he’s often somewhere on Castro, begging for change. i’ve seen him in the tenderloin, too. he never utters a word, just holds up his plastic cup to receive whatever alms he’s given.
alms – something given freely to relieve the poor. webster’s definition.
do i, do we give recognition? do we see them as human beings or just as dirty, smelly, crazy, drug-laced annoyances cluttering our path on our way to dinner or shopping or theatre? does their presence make us uncomfortable because they remind us that but for grace, we too would be begging for alms.
those whose cups i rattle with a few coins, whose spirits i lift with a word of recognition, see me now and their faces light up. they speak, a little joy in their voices. they don’t beg. it’s as if those paltry coins and paltry words freed them, touched them, recognized their existence, recognized that they, too, are human and, by right, deserve to be treated with humanity.
my actions, my few words and few coins, bound me to them and, in so doing, opened me to a richer life, one not confined by what others think, what others believe, what others expect from me.
i free them with my few coins and words of recognition and, in freeing them, i free myself.
eat. drink. this is our body. this is our blood.