directional

I should be working with the homeless again.

This was my persisting thought from last weekend.

Then sitting in Laughing Goat coffee shop Monday night, I heard the girl behind me say, "Shelter." Didn't mean to eavesdrop, but rather couldn't help myself. She was discussing a shelter she works at in Colorado and the holiday season donation rush. I turned around and asked her where. In Boulder. Do they take volunteers, after the New Year? Yes- here's the name and number. Brilliant.

Then yesterday, on Facebook, I got a friend request from Jack Tafari, one of the leaders for Dignity Village, the homeless tent community I stayed at in Portland. The rasta, recovering heroine addict and charismatic motivator. Helped lead the group with a Muslim and an anarchist. I'll write about that sometime. Anyway, I owe Jack an apology, and all the rest of Dignity. For never sending my final paper. For chickening out. I can't wait to hear why/how he's in England. My heart swelled, it's been 5 years- so honored he remembered me. My urge was confirmed.




After the new year, I must start volunteering again. You don't have two clues handed to you and do nothing about it, unless you want to miss out on valuable opportunity.

There are a lot of great reasons to work with the homeless, almost all of them selfish. The greatest of which, I think, is realizing it's like to lose "everything," as if possessions are all that matter. Actually, it's the possessions you think about least when you are at the bottom. What matters is:

- looking worthless in the eyes of society. Take 10 seconds to imagine what that feels like, really, in the depth of your person
- losing your sense of privacy except in the occasional bathroom stall
- being expected to conform to a certain set of rules (with people watching, keeping a file on you), always have authority thrown in your face because you are "broken"
- never really feeling safe, relaxed, at home
- never feeling as though you will rise to your potential. Or, as I heard many people say, never being told that you have a potential to rise to
- losing your grasp on dignity. Think, for another 10 seconds, about what your dignity is. How you have it. What it is worth to you.

Alone on the street, or on a mat with your worn, sweated-in shoes under your head, sleeping next to another man/woman's stinky, unshowered body, you don't think about a big screen TV, a BMW, the newest cell phone. You may think about a bed or a good bar of soap and warm water. But, most likely, you are trying to remember what it felt like to be human, once; to be respected, or at least ignored because you blend in, not because you are somehow threatening. This wasn't easy for me, to see it so up close, to be in its shoes for a couple weeks in Oregon, but I had a hot shower waiting at the end and a paper to write, a degree to receive. So damn lucky.

I am obviously on a tangent.

Anyway, I feel I've received some sort of push to encounter this again, as uncomfortable as it was the first time around, and this time with no end reward. There is something waiting here, something rich, something fresh. Thanks Universe! Let's see what you've got in store.