The Homeless Artist

I met a homeless artist last night.

I was on my way home and, forgetting that I live in Federal Way now (again) instead of West Seattle, I accidentally took 99 instead of I-5, which led to me taking Highway 509 to 518 to get back to I-5, and there was the artist, standing at the junction of 509 and 518.

She was older – late 40s, early 50s, if I had to guess, and looked quite lonely, standing out there a little after midnight, all alone.  I worried a little for her safety, being out so late and unaccompanied.  Maybe that’s just the protectionist in me.

As I stopped at the red light, I looked over at her sign, to my left.  In addition to the normal declaration of being hungry and homeless, she had drawn pictures of food:  an anthropomorphic cheeseburger (with “I want to has cheezburger” above it; this place is the home base of that blog, after all), a milkshake, cookies, and candy, among other tasty treats.  The illustrations, done in marker, were pretty well-done and creative.  Her clothes looked worn but in good condition; though I generally prefer homeless people to be at least a less worse-dressed than me, I had to admit a healthy respect for the creative effort she put into her sign.

I rolled down the window and gave her a dollar (all I could spare).

“Thank you, God bless you,,” she said, taking the dollar calmly, without desperation or greed.

“I like your sign,” I said as she returned to the corner.  I did; it was far more artistically inclined than I have ever been.

“Oh, I love to draw,” she replied witha grin.  Her teeth were in good condition, and I lost my fears that I was supporting someone’s drug habit.  She went on to explain the drawing, particularly the cheeseburgers face, and re-iterated several times her love of drawing.  I couldn’t help wondering how someone with artistic talent like hers ended up begging for money at a highway intersection.  I glanced around, looking for a place to park, but didn’t see one within fast walking distance.  The police here don’t like people parked on the shoulder of the highways.

The light turned green and I had to go.  “Good luck,” I said, and left her there, a true (as far as I knew) starving artist.

Maybe I’ll take that route home again tonight.

SK – 07.03.09

Change Wind Blows

It’s a time of change in my life, of upheaval, disruption, and chaos.  It’s a time of danger and of opportunity; in other words, a crisis.

Not a cool crisis like this one. Just a regular old, sucky, non-superhero crisis.

In the midst of all the thinking, soul-searching, and heartache that accompanies such crises, I have come to realize that, while I may be a storyteller, I am not so good at telling my own story (see: previous entries here).  At least, not the good parts of it.

So, time for a change for this blog.  I’m going to start writing here, telling other people’s stories, and save my story for, well, for more intimate settings.  Unless it’s a really good story, in which case I’ll mention it here.  Maybe.  I’m kinda feeling things out as I go here.

Anyway.  Stories about other people here.  Maybe fiction, maybe not.  Maybe mine, most likely not.  We’ll see.

SK – wandering through the mountains

Very True Words

“Weekends should be three days long.”

Amen.

Pink Snow

Way prettier than the view from the back deck here.

Just off the back porch of my current residence stands a cherry tree.  This being spring, which is identifiable in Seattle due to the rain becoming slightly warmer,  the tree is in full bloom.  Blossom petals cover the ground, and a gentle breeze turns the air into a soft pink snowfall.  Sitting beneath it, reading or surfing the web or playing a game or just sitting there smoking, the shower of pink petals filled me with a sense of wonder I’ve not felt lately as often as I used to, for a variety of reasons; a wonder that felt mature, yet childlike, beautiful, peaceful, calm, and refreshing.  That got me thinking a bit about cherry blossoms and what they mean.

In China, the cherry blossom is seen as a symbol of female beauty, the feminine principle, or love itself.  In Japan, the blossoms symbolize clouds (Japanese flowering cherry trees look like big pink clouds when in bloom, if you’ve never seen one) and are considered a metaphor for “the ephemeral nature of life itself.”  They are also associated with rebirth and renewal, two things I think I could use in my life.

I can see the Chinese symbolism in them, of how they could represent the fleeting, insubstantial nature of physical beauty.  After all, the blossoms come, radiant, glorious, and beautiful for a time, then fall away.  Physical beauty comes and goes in much the same way.  But the source of the beauty, the tree, the spirit, remains and flowers again, and again, and again.  A beautiful spirit blossoms constantly.

And for the Japanese take, life has its up and downs.  There are times of shimmering beauty, wispy and fragile, and had times of barren boughs and empty branches.  The blossoms return in time, though; the good times do return. . .and fall away, and return.

I thought of all this sitting outside, in a pink snowfall that I wish I could share, knowing that, however much I might wish it,  I am unlikely to share it with my ladylove before all the blossoms are gone.

Not to worry, though.

The tree remains.

SK 4.12.09

Just a pretty picture.

Overwhelmed and Apologies. . .

. . .if I’ve brought anyone’s day or mood down.  Knowing when it’s better to say nothing is one of those skills I’m still working on.

So is not leaping to self-blaming assumptions, but one thing at a time, I guess.

I feel overwhelmed, like there’s just too much going on for me to deal with. . .and I feel the weight constantly.

I wish I was easier to distract. . .I wish I could just stop thinking sometimes.

For that matter, I wish I could just curl back into bed and stay in my little coccoon all day. . .for several days. . .

SK 3.30.09

Missing, Hurting, Waiting

I miss her so much that it hurts.

I almost sent her a message today, just wanting to let her know that I miss her. . .but I reminded myself, it’s only been a few days (though it feels like it’s been much longer) and there hasn’t been enough time to gain perspective, not enough time for anything to change, not long enough for deep and uncomfortably intimate introspection and re-evaluation for either of us. . .and yet, how long should such things take?  How long will such things take?

For me, I’ve spent the past few days trying to deal with feeling like I need her and being unable to be close to her. . .the sheer frustration of it, of wishing I could say everything I felt and knowing I’d never find enough words, of wanting to be the person she draws out of me, of being the best sides of myself, all the time, and knowing I’ve never known anyone else who drew such out of me so easily. . .and of being the walking wounded, trying to press on with my heart, it seems, absent.

It hurts.

It hurts and I sleep on a peach pillow holding tight to the amethyst around my neck. . .wishing she was there, hating that she is not. . .

What changes must happen?  And when will they?

SK 3.30.09

An Update

I’m alive, I’m okay, I’ve spent a long time today staring into the soft, wet eyes of my best friend and ladylove and wondering if I have done the right right in staying away from her. . .but, as happens so very often, there’s no way to know if what I’ve done is the best or the right thing, not anytime soon or maybe ever.

I don’t know. . .

SK – 3.28.09

Feelings In A Moment, In The Words Of Someone Else

Lord
I must be strong now
I don’t belong now
In this world anymore

- Madeleine Peyroux, “A Prayer”

I don’t belong anywhere. . .I don’t believe I ever will.

My Favourite Epitaph & The Arms Of Death

It seems an odd thing, I suppose, to even have a favourite epitaph.  Really, who ever thinks of such a thing?

I didn’t go looking for one, either.  It just so happened that while I was strolling the grounds on the main cemetery of the funeral home franchise that employed me in 2005 (”checking for zombies,” as I called it), I happened to glance and see this epitaph on a tombstone.  It resounded so strongly with me that I whipped out one of the many handy notebooks that are always around me and wrote it down immediately.  I happened to find it today, while packing up my bedroom, and I’d like to share it with you, by your leave.

“Not ‘how did he die?’
but ‘how did he live?’
Not ‘what did he gain?’
but ‘what did he give?’
Not ‘what did the sketch in the newspaper say?’
but ‘how many were sorry that he passed away?’
These are the units to measure the worth
of a man as a man, regardless of birth.”

-memorial plaque of John Michael Pinto, Washington Memorial Park, SeaTac, Washington State

************************************************

Death has been on my mind today.

I am thinking death more as its traditional metaphorical definition than by literal; that is, thinking more of death as major change as I am the end of life.  As I myself am on the edge of major changes, strangling an old one to death and beginning a new one, I find myself thinking of the Tarot card death, its meaning more metaphorical than literal (though it still scares teh crap out of people if it turns up in their reading, if they are not familiar with its meaning).

I am excited and apprehensive, happy and mournful, joyous and sad at this rebirth, this grand resetting of my life, this seeming chance to start all over again.  It’s frightening, yet exhilarating.  But major change is always so, and always inevitable, so why not charge and leap towards it on one’s own terms rather than wait and let it decide the manner of your confrontation?

So here I am, leaping into the arms of Death. . .words from the next life coming soon.

SK – 3.14.09

Happy Heart Day

For my best friend in the world:

Unless you really can read my mind, you don’t know how much I truly value and treasure you, because I can never find the words to adequately express it.  The natural gifts of your own that you bring to my life – your creativity, laughter, intelligence, beauty, grace, homour, poise, elegance, sophistication, style, and wonder – give it greater illumination than any other, and it’s a light I never knew how much I needed until I tried to go without it.

You are truly the greatest lady I have ever known, and my dearest friend in the world, with whom I can be all of myself, without needing to hide anything or be afraid that you’ll run away from my idiosyncrasies.  You believe in me, and that means amore than I can ever say to me.

You believe in me, you’re there for me, and you always speak your mind to me – three traits that make you an awesome friend to me.  There are more, such as that we can speak to each other from our hearts, share our deepest thoughts and feelings, and tell each other things we’ve never told others, that I’d list here, but there are just too many reasons why you are such a perfect fit into my life.

And we would never have met if you hadn’t had heart surgery six years ago today.

SK – 3.12.09