Being Homeless
The homeless are the barometer that measures the level of morality in society's soul.
Have you ever been homeless?
I think that along with being in jail/prison, being homeless is a moment of awakening to the realities of the world, survival, existence and brotherhood.
I’ve been homeless a few times, thank god only temporarily. Slept in a few “sallyanns” as we call the Salvation Army hostels in Canada. Slept on a few park benches and a few sidewalks. It gives one a new understanding of the world we live in. Fortunately, I had good social support, community and my spells on the street were short. Plus, I didn’t have a drug habit or the need to bury some deep pain in me through drugs and alcohol.
The homeless are the original unvaccinated in our society. Harassed, jailed, kicked out, hidden, abused. Sure, there are problems with wealth inequality, drugs, mental illness, not enough money spent on the problem … but the main cause of homelessness is our own denial - it is that we don’t want to look into the mirror and see ourselves - there for the grace of god go I. The level of homelessness in a society is proportional to the lack of compassion, moral depravity and lack of community/communion in a society. I’ll take that belief to my grave.
There is something that people don’t understand about the homeless. I’ve spent a good bit of time with them and one understanding I’ve come away with is that homelessness is a symptom of a hole inside their souls. A hurt, a lesion, a wound. A hole in their heart so deep, they can never crawl out of it.
I’ve written many poems to illustrate certain things about the homeless. I have hundreds of stories. Suffice, I’ll just leave you with one. Read this poem I just posted from another one of my wanderings. Also, the one below. It won an award long ago - wrote it when I was only 20 -21- during the bout of homelessness that I’m about to describe.
When I was young, I went out to Halifax to get a job, maybe see about schooling. It was summer, July. I remember that because at first I was staying at the YMCA and one night there was a huge Canada Day concert on the citadel, the big hill in Halifax center. As the drunk mob came back through that night, they trashed my car. My little Toyota Corolla had no insurance, I had little money. I was waiting on a UI (unemployment check) to get to me. I left the Y and spent a couple weeks on the streets, phoning my mother every few days to see if my check had arrived.
I’d hang out each day and watch all the suited types and tourists eat at the fish and chips truck outside the library. The park was pleasant but I was so tired, starving to death. At night, I’d head down into the park by Dalhousie University and sleep rough. Then come back up and sit in the park. I’d watch people eat and when they threw their nachos, sandwich or box of chips into the bin - I’d race over there and pull it out. Just trying to stay alive.
And like any homeless person, I looked for work. No luck. Like any homeless person, I did things I was proud of. I won the Texaco mile they held downtown, despite lacking nutrition. I sold the shoes I won for $15 and went to the cafeteria at the Hudson Bay and ate like a king at their buffet on the top floor overlooking the city.
Eventually, my check did come in. I got my car out of impound and got new windows put in. I headed back to Ontario, tail between my legs. But it changed me. This being homeless.
Check out the Youtube channel Invisible People. Best media on this societal problem that I know about. Here is one interview with David. I actually met him on the streets of Colfax in Denver. As fine a man as can be. . You just shake your head and say - it doesn’t have to be like this. Also, check out this doc Carts Of Darkness. A gem.
Park Bench Sunrise
Worn weathered body rests under
yesterday’s news
so come morning to sing
today’s blues,
under the all-forgiving eyes
of park bench sunrise.
People pass, high-class worker bees
noticing only the virgin stench
rising from the sluttish bench,
but never to lose their disguise
amid the humbling rays
of park bench sunrise.
The clean-toothed look is in
among the people of the park.
Their haggard soul born of others sin,
their guilt removed, come the dark.
Who to wonder how these people fair?
Who to care?
Except those whose eyes
by will alone have seen
park bench sunrise.