Betsy Anjani Toll: Living and Dying On the Streets in Portland

I see and hear with the eyes of my heart the words of my incredibly loving and compassionate friend Betsy and the excruciating story of this woman, knowing that she is one among millions whose unfathomable suffering is allowed to happen in this, the wealthiest nation on Earth. 

 

And I weep. I weep for this woman. I weep for every human being who doesn’t have even their most basic needs met. I weep for the inhumanity that’s been normalized in America. 

 

And I bow with the deepest gratitude, respect, and love for the beauty, strength, and tenderness of Betsy’s heart and how it is that her caring and compassion compels her to act. Thank you. Thank you.

 

And thank you for this story about this human being, a reminder that we all need to find our own ways of acting out of generosity, compassion, and love. 

 

May we all be inspired to be part of the great universal struggle for racial, economic, social, and environmental justice. We are all planetary sisters and brothers. Another world is possible. — Molly

Living and dying on the streets in Portland. Not so far from the drama and the dreams. This too is our city, our country, a measure of our souls. 

 

I spent a couple of hours in this space this afternoon with this being, on the street corner where she has lived for months. Bright, crisp, lost, genteel, wildly delusional, alone. Summer bronze now and filthy, skeletal, lying on the pavement in her own waste. 

 

She asked for cigarettes and I went and got a pack. Half dozen bourbon bottles went in the trash, with soggy piles of personal wipes and napkins, spoiled fruit and half eaten snack. But today she is wraithlike, and fierce, and fragile as a dying bird.

— Betsy Anjani Toll