“One is not called noble who harms living beings. By not harming living beings one is called noble.” The Buddha
in the wee hours of the morning, as twilight slipped into dawn, i watched a man pushing a shopping cart with two baby mattresses and a backpack on board. he shuffled along and the cart doubled as his walker and his eyes scanned the asphalt like an infrared scanner looking for traces of a crime.
the point of interest isn’t that i haven’t seem many scenes such as this while i live in an urban setting. the truth is that i have witnessed such slo-mo movies often enough to block most of them out or chuck them into the blur basket in my brain.
the difference in my viewfinder today is that i am acquainted with the soul in question. i have spoken with him and on a few occasions have offered to help. sometimes though, want to help is far from enough to have an effect. that want just lingers like a shadow that can’t move or breathe on its own.
helping is about as precise as the name brown depicts a shade or color. it rarely reaches its target. witnessing and being there seem more appropriate than helping. and not judging the outcome of a wish to help is the greatest gift of all. and the most challenging to give.
There is a town in north Ontario With dream comfort, memory to spare And in my mind, I still need a place to go All my changes were there
Blue, blue windows behind the stars Yellow moon on the rise Big birds flying across the sky Throwing shadows on our eyes
Leave us, helpless, helpless, helpless Baby can you hear me now? The chains are locked and tied across the door Baby, sing with me somehow