How many times have we heard that old advice? "If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him"...meaning, (I'm paraphrasing here) it's not the Buddha...or: All is illusion and reality in the same moment...or: you're high...find someplace calm and quiet to rest...
I went down to the supermarket in the later part of a miserably hot day. People were moving like slugs and looking just as greasy. Even traffic seemed affected by the heat wave. But I had no grub in the loft. Literally, nothing. What I had been craving all day was coffee frozen yogurt...Finally, it grew to be about ninety-eight in my space-with-no-air-conditioning, so I had to get out for a while. Hunger and heat. Bad combination. Frozen yogurt: solution.
As I got close to the store, I noticed this filthy wool blanket draped across what appeared to be a pile of sticks. My heart sank. In the one shady spot outside Ralph's, the skinniest old Black man I'd ever seen, sat on the pavement, a red woolen blanket covering half his body. His hair was all natty and flecked with either ash or gray. His beard was grizzled. When he looked up at me from the sidewalk, his eyes were redder than his gums. Maybe two teeth, off to the side, made up his smile. He was mumbling, sticking out a skeletal hand.
I wasn't carrying any money--just plastic. My usual deal. No purse. Part of me had the usual clutch- in- the- stomach- why- the- Hell- am- I- the- one- bothered- it's- too- hot- feeling and the other part of me just melted. How hot was that sizzling sidewalk? He didn't even have an old water bottle. His voice was too soft to be heard above the scarce traffic. What was wrong with him that he was wrapped in a wool blanket when it had to be in the nineties, with no breeze? Should somebody call the cops to at least get him somewhere it was cool? Give him some water? Should I?
But, I'm a real city person these days. I apologized for not having any change,made what eye contact I could, and cut a quick circle around his part of the walk. Then, I went into Ralph's.
The air conditioning hit me like a lover's kiss. I could breathe for the first time in hours. My sweaty face immediately dried; my spikey hair stood up again. I grabbed a cart and took my time walking. I wasn't hungry anymore. I was just enjoying my own skin. Then, when I came down the ice cream aisle, a sudden flash on the old guy on the street corner,hit me. Not like his face appeared on the frosty glass or anything, just a vivid memory. Maybe I should buy him some ice cream?
The trick with homeless people though, is not to give them anything they aren't asking for--many have mental illnesses and to offer them something they aren't expecting only irritates them. Some are on drugs and hallucinating. Approaching them ,with even a benign object, can be terrifiying or threatening. Some are drunk. All they want is money to buy their liquor of choice. And some are proud. They don't want second hand food--even if it is from Starbuck's. (How often have I seen someone offer a sandwich or a cup of coffee, gently placing it by the person on the street, and see that same cup or food be kicked away? Or worse, thrown at the person who thought he or she was doing a good deed.)
In Laguna Beach, once, a guy who had to be wearing six layers of clothes and hadn't washed in what must have been months, stood outside a candy store, singing to his backpack. Some well-meaning touristas watched for a few minutes, and then the husband went into the Subway,next door. He came out with a foot-long, and offered it to the homeless guy. The homeless dude snatched it, opened it, took one bite, then threw it into the face of the startled tourist! "I hate ham!" the homeless dude screamed at the fleeing man and his wife.
Now, there are other people who are thankful--especially if they've asked for food. Or if you have some sort of casual relationship with them. (I wonder, how many mean tricks with people offering "food" to them, have transpired in the past--stuff that was laced with pepper or glass or God knows what...of course they're gonna be wary...). I don't buy the homeless man anything.
I get bread and cheese and some frozen yogurt for myself and some grapes and olives. Then, I leave the store, bracing for the abyssmal heat. It doesn't disappoint. Just knocks the wind out of me. A headache begins to rage. I suddenly realize, because of construction across the street, the only way home is right by the homeless guy. (And now I have groceries.) I feel yucky. However, if I walk one block west, I will add a hot block to my route, but I can circle around and avoid the guy. I decide it's worth it. No more guilt. (I've hit the wall.)
I start my trek. And then, just as I get to the next light pole, who is sitting under the button I must push to get the pedestrian "walk" sign? Yup. Buddha. Still in the filthy, red, wool blanket. Still mumbling. Still with his skeletor hand sticking straight out. Only now, he's in direct sun. From the stench blowing back towards me, he's baking.
I feel the coolness of the frozen yogurt against my chest. I can taste the grapes already. I think of just offering the yogurt to him...but I don't have a spoon and I guess neither does he. (Its a cold brick...how's he gonna eat it?) As I'm trying to avoid his eyes this time, the light changes and I cross quickly. I take the corner, heading back to my loft.
The entire trip back, I feel like crap. I should of offered him the whole bag of stuff. Let him decide if the yogurt was too much to handle. I should have brought him a water bottle from the store. I should have...I should have...I should have...Instead, I avoided contact. I walked away from karmic connection.
(Great way to deflate one's Enlightenment Balloon...)
When I got home, I hurriedly peeled off my sweaty clothes. I unpacked the groceries. I was finally hungry enough to prepare some kind of lunch. Guilty or not, I really wanted to just get a spoon and dig into that yogurt!
I put the French bread off to the side; the olives and gouda next to the big bunch of grapes. I get to the bottom of the bag and--empty! Where was the quart of coffee yogurt? I know I felt it's solid frost against my skin--even through the grocery bag. I know it was there when I ran across the street, trying to avoid confrontation with the homeless dude. Now, at home, the yogurt is gone!
Vanished...
A weird chill scuttled across my skin. I sat down, hard.
I wondered if the Buddha was enjoying his frosty treat,under the traffic signal.
All signs continue to point out: it's time for me to get out of this city.
This is a GREAT story!
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