No pity for a strong soul

I write from my home office, on a danish teak table, in front of a big window looking onto our street. I usually have the blinds closed because the sunlight makes it hard to read the computer screen. And from the sidewalk, at nearly the same time everyday, I hear loud hollering yelps, a groaning-holler of confusion and speculation that is impossible to ignore.

The noises are coming from a young man, about 20-something with really short brown hair and big brown eyes. He’s clearly mentally disabled. I don’t know his name. I’ve named him Jerry. He wears a red rain coat and white runners. And he’s always walking down our side of the street with a very laid back caregiver a few feet ahead…hollering.

His bent fists are waving by his handsome but usually contorted face. His head is cocked upward, like he’s talking to the tops of the trees – like he can see something up there that no one else can.

At first, his yelping was a bit disturbing. I’ve had guests over when Jerry goes hollering by and they look alarmed and rush to the window, “What the…?”

It’s Jerry. He hollers.

Jerry makes me sad because I want Jerry to be able to shop by himself for peppers and brown rice and cook dinner for friends. I want him to fall in love and ride a motorcycle. I’d love for Jerry to be able to hold a pen and sign a cheque. But he can’t. Not this lifetime.

My growing affection for Jerry reminded me of a comment my mother made to me when I was a little girl. We saw a very gnarled man in a wheel chair, painstakingly making his way across the street. My mom noticed the look of angst and awe on my little face.

“Strong soul,” she said. “People like that have souls that can take it.”

And while it didn’t take away the heart ache, it bolstered it with respect, instead of righteous pity. People with heavy crosses to bear are stronger than me. I have no cross, only ideals.

I’ve come to look forward to Jerry’s afternoon strolls. I love that he’s loud and out of place. I love that he takes his voice to a place that I never go. To the tops of the trees. And I’m sure that Jerry, strong soul that he is, sees all sorts of things that I do not.

related posts
dlp_braveloveSage

How to not give a shit (even though you really do) and be kind about it all.

Love from the inside outward. Some people will take offense to your healthy priorities. Others will take your loving example and love themselves even more.

Featured @2x 456x456

Perpetually cleansing? That’s about right. The 80/20 rule of living your life and cleaning it up.

Deep living is dirty, sweaty, gorgeous work. We will accumulate things. But your Soul wants to be mobile, unencumbered — in touch with all the parts of your life.

Featured @2x 456x456

All the things that softly kill me.

The hate. All the hate. It makes me fume and spin. The light. Oh the light! The light that is powerful enough to transmute hate into Love. “T’was blind, but now I see.” That kind of light.

Featured-@2x

A slight twist on reviewing your year (or life) that could be very, very…illuminating

We’re cozied in the corner booth of the pub with tacos and no one else around. It’s been a doozer of a business week and I have some Very Big Decisions to make. Wait. In case you’re not the story-type, I’ll give you the quick take-away: A short how-to on doing a yearly retrospective.

Poem-Grapic-FB-featured@2x1

a sentiment for blazing

close your calendars
of regret
smash clocks and barriers
with your better knowing
throw soft light on

Featured-@2x3

Self Love and why we’re all effed up about it.

Celebrate yourself no matter what — even if they think you’re tacky, terrible, too much of this, too little of that. Make how you move through the world an homage to your beautiful, luminous, powerful, magnificent, righteous, sacred…self.

That same self who may fuck up tomorrow, but will still be made of LOVE. THAT Self. Love.

Featured-@2x1

Thoroughness (a poem for devotion)

I have expressed from my longing and obstacles
the balm of thoroughness,
rare as rose oil,
nothing cures like devotion.
I stroke it on wounds and desires

Featured-@2x

Easing someone’s suffering…without suffering. Is it possible?

Do I have to feel your pain in order to help ease your pain?

And, if I guard myself against your suffering, am I less useful? If I want to detach from your pain, am I less loving? If I think, “I’m glad I’m not going through that”, am I cold hearted? If I’m grateful for my strength or good fortune in comparison to your so-called weakness or misfortune, does that make me…just secretly horrible?

Monthly-Round-Up-@2x

D Digest: How to be generous, loving your tribe, Online etiquette and calling bullshit when you need to. My November Roundup is in.

Why we relive the painful times over again. (For a good reason.)  You’re not a loser for feeling it again, you’re…soulfully thorough. Find your tribe. Love them hard. (And, is your tribe a healthy one?)  Our people do typically look like us, and quack like us, but magic happens when we stay open to the […]

Featured-@2x5

You girlfriend, YOU. The things women friends do.

I can be my most very very softest self with you. There isn’t a word in the English language that can convey my gratitude for that.

You have never once made me feel wrong, or wicked, or insane, or not hot — even when I felt all of those things. You always make me feel righteous, and loving, and strong, and totally hot.

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This