Striving For Compassion While Gazing At Life

            While walking I came across a lady going into a store. (This was not the same lady who abandoned her children.) Watching her from the front show window, I saw the manager shake his head no. It was obvious she was looking for a job. Walking out, she made her way to the next store. The same scene of her putting her hand on the door, pushing it open, and walking into the store kept playing itself over and over in my dream. The managers continually shook their heads no in response to her request for a job. Every time she would walk out of a store, she seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. Her shoulders were drooping, her head was lowered, and her entire countenance was beginning to change. She did not look like the same girl that had approached the first manager. Finally, she came to a door that she could not open. Her heart was racing and fear was lodging in her throat. It took all of her energy and determination, but eventually she opened the door. With the boisterous noise of her heartbeat echoing in her ears, she walked in. Timidly applying for a job, she could only stammer her request. Once again, the manager shook his head no. I followed her a little longer. Her hand touched another handle, but the loud noise in her ears was deafening and immobilized her. She could not walk through the entrance. She turned away, and then swiftly did an about-face. Again she tried, but failed. She no longer had the courage to face another rejection. She walked away.

            A few days later, I saw the lady again. She was dirtier than she had been before. Hunger pains were cramping her body. A well-dressed man approached her. He offered her a place to live, food to eat, and clothes to wear. She was offered a job. Disheartened, she accepted.

            Well you know, the homeless choose to be homeless, or so I’ve always thought. In this dream I was with a group of people. Seeming to have a lot in common, we were all gathered together talking. All of a sudden, we were standing in a row, side by side. I was picked out of the line and was told that I would have to leave; I would have to go. Go? Go where? Why? The one speaking was not being mean to me. It was not said, “Get out of here” or anything that resembled that tone. But the message was clear. I would have to leave. I looked at the man telling me to go, and with a calm response I said, “Okay Preacher, I will go.”

            Everyone helped me pack. They were all sad and really hated to see me go. One friend gave me a long pillow, something like a body pillow. Another gave me two blankets, one being pink and fluffy. That was my gear. We wrapped my pillow in the blankets and they put my bedroll on my shoulders. I fell to my knees for they buckled beneath me. Gently, my friends helped me up.

            I felt the confusion. Where do I go? I knew I had to leave, but in which direction was I to go? Getting to the end of the road, a sad realization came upon me, I was homeless.

            Somehow that was the beginning of my ‘Striving for Compassion while Gazing at Life’ journey. That is how I came upon the mom leaving her children. I was able to see and feel her genuine pain and terror. The seemingly ugly act of abandonment was truly one issued in love and unselfishness.

            It was in my travels I was able to witness the young lady looking for work. I could see her becoming more and more downhearted, and I could feel her despondency. I saw an old man take money out of his wallet and give it to her. I heard him say, “No, no favors. You take the money and use this time for yourself.” I asked the man why he had given her the money and not want anything in return. He said, “I knew her dad. He was a veteran, a hard-working, good man. He is dead now, but his daughter has been through rough times. You know, wars are made up of many battles. Many battles fought and won. People have different battles to fight and win. She is in a battle right now.”

            On this excursion I was able to relate and understand the homeless--for I was one. I can identify with having to hunt for food, and appreciate the excitement felt when finding a bite of sandwich thrown in the garbage. I am aware of the importance of finding a safe place to lay your head. My fluffy, pink blanket was no longer pink or fluffy. It was dirty and stiff and definitely not odor-free. But I was blessed, for I was one of the few who had a blanket and a pillow. It was during that time that loneliness became more than a word to me. There were times that I would hug my pillow to my bosom, just like a child with his special teddy, as I would painfully remember home. I had my memories. I would walk the streets, talking with my memories. People would stare, and then run away from me. Children were not even allowed to look my way. They honestly thought I was crazy since I was talking to myself. But I wasn’t crazy! I was just talking with my memories. They could not hear my memories talk back with me; they thought I was talking to myself. But I wasn’t! I wasn’t! Sadly, they did not understand.