Two days ago was the first time that I saw Mel standing on the corner of Fourth Plain in Vancouver as I exited off northbound I5 when heading home from errands. Most often, if someone is standing there at the light with their little sign, it is Joseph. But on this sunny afternoon it was someone different, someone I hadn't seen before. He was tall, Caucasian, maybe 65, his face wrinkled and looking exhausted.
I was grateful that the light had just turned red so that I could stop and have just a few moments with this new person. He was looking down working on his little sign as I approached. I caught a quick glimpse of "VET" written on his piece of cardboard, but then quickly focused on looking at the human being. I opened my window, arm outstretched with my usual combination of $1 + a double granola bar. "Here you go!, here you go!," I stated to get his attention.
The tall man looked up and walked to my window. He looked so deeply sad as I gazed into his eyes and smiled. "You're the first person who's stopped in 1-1/2 hours. The first one." I affirmed how sad that was. He went on. "People think they know. They think they know. But they don't. They have no idea. Heartbreaking."
Those were his exact words. They are etched in my heart and mind. And there was simply no doubt whatsoever that this was the truth, that this was the painful reality for this hurting human being.
My eyes began to well with tears. "I'm so sorry," I said. And I reached for an additional $5 bill in the pouch that I always keep handy that's filled with many $1s, a few $5 bills, and a $10 bill. As I handed him the $5 I asked, "What's your name?" "Mel." "Mel, my name is Molly. I'm happy to meet you. You matter."
This only took a few moments. Then the light turned green and I had to move on. "Bless you!," I hollered out my window as I drove off. "God bless you," Mel said.
And I cried all the way home. And I felt angry. Really, really angry! Why in the hell was I the first person in 1-1/2 hours! Damn that so many of us turn away! And fuck this brutal economic system that we live in that impoverishes people! And it was a tsunami of outrage and grief that coursed through my body, heart, and soul.
I weep now...
There is also this humility because once I was among those who turned away all the time. And it's one of the reasons why the brilliant film "Don't Look Up" (https://www.netflix.com/title/81252357) resonates so deeply with me. Here in America we are indoctrinated into not "looking up." Over the years as the eyes of my own heart and soul have gradually opened, I've come to recognize how it is that we don't see what's right in front of us — or what's inside us.
And the two certainly go together. If our own deeper pain is unconsciously cut off from our consciousness, then our capacity to actually see and hold with compassion the pain and suffering of our fellow humans and other beings will inevitably be impaired. And we'll turn away. We won't "look up." And we will not be aware of how we are treating other hurting human beings, animals, the planet as through their pain, suffering, and losses are invisible.
Have you ever felt invisible before? I certainly have. And, oh!, how painful it is to not be seen, cared about, valued, respected. Such a basic need this is — for others to care about us and our well-being. And for us to care about our own well-being. And to put our caring into action.
There are many reasons why I used to turn away from people standing on street corners with their little signs asking for help. I didn't want to see them. They were invisible to me. I didn't want to see their pain, their humanity, their trauma. It scared me. And I was still in the early years of embracing, healing, and transforming my own deep trauma and losses. So looking at and seeing, truly seeing the deep pain of others was something I resisted. Again and again and again.
Then, little by little, things began to shift. One of my clients from my work as a caseworker with Child Welfare told me many years ago that the 65 year old woman who I passed all the time on the corner near our offices with her little sign asking for help was his grandmother. The day came not long after that he told me that she had died.
Yes, I'd also heard all the stories and reasons why I should turn away — "Don't give them any money because they'll just spend it on drugs." "They could get a job if they wanted to." "I don't give out money to anyone standing on a corner, but I donate money to the homeless." Etc., etc.
Still, gradually I began to actually look a little more deeply at the growing numbers of those who were standing on corners with their little signs asking for help. And I began to give out a dollar bill here and there, always trying to size up who was worthy of my help. I cringe today as I write these words, but that is the truth of where I was at. There was still a lot of work to do on my judging mind, a lot of work to do to transform my judgments into compassion. And as I saw more and more through the lens of compassion, then I could see the pain. And my capacity for empathy grew. And grew. Very much so including for myself.
Because don't we all want to be held with compassion? I think we do.
And one by one by one, the veils of the deep fog I'd unknowingly been living in continued to lift. And I could see. I mean, I could really see — see with the eyes of my heart. And then I had to Act.
It's been a gradual evolving process for me. I went from treating hurting humans standing on street corners as invisible to giving out a dollar here and there to giving out a dollar or more to every single human being that my hand could reach. And I knew by then that what their sign said, what they looked like, if they were addicted or mentally ill, if they were a vet, and whatever their gender or race or ethnicity — none of that was what really mattered. If someone is standing out on a corner begging for help, they need it. Period. And they are worthy of caring and compassion. Period. And they have trauma, they all have trauma. Period. And, yes, I don't know their stories. I just know without any doubt whatsoever that they are suffering.
And I know what it's like to have trauma and be invisible. The invisibility of my twin brother pushed him to suicide on January 30th, 1978. And I simply do not want to treat anyone as invisible anymore. And I won't. I won't.
Everything continues to evolve for me. I'm learning and expanding all the time. A month or two ago a light bulb went on and I realized — Oh,! I could hand out a double granola bar with the $1 or $5 bills. And, bottom line, it's not about the money or the food. It's about putting love, compassion, and caring into action. What matters is looking at another human being and smiling at them through the eyes of my heart and letting them know that I see them and I care. They matter. We all matter. We do.
Once upon a time, the kindness, generosity, and caring of others saved my life. And helped me to grow into who I really am. So many are lost to who they are. And largely this is because of the heartless patriarchal systems rooted in domination rather than partnership that indoctrinate us into rugged individualism, worshiping the wealthy and justifying their wealth, and again and again and again, turning away. Don't Look Up. Don't see what's in front us of or inside of us. Turn away.
And we can change this. We can. Each
and every day there is something that all of us who live with privilege
can do to help. There are countless ways that we can act to alleviate the suffering in our world and for those standing out on our street corners. Even just the smallest actions can make all the
difference.
Bless us all, no exceptions.
💗
Molly
May all beings be filled with loving-kindness.
May all beings be free of suffering.
May all beings be happy and at peace.
🙏🙏🙏
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