Hello there and greetings some many, many months since I last posted on this forum!
I am writing to you from an unfairly beautiful day in San Diego in February, full of joy and heart singing. My posture this afternoon is fragile these days as we witness the devastation perpetuated by our current federal government and their billionaire gangs who are trying to shape a world without the rest of us (Lord have mercy on us all!). But luckily today, rose petals have fallen onto my head! ^.^
The last time I posted on this page was in October of 2023 – over a year ago – and since then, I have had so many experiences, reflections, and moments of yearning to share. Since that very October of 2023, I have constantly met myself with doubt that I could possibly find the words to express the grief and rage always present because of the genocide against Palestinians that our tax dollars has been funding (isn’t it so absurd that I even type that? We have made no progress here, almost a year and a half later). Not to mention the climate catastrophe unfolding around us and our total lack of meaningful response (!), and the current socio-political shift to the far right where the marginalized and excluded become the targeted and persecuted. Where does one heavy heart begin within this mess?
I also have been working 6-7 days a week over the past 8 months, which leaves me a little tired and without much brain energy to spare. The daunting task of returning to something that I have left idle for far too long often keeps me from returning at all (roller skates, my book, my guitar, my karaoke speaker, forgive me…). Still, I have thought of you.
As a way to begin here again, I want to share with you about this ordinary day, when I was graced with two angels.
I woke up this morning with anxiety (this does not happen too often, thanks be to God, but it does happen sometimes). Luckily, I had an early coffee date, so there was no time to stay there.
It is 10 past 9am and we meet together at Torque Coffee on El Cajon Blvd. Luke gives me a big hug, the best hug, and we go inside. We are here to be together over some delicious espresso because he is temporarily staying in Hillcrest and we are trying to build a community together with other people who are kindred spirits. Our conversation begins with some lamenting (my goodness, we have so much to lament); I need to find a new job, the doors of welcome to refugees and immigrants have been completely shut, my heart is heavy with family challenges. But before we know it, we are scheming together, dreaming together, and my anxiety has completely subsided. Two and a half hours pass and we hug goodbye, cada quien por su rumbo, hoping to meet again next Tuesday. I feel so much better than I did when I first left my house this morning and am so grateful for that!
When I am pulling up to my home through the alleyway, I see a woman seated amongst a number of trash bags in the parking spot of the unit next door. There is a history here of unhoused folks overstaying their welcome, and so I immediately think to check in with her. “Are you doing okay?” I say as I am walking towards her. “Yea, I am just trying to recycle so that I can get breakfast” she tells me. I offer to bring her something to eat and she agrees, so I run up to my apartment and scavenge. I find an unopened box of granola bars, a bag of crunchy pea snacks, and some cuties. I also have a pizza in the freezer, so I turn on the oven and head back downstairs to her.
“These are some snacks I found, and I also have a frozen pizza I can bake if you’d like!” I tell her. She says she would love that, and then we get to talking. Her ankles are very swollen because of lymphedema, so she is trying to rest and get through the recycles she has collected thus far. I stay with her talking for maybe 30 minutes, and she tells me so much.
“The other day, I was sitting with my friend and he was smoking. I told him to put it away. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Just put it away’ I said. ‘Don’t you ever feel like we are thieves?’ I asked him. ‘I ain’t ever steal nothing’ he responds.” She tells me that when she was a kid, all the kids would run home by 6 o’clock before the street lights came on. “Now you never see kids out on the street. They’re all at home because their parents don’t want them out on the street seeing what’s out here. The dope fiends stole the community from the kids. We gotta try to give it back to them. They are our future.”
She tells me about how she is trying to get back on her feet – she used to make 60k a year and lost everything during the pandemic. She got sober from drugs for many years, and was close to getting placed in a tent city where she could stabilize herself and start working a job, but she got robbed and had food poisoning the day of her appointment and so she is starting from square one. She also shares that there are people who have offered to help her off the street, but she would like to try to do it on her own. This part I do not understand, but I keep listening.
“I got to this place because I was ungrateful,” she tells me “but I am not anymore. I am grateful for the smallest things. And whenever I lose something, something better always comes along. I just want to give back.”
She gives me a glimpse of what it’s like on the streets – so unsafe for women, but people always helping people out. Whenever she has anything to give, she gives it. She tells me she is not angry anymore. The only place she has to look is up. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God” (Matthew 5:8)
I run upstairs to put her pizza in the oven and it’s already defrosted. I grab my backpack, a pair of gloves and scarf, and all of my empty cans and bottles that are sitting in the corner of my kitchen and bring them back down to her once the pizza is done. She tells me that while I was gone, a gentleman who she says didn’t speak English very well came along and they shared the mandarin oranges and pea snacks together. He told her he would get her and “Hot Wheels,” the guy with the long dreads and the wheelchair, a hotel room tonight so they can spend the night off the streets. First she has to finish recycling, she tells him.
Her name is Makiya, and she gives me a hug as I say goodbye. I am so touched by her vision – she tells me her dream is to start a sober living home for single dads – and her spirit. She touches my heart with her perseverance, her perspective, her reflections on the community. She sees what so many of us who live in isolated homes and stay away from our struggling neighbors can’t see. She wants to bring healing to peoples lives. I tell her I hope to see her again and maybe someday we can work together. She tells me to have a great day.
“This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.”
-Rumi
Need a pick-me-up? Watch A Film for the Future, a visual arts compilation created for Coldplay’s newest album Moon Music. It is my favorite thing ever!! Be back soon…. <3
