A few days ago, I went with my old friend to the Wayside Chapel in King's Cross, where the street people go to eat and hang-out. Michieva is nearly 88 years old, with the stubborn determination of a young rebel, but her body has become frail, so we caught the bus up the hill.
The good folk at the Chapel kitchen do a great job, and spread an atmosphere of acceptance and care, but my spirits plummeted and I wanted to cry.
It's a country girl's habit, and not often reciprocated, but I look into people's eyes when I pass close by them, and the eyes I met were in a place of not quite dead.
They were sitting around, chatting, even laughing, the camaraderie of poverty evident - yet so close to the surface their desperate plight was reflected in their eyes and I had to steel myself, I didn't want to add my reaction to their day of struggle.
Perhaps it is all just too close to home...
'there, but for the grace of God, go I'.
Or even worse, one of my loved ones.
Yesterday morning I came across a blog on the ONE site:
'An idea worth spreading - "what the world wants", what do you think?' by Jamie Drummond
The good folk at the Chapel kitchen do a great job, and spread an atmosphere of acceptance and care, but my spirits plummeted and I wanted to cry.
It's a country girl's habit, and not often reciprocated, but I look into people's eyes when I pass close by them, and the eyes I met were in a place of not quite dead.
They were sitting around, chatting, even laughing, the camaraderie of poverty evident - yet so close to the surface their desperate plight was reflected in their eyes and I had to steel myself, I didn't want to add my reaction to their day of struggle.
Perhaps it is all just too close to home...
'there, but for the grace of God, go I'.
Or even worse, one of my loved ones.
Yesterday morning I came across a blog on the ONE site:
'An idea worth spreading - "what the world wants", what do you think?' by Jamie Drummond
and the reality of even greater desperation hit me once again.
What would I see in the eyes of the mothers and fathers watching their children die from hunger?
The Millennium Development Goals have achieved a lot and I strongly believe the world will see the 87%
who have enough to eat rise to 100%, but I can't bear the idea we could one day slide back.
If I truly was the Raja Spirit my name makes me out to be, I would have a One World Government who's responsibility would be to ensure this never happens again!
It's entirely possible to have a three tiered governmental structure, a World Government to manage affairs and issues that affect the whole world, a National Government with less power than at present, and stronger Local Governments which can effectively manage local communities.
We would vote in all three elections, it is even possible with our technology to for the majority to stay informed via the internet.
Anyway, I won't launch my global politics rant right now, because I want to tell you, dear Reader, about what happened yesterday afternoon.
I'd been on the phone for hours helping Genius connect a new computer, summoning up my patience for a job I naturally simply hate, and then when he insulted me as well, I lost my cool (yes it happens even to Kalamity Kool lol) so I left the apartment and went out into the Cross.
I found the local church, St Canice's with the street people's mattresses piled up by the front door and a guy sleeping nearby :) and went in.
I heard the sound of a piano, and there, sure enough, was a man with long curly black hair, playing,
he stopped when I entered, so I waved to him to continue and went to sit down in the peace for a while.
He began another piece, I was reminded of the Roberta Flack song, for some strange reason, it didn't kill me, but it took me inside myself, to the pain of my alone-ness and the pain of discord, I let the tears fall, the music moving me through it, until I reached my 'yes' to it all, in the incredible secret mystery of Christianity, the embracing of that forsaken alone, alone man on a cross.
As the music cascaded into its farewell, my peace was restored, and when he finished playing, we sat in silence.
Ahhh, Beethoven.
Sometimes in this peace, I don't want to leave, to face the world again, but eventually I got up and walked towards the door.
I told him my thanks and how beautiful the music was, and he told me he'd thought I'd like that piece, so we began a conversation.
He was a professional musician and remarked that is wasn't an easy life, so I told him I was a writer and it wasn't easy either.
It was one of those little miracles of human connection that cities for some reason seem to bring forth, and by the time I left the church, I had a smile on my face :)
XXKK
If I truly was the Raja Spirit my name makes me out to be, I would have a One World Government who's responsibility would be to ensure this never happens again!
It's entirely possible to have a three tiered governmental structure, a World Government to manage affairs and issues that affect the whole world, a National Government with less power than at present, and stronger Local Governments which can effectively manage local communities.
We would vote in all three elections, it is even possible with our technology to for the majority to stay informed via the internet.
Anyway, I won't launch my global politics rant right now, because I want to tell you, dear Reader, about what happened yesterday afternoon.
I'd been on the phone for hours helping Genius connect a new computer, summoning up my patience for a job I naturally simply hate, and then when he insulted me as well, I lost my cool (yes it happens even to Kalamity Kool lol) so I left the apartment and went out into the Cross.
I found the local church, St Canice's with the street people's mattresses piled up by the front door and a guy sleeping nearby :) and went in.
I heard the sound of a piano, and there, sure enough, was a man with long curly black hair, playing,
he stopped when I entered, so I waved to him to continue and went to sit down in the peace for a while.
He began another piece, I was reminded of the Roberta Flack song, for some strange reason, it didn't kill me, but it took me inside myself, to the pain of my alone-ness and the pain of discord, I let the tears fall, the music moving me through it, until I reached my 'yes' to it all, in the incredible secret mystery of Christianity, the embracing of that forsaken alone, alone man on a cross.
As the music cascaded into its farewell, my peace was restored, and when he finished playing, we sat in silence.
Ahhh, Beethoven.
Sometimes in this peace, I don't want to leave, to face the world again, but eventually I got up and walked towards the door.
I told him my thanks and how beautiful the music was, and he told me he'd thought I'd like that piece, so we began a conversation.
He was a professional musician and remarked that is wasn't an easy life, so I told him I was a writer and it wasn't easy either.
It was one of those little miracles of human connection that cities for some reason seem to bring forth, and by the time I left the church, I had a smile on my face :)
XXKK
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