a little slice of heaven

Walking back from work today I ran into one of the city's street angels, a homeless man with a big smile named Kevin who for weeks I have seen sitting on the steps of the Cathedral of Hope or on one of the benches that line Penn Avenue in East Liberty. Whenever I walk past we smile and wave and occaisonaly exchange a few words with each other, and I would be lying if I didn't say his presence wasn't one of the reasons I continue making the 45 minute walk each day instead of rushing to get my bike fixed.

Kevin has never asked me for money, though today I did give him a cigarette. He motioned for me to sit on the bench next to him and he asked how my life is going. I said "wonderfully" and gestured to the lovely day around us; and then he started asking about what I do, and why I dropped out of school, nodding his grin as I told him I have learned so much more about myself and life from being out in it and not stuck in a classroom. "Of course" he said, "you look happy because of it, quite comfortable in your skin. And there's nothing more important than being happy." He laughed, and then asked about my religious beliefs. "That's a tricky question to answer these days" I said.

My friend Z and I have an ongoing debate about spirituality, in which she claims she doesn't understand why people need to look for something larger than themselves to believe in. Personally, I was raised Christian, but never believed in their conception of God. But I did learn that being able to believe in more than youreself is a good thing, and since I was young the world has done nothing but show me that this is true. Even trusting in this community we have is believing in something larger than myself, much less trusting that our whole civilization has to operate together to survive, or that the sun will rise tomorrow. It's kind of kin to the myth of self-sustainability, I can't deny that I am just a little part of something much larger. Escpeically with how mind-bogglingly complex and mysterious it all seems to be.

As for "spirituality," that word is one of the more loaded terms I'm stumbling around these days. It comes from the Latin spirare, which means "to breathe." And as far as I am concerned, that is all spirituality is, being aware of my every breath, and with it being fully present in every moment of being alive in this crazy world. Of course, the common usage of that term has so much more packed into it; churches, and communions, and elaborate rituals that have very little to do with the simple act of breathing, and so it is difficult to have people understand what I mean when I say I am a spiritual person. Not that I don't practice rituals, or even once in a blue moon attend mass at the Cathedral of Hope, but for me it is not about "praying to God" or "summoning spirits" but about being directly focused on my actions and their affects. All the symbolic hoopla just gets in the way sometimes, as amusing as it can be. I can reach the same state of awareness from washing dishes that I can meditating in front of a candle flame, and on the more brilliant days everything I do is done with that same presence of care and intention.

"Well, Kevin," I smiled, after explaining a little of this to him, "right now my religion is being here and talking to you, and enjoying the sunlight in the clouds, and the smell of spring flowers that is still noticable through the rushing traffic."

He smiled, and said that if there is a place we go when we die he hopes we run into each other there.

I laughed, and said that I am sure we will run into each other many more times on this street while we are both still here.

Perhaps tomorrow...