On the way to practice Thursday afternoon with the loving (and fun-loving!) Anusara yoga group, at the Love Yoga Coop, I saw a woman at an intersection with a handmade sign in her hand that read:
Old, Broken, and Ugly, but We Still Get Hot, Cold, and Hungry.
I swear she looked like a saint, like a nurturing mother earth goddess with a scarf that framed the sweetest and warmest features of womankind, a Mexican mama with hordes of children at her feet as she moves with stoic deliberation through her primitive kitchen preparing all sorts of hot spicy dishes to feed the members of her large, extended clan. Or maybe one of those gifted doctors or nurses who really know how to make you feel comfortable and safe before the big old needle gets jammed into your vein, or before the catheter finally gets pulled out. I can even see the face of a pious nun caring for the masses of spiritual seekers who have made a pilgrimage to some holy site that has drawn her to assist them on their journey, maybe offering a drink of refreshing water or a garland of freshly strewn flowers. I can envision her lighting candles and offering them up as prayers to her god to please bring some much needed peace to so many parts of our troubled and suffering world. I can see her wandering the rows of a little garden, pulling weeds, watering, hoeing and tending to leaves and shoots as the sun makes his daily ascent lighting the sky. I couldn't seem to see the reality of a woman at an intersection begging for money so she could have her next meal and maybe find some respite from the cold winter winds blowing in from the north. She glowed with an earthy yet ethereal radiance. Clearly I was projecting, or was I? I wanted to know her story, her history. What brought her here to this busy intersection on far south Lamar soliciting money from people sitting behind the closed windows of their warm automobiles? I once read that it's important for us to try to get to know the names of the people who are often invisible--the janitors, the garbage collectors, the house cleaning crews, the people who perform the jobs at the bottom of the pay scale and who often play a significant role in the abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables and many other goods that are available to us. Say hello to them, ask them how they are doing. Connect with them. Often these souls are the very essence of what is most humane in our world. Some people believe these underprivileged bodies are the temples of advanced souls, more evolved than most, hence they have chosen a life that is difficult and hard, knowing an easy time doesn't afford much opportunity for spiritual growth. A testament to spiritual stagnation--best expressed as an inner poverty--can often be seen in the empty lifestyles of the priviledged and powerful where there is no such thing as enough, and more is perceived as better but is in fact often ruinous to themselves and to so many others.
Earth mother, I hope you had a good meal last night and found warm and safe shelter. In my eyes you are not broken and you are not ugly. You deserve to age with grace and dignity, as we all do. I am sorry that hunger has become your companion. You touched me, you brought tears to my eyes, you triggered feelings of gratitude and the kind of humbleness I need regular injections of. It doesn't seem right and it certainly doesn't seem fair. The world is filled with injustices that often get mislabeled as mysteries. There is no mystery to being old, cold, or hungry with no place to sleep.
Andrew Harvey advocates "sacred activism." John Friend speaks of our interconnectedness and how we should honor that and suggests many ways that we can do just that. My friend Roger and his friend Maggie are a couple of examples of the good work many people do. Connect with someone you would normally not even notice. I'm going to try and do that. You can find Roger and others at:
