winter solstice solace
these cold days in which
a veces, or, at times,
silence finds my cynicism
overwhelmed, overcome,
and in that wake, wonder.
rise up solstice-child, little me,
lay the grown-up self to rest,
reach out your hands.
the space and the silence of the coffeeshop
in the long afternoon hours has been sacred
for me, a time of making simple connections
between thoughts, between words, today, in
particular, between people.
|uno|
harley sat at the bar and spoke with me for a
while. he's a homeless friend i've written of
before, and he's been in the hospital. nasty
brown recluse bite. skin grafts. the works.
pendulous had visited harley in the hospital,
and harley spoke of how much pendulous'
presence there meant - his presence as much
as the fish sandwich he had smuggled in to
harley, as much as his helping harley clip his
nails because of his one hand being hurt.
"just having someone there meant everything."
perhaps underneath our needs for food, for
shelter, for the basic tools of survival, we
simply need presence, the presence of one
another. to know that we're not alone.
and often, i know for myself, presence is
the last thing i'm willing to offer to street
people who come in to caffeine. i'll foist
free coffee, a sandwich, or money off on
them rather than offer them my focused
attention for any length of time.
harley went on to tell me stories of other
people who had helped him in some way,
people he described as angels, glowing,
not literally, but in terms of how loving they
were to him, a stranger. and i know, from
what i've seen and heard, that harley is just
as giving with other people on the street.
he looks after them, gets them what they
need, gives them whatever he has extra.
i'm fortunate to know him, and regret the
pettiness i've allowed in my heart towards
him at times. i'm tired of my own jadedness.
|dos|
a gentleman in his middle years named
peter sat at the bar later this afternoon.
and as we conversed, it remained slow,
so we quietly began exchanging stories.
"farther up and further in," is what aslan
tells the characters in the last battle, as
he leads them into what amounts to a
cs lewis conception of heaven, a sort of
mc escher-esque extending-forever type
of place, and there are these conversations
that we find ourselves in occasionally in
which on some level we offer up that same
invitation, enticement, encouragement.
a drawing-onward/inward dialogue, and
that was certainly the case with peter.
each anecdote, experience, or idea we
shared spurred the other one on to other
ideas and experiences until we found that
we had layed out before one another fairly
comprehensive pictures of ourselves. not
complete by any means, but extensive.
i'm grateful for this new connection with peter.
|tres|
diane is a lady in her mature years who also
lives on the street. she's friendly, softspoken,
and unobtrusive. she comes into caffeine often,
especially these colder, slower days, and buys
a large coffee, and occasionally breakfast. she
has never asked me for anything.
recently, one of our owners has been rumbling
over what to do regarding our "homeless friends,"
asking the other shops on the block as to their
policy (a word i detest) toward the street people.
evidently we're the humanitarians of the block,
because no one else lets them come in, i'm sorry
to report.
our owner is concerned with homeless using
the bathrooms, hanging around, and in particular,
diane's odor, which, to be truthful, is fairly potent
and unpleasant. to my mind, she's a customer,
and even with the odor, is less difficult to deal
with than people trying to order while on their
cellphones. pendulous concurs.
the owner is concerned that we'll develop a rep
for having homeless people hanging around and
that it will impact the business negatively.
of course, about five or six of our regulars look
out for diane and buy her coffee and muffins.
this week we've gotten a new regular, a young
woman named april who works off of her laptop
and has spent a good bit of time at caffeine
each day. to my delight, today she went out
to where diane was sitting on the porch, and
sat and conversed with her for almost an hour.
and then came in and offered to get diane a refill.
it was so moving to me, and significant, that april
would take the time to sit down and give diane
her attention. it's that sort of connection that i
hope the environment of caffeine encourages.
that's the sort of sacred place i want it to be.
|finalmente|
i learned a new phrase today which resonated in me:
the opposite of déjà vu, unexpected familiarity
is jamais vu, unexpected unfamiliarity, which falls
into line with viktor shklovsky's term defamiliarization.
jamais vu, welcome estrangement,
i long to experience people as new
to see with new eyes,
hear with new ears.
may everything be new again.
a veces, or, at times,
silence finds my cynicism
overwhelmed, overcome,
and in that wake, wonder.
rise up solstice-child, little me,
lay the grown-up self to rest,
reach out your hands.
the space and the silence of the coffeeshop
in the long afternoon hours has been sacred
for me, a time of making simple connections
between thoughts, between words, today, in
particular, between people.
|uno|
harley sat at the bar and spoke with me for a
while. he's a homeless friend i've written of
before, and he's been in the hospital. nasty
brown recluse bite. skin grafts. the works.
pendulous had visited harley in the hospital,
and harley spoke of how much pendulous'
presence there meant - his presence as much
as the fish sandwich he had smuggled in to
harley, as much as his helping harley clip his
nails because of his one hand being hurt.
"just having someone there meant everything."
perhaps underneath our needs for food, for
shelter, for the basic tools of survival, we
simply need presence, the presence of one
another. to know that we're not alone.
and often, i know for myself, presence is
the last thing i'm willing to offer to street
people who come in to caffeine. i'll foist
free coffee, a sandwich, or money off on
them rather than offer them my focused
attention for any length of time.
harley went on to tell me stories of other
people who had helped him in some way,
people he described as angels, glowing,
not literally, but in terms of how loving they
were to him, a stranger. and i know, from
what i've seen and heard, that harley is just
as giving with other people on the street.
he looks after them, gets them what they
need, gives them whatever he has extra.
i'm fortunate to know him, and regret the
pettiness i've allowed in my heart towards
him at times. i'm tired of my own jadedness.
|dos|
a gentleman in his middle years named
peter sat at the bar later this afternoon.
and as we conversed, it remained slow,
so we quietly began exchanging stories.
"farther up and further in," is what aslan
tells the characters in the last battle, as
he leads them into what amounts to a
cs lewis conception of heaven, a sort of
mc escher-esque extending-forever type
of place, and there are these conversations
that we find ourselves in occasionally in
which on some level we offer up that same
invitation, enticement, encouragement.
a drawing-onward/inward dialogue, and
that was certainly the case with peter.
each anecdote, experience, or idea we
shared spurred the other one on to other
ideas and experiences until we found that
we had layed out before one another fairly
comprehensive pictures of ourselves. not
complete by any means, but extensive.
i'm grateful for this new connection with peter.
|tres|
diane is a lady in her mature years who also
lives on the street. she's friendly, softspoken,
and unobtrusive. she comes into caffeine often,
especially these colder, slower days, and buys
a large coffee, and occasionally breakfast. she
has never asked me for anything.
recently, one of our owners has been rumbling
over what to do regarding our "homeless friends,"
asking the other shops on the block as to their
policy (a word i detest) toward the street people.
evidently we're the humanitarians of the block,
because no one else lets them come in, i'm sorry
to report.
our owner is concerned with homeless using
the bathrooms, hanging around, and in particular,
diane's odor, which, to be truthful, is fairly potent
and unpleasant. to my mind, she's a customer,
and even with the odor, is less difficult to deal
with than people trying to order while on their
cellphones. pendulous concurs.
the owner is concerned that we'll develop a rep
for having homeless people hanging around and
that it will impact the business negatively.
of course, about five or six of our regulars look
out for diane and buy her coffee and muffins.
this week we've gotten a new regular, a young
woman named april who works off of her laptop
and has spent a good bit of time at caffeine
each day. to my delight, today she went out
to where diane was sitting on the porch, and
sat and conversed with her for almost an hour.
and then came in and offered to get diane a refill.
it was so moving to me, and significant, that april
would take the time to sit down and give diane
her attention. it's that sort of connection that i
hope the environment of caffeine encourages.
that's the sort of sacred place i want it to be.
|finalmente|
i learned a new phrase today which resonated in me:
the opposite of déjà vu, unexpected familiarity
is jamais vu, unexpected unfamiliarity, which falls
into line with viktor shklovsky's term defamiliarization.
jamais vu, welcome estrangement,
i long to experience people as new
to see with new eyes,
hear with new ears.
may everything be new again.