Fighting Poverty with Passion
I stop and start with unfortunate haste without pause or given-reason or contrived consciousness. Times and lessons skipped over while passing through subsequent and varied strains of concrete underneath my feet. To the left on Oretha Castle I pass by a tall looking man with stubble on his face and silence on his crown. You may have passed him by. I have to, too often. The pigeons do indeed talk in this New Orleans town, but I merely sink. It is easy to be unforgiving while sinking, it is also, too, unfortunate. No matter the laborious effort, compassion to ones self during times of great shortcomings is much needed if we are to be compassionate to others, like the man on Oretha Castle with stubble on his face and silence on his crown. He wears no mask, wields no sword and dawns no gown. He is invisible, until now. Look before you, underneath these scrawled words, scrawled and punched by button-like letters that remain affixed beneath my fingers. Look at a man who has been passed over too many times. Look at him and forgive yourself for every likeness of his you’ve passed over with self-hate.
A lesson in human fragility