initial stories from underground

Collaboration with service providers and medical staff, interacting with mental health struggles and drug/alcohol addiction, managing mild crisis situations, and developing files, databases, etc.. indeed, the adjusted schedule and role is my mecca.  Above all of these interesting aspects of working with people living on the streets, is the privilege of meeting folks from all walks of life and the perspective that accompanies.  Only a few days of gathering, but already the stories and anecdotes are rich.

Rather surprisingly, the female dwellers engage my attention to a higher degree than typical. I am at once intrigued and honored to meet these women... whether they sit across my make-shift desk drinking coffee for an hour and a half, speaking continually but addressing me only sporadically or the encounter is far less ceremonious and brief like bursting into the room with a single question - "do you kill people here?" - leaving just as quickly after an answer in the negative.  Or perhaps, our meeting is far less dramatic..

A flower-printed white comforter lays bunched along a wall.  Its colors fight a mighty battle to bring life into the drab gray and blue concrete environment.  The observable bulge in the blanket indicates that a body stops gravity's goal of floor and fabric meeting.  Generally, a friendly greeting will draw a response from whoever seeks shelter under the warmth of the comforter.  One can never guess the type of person who will present in response to the greeting, certainly it doesn't take long to realize that stereotypes aren't very useful predictors.

Indeed, on this particular occasion, the inhabitant of flower printed comforter breaks any bias and predetermined assumptions.  The face is gentle, with an air of wisdom and experience, yet masked with defensiveness and shielded from the world as means of protection.  Her hair is covered with a colorful wrapping, which rests gently on her shoulder.  Although her body is mostly covered with the blanket, it's not difficult to determine she is frail, but strong. 

As I squat down to shake hands and introduce myself, her eyes show a depth and calmness that mystifies.  Not surprisingly, the woman's eyes show a touch of distrust - a trait sadly common on street dwellers.  However, with mention of my pleasure at being her "neighbor" in the concourse, a smile immediately draws the face into well-worn laughter lines and brings light.  She's not ready to join me for a chat over coffee yet, but perhaps in the morning.

Despite the high level of commonalities among people in stories or characteristics, no quantity of experiences is great enough to create solid stereotypes or patterns.  Every person carries unique stories and experiences.  Every person holds hurt, fear, sorrow, and pain somewhere within.  And every person wishes, hopes, and dreams.. no matter how hidden or silent.

Lupe's song, The Instrumental, comes to mind..  check out all of the lyrics, but these are the ones I thought.

...
Ain't got the combination to unlock, it
That's why he watch-es, scared to look away
Cause at that moment, it might show him
What to take off the locks with
So he chained himself to the box, took a lock and then he locked it
Swallowed the combination and then forgot, it
As the doctors jot it all down, with they pens and pencils
The same ones that took away his voice
And just left this instrumental, like that
...

...although I've got a number of theories regarding Lupe's meaning to the song, I imagine that many of us lose our voices at various points throughout life.  Maybe it's our poor decision and bad judgment that creates silence, hiding from ourselves... or maybe it's mistreatment or hurt from another.. or maybe life just gives too many hard knocks.  Whatever the reason, we each deserve to find and keep and use the voice we were created with.  No judgment, no hate, no discrimination should be encountered.. but rather support and helping hand to assist one another on the journey.