can absorb through our hearts. However, many people have been silenced..... Many people in our world....human beings like you and I live with NO rights. This is a violation we all need to recognize and we all need do something about.

Tomorrow, I will write about a couple of people, ordinary people who have taken it upon themselves to make a difference in the rights of others. Every Human Has Rights.....Inspiring.....

Tonight, as I hunker down in the port city of Saint John for the duration of the workshop, I want to share music......to inspire....... to wake up our passion for people who live far away from Canada's wintery landscape..... as a reminder of our individual right to freedom of expression. Written in collaboration.....follow this link....

ps....Today? I led a workshop on our basic needs. It went better than I expected because there was the music playing in my soul.

tonic for a clenched soul

He tells me his shoes are all scuffed from walking....Scuffed by the heaviness that make his knees ache under the burden and his arches throb from the extra weight.

All night long he lays on his side of the bed, his body taut in buzzing anxiety, clenched jaw, tense muscles...his unsettled heart fibrillating off beat....his racing thoughts invading any dream escape..."Indecision caused by too many to make," he says.

The bed....their bed......is now as comfortable as a concrete slab, unwelcoming in its reminder of what had been,and what lies ahead.

brokenness

loneliness

fear

sorrow

guilt

shame

He can't think beyond immediacy and it hurts...from head to toe it hurts. When he awakes from a dreamless night,his whole body aches from restless wanderings, steeped grovellings of ungranted forgiveness. It takes every ounce of energy not to roll over to face the wall as he makes himself sit up to a wave of unwelcome bile brought on by realization that its over.

But, life still goes on despite the grief of his clenched soul. Work, bills, meetings, appointments, family, errands, responsibilities....listening to the drab complaints echoing all around him. There's no escaping the hum of a scuffed life.

"I have to maintain the grip," he says, "because if I let go even for a second I will fall off the ledge and break into a million pieces that wouldnt be fixable. It would be the end of me." So he holds on, hoping the nightmare will end.

Through the motions he scuffs off to work, his hands closed tightly and stuffed in his pockets. He walks against the bitterwind which makes his breathing short snip gasps that lacks in fresh air oxygen and shorts out his thinking, leaving him clouded in confusion. A clenched soul, stuck in the discomforting transition of change, numbed by too much real, feeling like if he lets go of the grip, he will be sucked into a vortex.

For some reason, he looks up from his cloud and sees two men, homeless and huddled under a ratty wool blanket leaning against the corner of the grey brick wall away from the entrance to the park. Their winter wool caps are moth eaten worn, and their faces haggard from a tangled hard life. He sees one of the men pull a worn old paper bag out of his jacket and take out a wrapped sandwich. Carefully the man unwraps it, and gives half to his friend to share. And as these two ragamuffin men sit in a moment of kindred serenity, oblivious to their surroundings, sharing the only food they have, the clenched souled man stops dead on the sidewalk. In a rush of awareness, he surrenders to his feelings and weeps as he realizes he is witnessing the true essence of spirituality......humanity in all its basic ordinary glory.

Tired and spent but now wide awake, he wipes his nose on his coat sleeve, inhales the biggest breath of needed air he has in a very long time and walks on towards the little chapel he passes everyday on his way to work. Though empty and silent, the chapel still beckons. He pulls open the heavy wooden door to find a stream of sunlight dappling through the stain glass and walks over to the pew bathed in the sun's rays. He sits quietly........alone..........silent, tears flowing. He unclenches his hands, and gently lays his fingers together, his palms touching........and looks up at the ceiling. With his face beaming in sunlight he whispers the words, "thank you."

a scene from the alley.......

Under puddle grey skies they emerge,

in large numbers

filing out through the heavy metal door

lighting up in unison --

An after dinner toke on a full stomach.

The best tasting cigarette of the day

besides the first one with morning coffee.

But sometimes there's no sweet aromatic coffee.

It's made from grains of yesterday

Bitter tar-like substance from the bottom of an urn.

Sometimes morning begins

starring at the underbelly of a bridge

in backbreaking pain,

throbbingly disjointed

where no coffee is brewing

where the only smoke is a discarded butt.

Sometimes morning begins in

a sock stinking room shared by 10 damp strangers

Shivering under an unknown blanket,

worn and used by others

prickly and unwelcoming transience.

Coffee there is weakly tepid

Served in a stained unfamiliar mug.

Given to charity

"Worlds Best Dad......"

At first glance, I see

Weather worn faces seemingly the same

Dazed, angry, bone weary aged.

Empty discards

in oversized pants from Sally Ann

in threadbare shirts, wrinkled from sleep

tattered, torn faded colour

Sadness prevails

Surrendered souls

Who have seen the bottom of a bottle of cheap whiskey

many times

Who have felt the biting winter winds

many times

and know it feels the same as the hard slap from the back of a hand.

They've felt them both and know they are the same.

Strangers lost in a fog of mental illness, shit luck,

abuse and a lifelong hangover.

Numbed on the bare boned skinned knee open wound existance.

But tonight,
as they emerge and converge for an after dinner smoke
Gathering in an puddle filled alley
hidden by a brick building,
where the shelter and the kitchen
make it a meaningful destination,

I look again and see some familiar faces.

People who have visited me in my office.

Human beings I have seen around town.

The man with the marionette monkey

who makes it dance for money every Saturday at the market.

The woman who collects bottles and cans from the dumpster behind my office building

The mom and her two kids whom I've shared a coffee chat with in her home.

The guy who sleeps on the bench in the park downtown

A few whose names I don't know, but have seen in the lobby.

Many I don't recognize.

Many are lost in a schizophrenic fog.

Some gather together to talk,

while others stay within themselves

lost in the periphery of the marginalized.

Marginalized by the marginalized.

Our society breathes hierarchy like dragon's breath

One small statured man walks gingerly and awkward

trying to pretend he isn't completely drunk

Another with a shaved head whose eyes dart in paranoia paces.

And another, and another............same look.......same space....

Sober --stark, real, cold, wet reality. Who wants sober?

In the middle of the group?

A little boy

about 4 years old

with a red ballcap

and red crocs on his feet

glides by on his scooter.

Whoosh............his colourful presence

enraptures me.

Like a taste of watermelon on a hot day.

In and out splashing through the grey sky puddles

twisting and turning his scooter

past the sad adult faces too hurt to pay attention

Oblivious to his joy

He oblivious (maybe) to their pain.

The scooter skids and the little boy yelps.

All eyes turn to him.

His mother, incapacitated by a full leg cast lurches forward

But a friendly face intervenes.

He tends to the little boy,

then playfully takes the scooter

and turns the scene into a circus romp.

He's a smiling clown.

The little boy laughs from his belly

The sad adults, thirsty for relief

begin to cheer on the clown.

Smiles all around.

A moment of light tasting levity

in the midst of despair.

And it makes me wonder if Jesus is close by taking it all in.

I think He is.

grace and mercy floating all around........

This is a bit long............I couldn't stop myself. Sorry about that :)

Most days I live in a microcosm of the world. Though I am eager and motivated to learn about the many global stories emanating out there, and I do take the time to be aware of as much of it as I can, I find my days are spent mostly one on one.....working with individuals whose lives are focused on their basic needs. It's all they have time and energy for. It's all I have time and energy for. And, it's all that matters when it comes to their needs and my workday, especially in the moment it's happening.

Today was one microcosmic moment after another, with hardly any time to lift my head. I managed to glean the major stories of the day, stopping to shudder at the close call in London where a car bomb was set to explode nails and nastiness through Picadilly..........oh my God........ but honestly, it was enough to stay focused on the issues at hand and on the individuals who met with me to discuss their struggles. This is probably why I'm more inclined to write about the day to day dealings and issues as opposed to my feelings on Islamic terrorism, or the political implications (or lack thereof) of the latest G8 summit, or a million other stories. They interest me and de-mollify my nerves.............I just don't have time to write about it all.

I received a call today in the middle of another meeting from a client whom I have been focusing my attention on almost succinctly for the past two weeks. She was hysterical, to a point where I wondered if she was going to do harm to herself. Ruth and I had met originally to complete a social assessment and her application for a disability certification herself and from there, many other issues sprang forward. This happens a lot which makes these applications take much longer than they are supposed to (God help me if I am asked to justify my time.....though I know one day a number crunching bureaucrat is going to ask to me document my time..........well, we'll deal with that when we get to it.........). During our initial meeting, which by the way took almost a year to orchestrate because of numerous hospitalizations and near misses when I had arranged for a home visit and she would'nt be there for whatever reason, I learned of her living environment as well as her health issues. From there, we have been working together to get her moved out of a place that not only needs to be condemned but had added much to her illnesses.

Ruth has a long list of diagnoses...........Hep C, chronic drug addiction (she's now in the Methadone program, clean of street drugs after many years of living on the streets surrounding herself in drug people......including her own father) a necrotizing thing on her torso brought on by the nastiness of her rooming house, arthritis, chronic pain, emotional instability and anxiety, depression, and a whole wallop of paranoia. On top of all of that, her life story which is strewn with abuse and confinement is one of the most harrowing and stomach churning existances I have heard of. She is tired and almost beaten down, but miraculously has a sliver of hope as she makes an attempt to get her life on track for the first time ever.

It's hard to fathom that she can even find hope in the barrage of nasties..........I think of her and I'm in awe.

Our meeting was timely on many levels. First of all, she qualified for a one bedroom apartment in a brand new building that is still in the process of being completed (but move in-able on some floors including hers) A whole new focused person emerged when I told her of this possibility the first day that we finally met. Since then, I escorted her to an "interview" with the landlord as moral support, and have spoken to her on several occassions since then to help her problem solve and make to do lists of stuff which had to be dealt with before she could sign a lease.......arrangements to move, bank account openings, putting in her notice at the dump she calls home right now, and more than anything learning how to deal with her case worker. I thought until today that she and I had moved beyond this and things were more or less settling down.

Unbeknownst to Ruth, I had made a few attempts to talk with the case worker about this particular client as a way to offer up some insights which I had hoped would allow the case worker a chance to look at the client from different eyes. She is notoriously unhelpful despite the attempts of many colleagues to shake some empathy into her bones. Though I did receive the look, which is often flashed at me.......the look that says..........."you don't know what you're talking about because you're a Pollyanna. Looks like the client has pulled the wool over your eyes again," which of course bites right into one of my personal trigger points..........the desire to be believed or something...... SO............ I knew that my descriptions or what i considered insights were being flushed away by a non-believer in the potential of human beings. I tried, but I would've been more effective banging my head against a brick wall....or hers. yes, I was tempted.

This particular case worker is in a league of her own. Though there are some who are untrusting and lacksadaisical......(and thank God most are wonderfully warm and accepting and will go to great lengths to assist someone in need) .....this one is judgemental, rude and hides behind the machinations of policy. Interestingly, she rose from dire poverty herself, which blows my mind that someone could be so callous when they have grown up not knowing if there would be something on the table for dinner, experiencing the bitter cold of outside toilets in January, or no clean running water. Sure, I get it. She's an angry obnoxious person who will never do a bit of navel gazing, who would never admit that she has never forgiven her parents for her circumstances. I work with many colleagues who have spent time on the other side of the desk, either as a child on welfare or as a single parent left without financial resources. Most take their experiences and grow into dedicated heart bursting frontline workers with scores of empathy. Others? They choose the other angry path, use displacement as their method of dispersal and hurt others as a neurotic attempt to feel better. Yeah, Freud would have a heyday with this scenario.......

I can't count the number of times i have had to spend the first 1/2 hour "debriefing" with someone who happened to pull the short straw and land in this worker's caseload. Tears, frustration and outright anger to a point of rage......i've seen it all, heard it bellowed and have had to assuage it. Not only is it time consuming for me to undo this psychological mess created by someone who is SUPPOSED to be helping people because it takes my time away from providing productive counselling and assessment services, more importantly it is unbelievably damaging to the dignity of the victim. It's like kicking a puppy in the tender guts.

What happened to Ruth today took the cake. In order to move into a new secure and clean apartment, Ruth has been doing her best to jump through the myriad of hoops placed in front of her. Her life is a disorganized mess......of living day to day trying to find her health again for the most part.....of seeking a new life away from the streets, away from the drug friends, away from this whole culture TOWARDS health and independence and feeling better about herself.....this takes courage and energy. On top of this, she has had to arrange a mover, contact hydro and the phone company, pack her belongings, and sort through much of what she owns to decide if she has to toss it out because of the impact of living in a bug infested shithole, ...........open a bank account which she has never done before in order to have a void cheque, and direct deposit etc (in the long run a good thing, but more overwhelming than we can fathom given her life circumstances and poor coping skills)

On top of all that..........................her monthly cheque was cut in half due to a glitch in the system, I was told. It left her without the money to pass onto a new landlord......and left her feeling that the whole dream of moving into her own place..............the very first "own place" she has ever known............was down the drain. She was supposed to sign the lease and pass over a damage deposit etc,etc,etc.......today. When she called her case worker completely bereft and in rage, she was simply told that her medical had expired, and she would have to get another one from her doctor indicating that she couldn't work, which in turn would allow her monthly cheque to increase. Meanwhile........................................she has been working with me to apply for disability and all the documentation for that is sitting with me as we complete it........her case worker WELL aware of this fact.

The blame was put squarely on Ruth, who because of her accusations of incompetence levelled at the case worker (aka holder of cheques, controller of lives) she was dismissed as the person with the problem......Ruth was too difficult to deal with.............ALWAYS how these things are rationalized. UNBELIEVABLE......

If you could just see this waif of a human being...........whose life is beyond comprehension, who has survived heinous things.......who is drenched in sweat most days because she wears natty old clothes to cover her completely despite the summer temperatures......who waffles from tears to smiles as she navigates survival........who can crack a joke and laugh deeply if given something to laugh about.....who can see the absurdity of the rest of the world......who wants to get better so she can eventually make a home for her 8 year old son who lives with relatives, the same ones who mistreated her.........who simply wants a secure clean place to live which is affordable and safe, and has a place she can open up her card table to lay out a jigsaw puzzle she wants to finally have a chance to tackle......who is so looking forward to watching TV tucked in her own clean bed, and make a cup of tea and enjoy the fresh clean breezes which flow through her little castle....if you could see this beautiful woman hidden behind her sickness and labels......you would know beauty in all its striking imperfections.

I could write all night..........so much I want to say..................so much I want to spill out after a day of working in the microcosmic world because a whole platter of learning and awareness bubbled up through this mess for both of us......

Ruth and I won today. At 4 pm, we were on site of the new apartment building meeting with the new landlord who had been informed of the system glitch by the case worker after a successful (and loud) confrontation on my part. Ruth signed the lease, was provided with moving information she needed to know. Then, we were given the royal tour right up to her tiny little palace. Everything is sparkling new clean....... She spoke of the personal touches she plans.....of the colour she wants to add......her smiles were glorious!!! There she was standing in the empty space, her jetblack hair askewly pull up with a big clunky clip on top of her head, in pants that were too big for her frame, which draped down over her sock covered sandalled feet fraying in the back from dragging when she walked. There she was in her blue wool sweater with rips and snares, all stretched out of shape and button up to her chin................her face glowing red cheeks and beaded perspiration...........her arms full of purses and papers and a takeaway ice cappacino...a disorganized overwhelmed mess who was beaming HOPE!!! It makes me cry just thinking of that moment........and I thank God I was there to witness it. The superintendent, a gruff older man, friendly and patient with her also recognized the significance despite not knowing Ruth's story. I could tell by his wet eyes.

On the way back to the place she only has to spend one more night in, Ruth spoke of her next steps after some time getting well again........she wants to work on getting her GED. She wants to take a course in anger management because she knows the addiction stuff is completely tied in with her ineffective coping skills.....and swallowing or injecting her anger is killing her. From living in survival mode all of her life, there is a glimmer that perhaps her other needs.....will finally receive some of her attention. Our conversation scattered in many different directions, treading on so many topics.........how there are good people out there who will help, how some people feel they are above others......how Jesus spent a good deal of his life hanging with the wounded and broken, with the marginalized........how we are all equal in the eyes of God.......how we tend to react to others based on our own issues. At one point, I took the opportunity to introduce to Ruth the idea that perhaps her childhood has affected her choices dearly, and has affected how she reacts........I identified it under the umbrella of "abandonment" which clearly fits for her. it was a true light bulb moment. No one had ever pointed this out to her, unbelievably given that she has been in and out of counselling most of her adult life.

"How do you know that?" she asked. "It is so true....I was abandoned wasn't I?"

I explained that by pulling together her stories, it seemed clear to me that this is where she needs to head with her counselling in the future........"and once you start tackling this, Ruth you will see it all unravel. And then, you can validate you own anger and find a place where you can forgive..........forgive yourself, and forgive the people who were supposed to look after you."

And while I'm saying these things, sharing with her some insights I knew she was ready to hear, I was struck with the knowledge that grace and mercy were floating all around us in the car. I felt a sense of knowing I was meant to be a counsellor all over again.......for the first time in a while. Counselling comes naturally and fits me like lycra. It was a flash of awareness I needed personally, as much as Ruth needed a flash of awareness with respect to her abandonment issues.

Grace and mercy...........floating all around us. it was a very special drive across the bridge which spans the Saint John River.

When she was getting out of my car............ arms still full of the same paraphenalia....her face still overheatedly glowing......I told her she was beautiful....because she was. Right in front of my eyes, I saw a woman transform from defensive fatigue to a soft calm. She looked back at me and told me she loved me, then closed the door and headed to her rooming house to finish her packing.

The end of a workday.........in a microcosmic world........and I was flooded with good tears. Some people will never ever get it. What a shame.

Growing Awareness

finding her tune, making a difference, march 2007

Today, my daughter will be delivering a speech to her class; an assignment given every year. The thought of getting up in front of a group of people used to fill her with shaky dread until the day when she silently and conciously chose to come out of her shyness shell when she began middle school in Grade 6. She told her father and I after the fact that she didn't want to be looked upon as shy anymore. Since then, Martha has come full circle, from me having to carry her into Kindergarten with her head tucked into my neck, to joining a leadership group at school where she finds herself in front of the student body as the M.C. of "Albert St. School Idol." Amazing. So today, she left for school pumped.......determined to deliver a speech worthy of being selected to represent her class in front of the rest of the student body.

Over the course of the past couple of months, she and I have had many conversations about extreme poverty. Her awareness began last year after watching the Bono commercials on "Make Poverty History," and grew when the brochure from World Vision arrived just before Christmas. The brochure was practically set up in a way that described how a donation could be used to help individuals and families in developing countries. A 30 dollar donation, for example would buy two hens and a rooster for a family. It piqued her interest, and prompted many questions. It also motivated her to convince two of her friends to arrange an impromptu bake sale at the school to raise funds. In the course of a couple of days last December, Martha and her friends baked at night and sold the goods at lunchtime. They made enough to buy a few hens and roosters. Her awareness grew............and her speech topic was found.

Since then, she has gathered more and more information and asked many questions. She bought most of her Christmas presents through a fair trade sale sponsored by a local community group, and has learned more about the issues surrounding extreme poverty as well as the organizations and individuals who are trying to make a difference. Her desire to look beyond herself, to look beyond her neighbourhood is growing.

Here is Martha's speech......

Helen Keller once said: “I am one, but I still am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. I will not refuse to do the something I CAN do."

Today, I am ONE person stepping forward to do something.

Half of the world, nearly 3 billion people live on less than 3 dollars a day. A person dies every second due to poverty. Unfortunately children, the most vulnerable, die most often…..one child every 3 seconds. According to Unicef, 30,000 children die due to their living conditions every single day. That means, over 200,000 die every week, and over 10 million children under the age of five every year. They all have names like us. They are all connected to families like us. Sadly, they live and die in the poorest countries in our global community.

One.....two....three......we just lost another child.

Extreme Poverty is living in a condition with little or no money, food or any way of getting out of the situation. Poverty is making the streets your home, looking for food in dumpsters, and drinking water from a sewage pipe. Poverty in our developing countries is a growing monster that is fed by the rest of the world, where food and shelter is taken for granted. As Canada grows and prospers, another country like Malawi in Africa gets poorer and poorer.

For a child living in extreme poverty, it means they may not have clean running water, they may not have a bed, and they may not have parents to care for them. Their days are spent searching for food, begging for money, and trying to stay safe………..they have so many obstacles blocking survival. They may get bitten by a disease carrying mosquito and contract malaria and die. They may catch a disease like tuberculosis or measles, which we don’t even worry about anymore in our country. We are immunized against them. These kids aren’t. These diseases kill them. If they get pneumonia, they don’t have the antibiotics to fight off the bacteria. If they get diarrhea due to contaminated water, they die. They can’t afford the medication, and they don’t even have access to it!

One.....two.....three......we just lost another child. I wonder what her name was?

You may be thinking.....Why should we care? We don’t know these people. We don’t know what their names are. They may not speak the same language as us. They don’t live in the same country. They may not believe in the same God as we do or even like the same sports or activities that we like. You may be thinking this issue to too big for us to make a difference.

These things don’t matter. What is important is that THEY matter, just like we do. We are all human beings. They need our help and we can give it. We are one community living on this planet and we are responsible for looking out for those in need. We all matter.

There are so many ways you can help these children who have done nothing to deserve the life that they have been given. Here is one idea. There are 30 kids in our class. If we each gave up 5 dollars of our lunch money for a week we would have 150 dollars. Through an organization called World Vision, we could buy 10 fruit trees for a family. They could sell the fruit to make money and could also eat the food for nutrition and vitamins. For 75 dollars you can send a child to a safe place where they will be looked after from disasters and crisis that were going on the there communities. For 100 dollars we could get Immunization for diseases such as Diphtheria, whooping cough, measles, polio, tetanus and tuberculosis. We could do all of that and more just by giving up 5 dollars.

One......two......Wait a second! Lets SAVE this one.

My daughter inspires me. Daily.