Wednesday
On Wednesdays. I volunteer at the homeless center. I've been doing this since August 04. It is already Spring and I still look forward to Wednesdays. I love Wednesdays.
When I first began working with the homeless, I thought of it as just that, working with them, helping them recover, get better, get their own zipcode, matching sheets sets and steady employment. I wanted tangible results. I wanted to leave behind a group of folks who were in better shape, safer, healthier, cleaner and mentally well.
That hasn't happened. Not to any of them. It's not from lack of trying.
What I've learned is that homelessness is a chronic complex layering of issues, bureaucracy, social institutions, perceptions of what people can expect from each other and health. When one layer is smoothed over and set to rights, another will topple down on it, setting everything off again.
There is nothing harder than sending a 70 year old mentally ill woman back onto the streets when the center closes. There is nothing more frustrating than taking her to the social worker's office where we sit for three hours, until she decides we are all out to get her and she stalks away, defiant.
There is nothing sadder than seeing a man who is about my age, who has week by week slid further into paranoia and deepest sorrow, covered with scratches and sores, shoeless, hungry, tattered, torn, battered and beaten and knowing I can do nothing for him. Nothing.
These are people I've had lengthy conversations with. These are people who trust me, people who I love to see each week. These people matter. These people live in a scary, hungry, lonely version of the world that I wake up to each morning.
Maybe St. Francis, Mother Theresa and Jesus would bring them home. I wonder if the Buddha would, or would Buddha say they were on some difficult soul journey. (I couldn't be a good Buddhist, karma makes me paranoid.)
I won't bring them home to my house. I'm not a Saint, my house is tiny, and I need my time away from their sorrows so I can show up again the next week. But I wonder, would someone take me in if I were homeless? Should they?
Someone told me once that we can't save the world, we can only live compassionately.
Maybe compassion will save the world.
Maybe compassion is enough.
I don't know.
When I first began working with the homeless, I thought of it as just that, working with them, helping them recover, get better, get their own zipcode, matching sheets sets and steady employment. I wanted tangible results. I wanted to leave behind a group of folks who were in better shape, safer, healthier, cleaner and mentally well.
That hasn't happened. Not to any of them. It's not from lack of trying.
What I've learned is that homelessness is a chronic complex layering of issues, bureaucracy, social institutions, perceptions of what people can expect from each other and health. When one layer is smoothed over and set to rights, another will topple down on it, setting everything off again.
There is nothing harder than sending a 70 year old mentally ill woman back onto the streets when the center closes. There is nothing more frustrating than taking her to the social worker's office where we sit for three hours, until she decides we are all out to get her and she stalks away, defiant.
There is nothing sadder than seeing a man who is about my age, who has week by week slid further into paranoia and deepest sorrow, covered with scratches and sores, shoeless, hungry, tattered, torn, battered and beaten and knowing I can do nothing for him. Nothing.
These are people I've had lengthy conversations with. These are people who trust me, people who I love to see each week. These people matter. These people live in a scary, hungry, lonely version of the world that I wake up to each morning.
Maybe St. Francis, Mother Theresa and Jesus would bring them home. I wonder if the Buddha would, or would Buddha say they were on some difficult soul journey. (I couldn't be a good Buddhist, karma makes me paranoid.)
I won't bring them home to my house. I'm not a Saint, my house is tiny, and I need my time away from their sorrows so I can show up again the next week. But I wonder, would someone take me in if I were homeless? Should they?
Someone told me once that we can't save the world, we can only live compassionately.
Maybe compassion will save the world.
Maybe compassion is enough.
I don't know.
Labels: homeless
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