Tag Archives: musings

POOLSIDE MUSINGS

Leave a reply



Is any encounter with a stranger ever random or is it a deliberate piece of a much larger puzzle with answers to the never ending riddle that is life?  Are we being tested every time we have a chance meeting with someone we do not know? Do we engage with the stranger, or simply walk away with our own agendas to fulfill?  We live such busy lives and we are more tuned in thanks to technology, but does that keep us from face to face interactions with others? Inspiration sometimes comes from unlikely sources, but if we walk around with blinders on our eyes and earplugs tuning out all outside noise how will we ever hear? We are blind and deaf and therefore missing out on the greatest messages of life. Listen to the wind whispering secrets of the trees, hear the harp of the birdsong up above. It is all there for the taking, you just have to look up from the screen that has held hostage of your time and make eye contact with someone who may mesmerize your life. You never know who is walking in your direct path if you do not look up every once in a while and smile. You may find the loveliest gifts from sharing hellos with your fellow creatures of the universe. 

Today I felt compelled to go to the pool and change my daily workout routine. I was meant to be there at that time and place. The minute I stepped my foot into the pool my eyes caught the eyes of Maggie, the subject of the essay I wrote months ago. Maggie was one of the last survivors of the Holocaust, and her stories had me spellbound. I also had the privilege of meeting Joseph her husband, and today he was at the pool as well. They wondered where I have been, and what I was up to these last few months. Maggie was telling me stories about Budapest and Europe once again. We were speaking of height and I complained I am too short, and Maggie reminded me that the best things in the world come small, like diamonds. I consider them my friends and I was very happy to see them and I promised I would see them again soon. My essay inspired by Maggie was recently picked for publication by Elephant Journal, so seeing her and her husband was kismet. 

After they left I did my water workout, and I found that water is a great medium to stretch in. My dancer’s pose comes with more ease in the water. When I was a ballet dancer the teachers would tell us to practice our leaps in water. Water is great for fitness, and it is completely cleansing as well. When in water this serenity washes over me and all of my thoughts become as clear as the pool water. Peace personified, swimming does that for me. Blue sky above as I float away with my cares of the day.

I had an encounter with another elderly lady, this poor soul seemed so troubled and picked me to talk to. Her 100 year old Mother had passed away recently and she was devastated and told me she felt alone in the world. My heart bled for her, and I tried to comfort her to the best of my ability. She was an eccentric artist and a painter and she had some interesting stories to share. I looked into her crystal blue eyes and wished her peace and happiness, feeling bad that I could not do more for her. There was such a lost look in those eyes, and I cannot forget the look she gave me when I had to leave. She actually apologized to me for chatting my ears off and questioned if I would ever talk to her again. I reassured her that I truly enjoyed conversing with her and I would look for her next time.

I often wonder if we are tested from above. To see how we will react, to see if we choose to do good with our time or walk along in our own narcissistic path of self indulgence. I have had many encounters in my life, which make me think we are being tested from a higher power. I pay attention always though, because I just see and feel too much. The aftermath of these encounters sometimes leaves me feeling melancholic and a little confused about the struggles of life. No one should ever feel as if they are alone in the world. I cannot imagine what that feels like, and I weep for those who wake daily feeling like there is no one that is there for them. I can only hope I made Marianne smile even if it was for a fleeting moment. This is one reason I feel the need to volunteer my time for those who need it most.

Life is a vulnerable experience, you are born naked into a world of chaos and uncertainty but I love every minute of it. We are all meant to be here for each other, to make a difference in the lives of others and then pass it on to the next. There is more to life than our own ego and we are here for a lesson and a reason. Make a difference as you are out making a name for yourself. You may find someone will pay it forward and make you smile when you need it most.
Love and Light to all
Namaste’
Rose




MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT MONDAY NIGHT MISSION MUSINGS

2 Replies


As I meander my way through this experience we call life, there are sometimes visions that are so disturbing to me they leave me completely speechless and numb. I am an emotional creature, I wear my heart on my sleeve and everything I do is first lead by my emotions.  I have noticed over the years when I see something that is so overwhelming my heart goes into this protective stage and I become frozen and numb. That is how I felt after my experience volunteering with The Monday Night Mission last night.  Now at 3 am it is like my protective wall of ice is melting and being released little by little in the form of my own tears. 

I really need more time to get into my head to put into words what I saw last night, and how I feel. For my words to be able to do The Monday Night Mission and Skid Row justice will take more time than I have now, as my thoughts ramble on and on in my own incoherent sleepy head. As I wake up in the middle of the night from my cozy bed, hair still damp from my warm shower, I try to make sense of the atrocities that are going on right under our noses. I feel a little shamed to have such creature comforts when there are thousands of people right here in my own city sleeping on hard, cold pavement. Cats that have it better than most humans slumber at my feet, husband unaware of everything that my evening entailed. It changes you, when you see up close and personal what you have only heard about on the news. It definitely puts life into a new perspective when you step outside your own narcissistic circle and look at the world through a different vantage point, no longer seeing it through rose colored lenses. But there is still a tint of a brightness of hope, and that is in the unselfish deeds by people like The Monday Night Mission. Groups who come out to feed the hungry dish out more than just a warm meal to what may seem like a forgotten segment of society. I was humbled and honored to assist them with their endeavors to pass out hope to the hungry and grateful to my friends who took time from their busy schedules to join me. I was inspired by the unity of the volunteers gathering together for the good of their Skid Row brother’s and sister’s. 

Years ago I wrote a poem that was inspired by two events about homelessness. It took me weeks to write to do the subjects justice. The first event was the sight of a crying elderly homeless lady I saw in NYC. The second event was when an old friend of our family was reunited with us in Cleveland Ohio. My father owned restaurants and the one thing I really remember about him was that he brought all of the employees home with us for the holidays; the people who were alone with no family or perhaps could not afford a holiday dinner of their own. One man in particular was Chic and I remember him well. Flash forward thirty years when my sister ran into Chic at a downtown mall, and she invited him to Thanksgiving Dinner with our family, just like old times. He was so happy to be with us, and he may have been homeless.  Just to share a dinner with people who cared enough to welcome him with open arms. Months passed, and he never responded to our Christmas invitation. Later that spring my Mother received a phone call, Chic had passed away and unless anyone came forward he would be buried at Potter’s Grave, a place where people are buried when no one claims responsibility for them. They found my Mother because in his wallet was her number and the photos my Mother gave him of all of us. To him, we were the only family he knew.  My Mother did not have the means to give Chic the respectful burial he deserved. So he was buried as a John Doe. The name John Doe stuck with me, Chic was not forgotten nor was he a John Doe. Everyone is special and individual, each and every one of us. One of the many aspects of The Monday Night Mission that I admired most was that they said hello to each and every person by name. No one is John Doe, we are all the same connected to the core of our humanity. We are all one, and The Monday Night Mission treats the residents of Skid Row with such dignity and respect that should always be a given. Food for the hungry, hope for those who need it the most.

To me, Chic was family. 



I knew this poem would take time, to do it justice. Most poems I wrote come together the minute I write them. Not this one, it took weeks to process. That is how I feel about Skid Row and The Monday Night Mission. I need a lot of time alone to wrap my brain around the senselessness of it all, the sorrow and the amazing light The Monday Night Mission plates out five days a week. I am humbled I was able to be there to assist them in their truly remarkable efforts to feed the hungry, and make the residents of Skid Row know they are not alone and never forgotten. I will be returning, changed for the better and looking to share more hope.
But for now it is back to my warm bed to sleep I go, accompanied by my own tears.  Goodnight and sweet dreams to everyone in this beautiful and sometimes baffling world of ours. Wishing everyone a better tomorrow.
Love and Light
Namaste’
Rose

Dedicated to Chic and the Residents of Skid Row, and to The Monday Night Mission

WALK IN EMPATHY
Step into my worn shoes,
How would you feel?
When People walk by,
Forgetting you are real.
Beyond your reach,
Hopes of a warm meal;
A place to lay your head,
To let your weary body heal.
Your spirit is broken,
Your head held high;
Only to be ignored,
By oblivious eyes.
A face with no name,
Is what they see;
Unloved, forgotten,
Throughout society.
Such lonely solitude,
Unanswered prayers;
Hopelessness and sorrow,
But no one cares.
Who will miss you
When it’s your time to go?
Will anyone remember,
Your name is not John Doe.
(c) Rose Bruno Bailey