heliosrose-blog

[heliosrose-blog]

[heliosrose-blog]

[heliosrose-blog]

[heliosrose-blog]

This is an experience I had last week here in Denver, CO that will stay with me for all my days:

Tl;dr: Humanity has so many faces. Contrast is key to the human experience. The homeless hold more than anyone will ever ask them.

To begin:

Despite needing to be up at 5:45am this morning to catch a plane to Seattle, I agreed to make my debut as the late night fusion dj at Tuesday Blues at the Merc last night because sometimes doing the thing you love is worth the sleep deprivation—verdict: yes, it was—and I spun what I honestly believe to be the greatest set I have ever created. I am proud to say that the utter love I poured into that set was recognized and reflected back to me in spades at the end of the night and I left the Merc positively glowing and heart overflowing.

Finally completely alone but still humming to myself, I walked to where I had parked my car about a block and a half away from the venue. Without any nearby streetlights, the 1:30am nighttime hour was dark and mellow with muted city sounds and the smell of wet freshly cut grass and pretrichor. However, once I reached my car, all of my senses suddenly snapped to attention at the scene before me:

There appeared to be a small homeless man asleep in the front passenger seat of my car.

Weirdly enough, my brain accepted this fact immediately and I remained strangely calm. I paused and began to dial 911, but my hand hesitated before hitting call as I looked back at the man’s sleeping face. I sighed and shook my head. I slowly opened the car door and quietly announced my presence to the form in front of me. The inside of the car smelled of dried sweat and the tang of old alcohol,

“Excuse me, hello sir, it seems that you’ve been sleeping in my car, but I need you to wake up and get out now because I need to go home.”

Despite my attempt not to startle him, the man woke with a start. Blinking up at me through bleary, bloodshot eyes, he stammered out his surprise,

“Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m so sorry—I’m so embarrassed—so sorry—I’m so embarrassed, oh god—sorry, so sorry.”

I did my best to speak gently over the din of his distress, “It’s okay, sir, you’re okay. I just need you to get up and get out of my car, please.”

He continued rambling his apologies, and I sensed his incoherence was due to shame, not substance. However, he still made no attempt to move. I decided to try another approach,

“Sir, are you okay? Are you unable to stand? Can I help you? Where do you need to go? You can’t stay here, but I can give you a ride somewhere if that is what you need.”

Between a continued tirade of “so sorry, so embarrassed” he managed to tell me that he could stay at the Jesus Saves homeless shelter that was apparently just around the corner. I continued my attempts to calm as I pulled up the shelter on Google Maps—it was indeed about a seven minute drive away. I sucked air through my teeth when I saw I only had 3% battery left on my phone and sent a prayer to my mother that that would be enough.

I returned my attention to the man huddled in the passenger seat, still mumbling to himself, “so sorry, so embarrassed” as he waited for what I would do next.

“Okay sir, I have the address and I can take you there because it’s close. But I want you to know that right now I have 911 on speed dial. I don’t want to call, but I want you to know that I will the moment I feel unsafe.”

His eyes had widened at the mention of 911, but his only response to me was to add “yes, I understand, thank you” intermittently to his outpouring of “so sorry, so embarrassed.”

I climbed into the driver’s seat, keeping one eye on my unexpected passenger and the other on my battery life—2%, fuck, this was going to be close. But for whatever reason, I wasn’t actually scared. I was just… there. Completely. I was noticing everything. The fact that I could smell this human’s breath from a foot away, the fact that his hands were scarred and shook with tremors, but that somehow, deep in my gut I knew that this person wouldn’t hurt me.

Trust me when I say about a billion and one different possible less-than-ideal to terrible futures flashed before my eyes. But something in the pit of my stomach told me that I would be okay.

I will do my absolute best to recount the following dialogue I had with this person as we drove as verbatim as I can manage. It was a conversation that lasted for five minutes, but I believe the words will be with me until the day I die.

As soon as it registered to the man that I wasn’t going to hurt him or call the cops, he began gushing to me about his life. The story he shared was surprisingly coherent in comparison to the last ten minutes and whether or not any or all of it is true hardly matters to me. It was true in that moment between us. He told me that his brother died in Vietnam and he was a “hero that this country never gave a fuck about.” He told me that he was working in the coal mining industry but got laid off during the recession and has been trying to “get back on his feet” ever since, but that this country “don’t make that easy for everybody, it don’t do right by everybody. Not people like me.” He said he did get involved in drugs but after he found Jesus Christ he hasn’t gone back to that, only “forward towards God.” He said he’d been working for the homeless coalition here in Denver for the last couple of years and that they put him up well enough, but it wasn’t enough. He was sick. He still lived on the street. He was often alone in both.

It was at that point his speech stopped suddenly enough to make me glance out of my periphery to see why. His eyes were full of unshed tears. The following part of our conversation is going to stick with me for a long, long, time.

“I’m just so sad. I’m just so sad.” His voice came out as a croak.

“I know, sir, I know—“

“No you don’t. You don’t know.”

“I… you’re right. I don’t. I don’t know. But I’m here.”

“I’m just so sad. So sad. I’m just so sad.”

“I hear you, I do, sir. I hear you.”

“I’m just so sad.”

“I hear you, I swear I do.”

“Do you? Do you really?”

“I do, sir. I do.”

“Nobody ever does. They don’t look. They don’t listen. Ain’t nobody cares.”

“I kno—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m just so sad, that’s all. Just so sad. So sad.”

I didn’t know what to say, but at this point we’d arrived outside the shelter. There was a scene of cop cars and the flashing lights lit our faces. Both squinting at the sight, we spoke two words at the same time that further endeared this man to me forever,

“—fucking cops.”

I turned to him, my phone glowing in my hand, still somehow at 2%. I’d upheld my end of our agreement, and it was now or never.

“Sir, I took you here like I said I would, but you have to get out now.”

He looked at me, and an emotion I couldn’t place flashed across his face. I waited as he fidgeted with the frayed hem of his splotchy sweater.

“I need to tell you something.” He said, not looking at me.

“Okay. What is it?”

The words tumbled out, “I went through your car. But I didn’t take nothing I swear—I honestly just wanted to see if y’had a cigarette and a place to sleep—I swear I didn’t take nothing. Search me, I swear—Search me, you can search me. Nothing I swear.”

I just looked at him, “It’s okay, I’m not gonna search you. I believe you didn’t take anything, I believe you.”

Time froze and I watched his face break before my very eyes, “No one ever believes me.”

My chest felt like it was splitting, “I know, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. But I believe you.”

We just looked at each other and neither of us spoke for several seconds, which felt like an eternity. Not knowing what else to do, I stuck out my hand, “I’m Savannah.”

His eyes filled again, “I’m Michael.” The skin of palms felt as I’d imagined, rough as sandpaper.

“Hi Michael, it’s so nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Savannah.”

Another pause.

“Michael, it’s time for you to get out of my car, please.”

“I know, I’m sorry. God bless you.”

“It’s okay. God bless you, too.”

And with that Michael got out of my car and hobbled away, disappearing into the flashing red and blue lights.

———

As I slowly drove away, whatever was keeping my composure together immediately fell to pieces and the magnitude of what I’d just experienced finally flooded me. Sobbing and using the final 1% of my phone’s battery, I called my partner as I drove home and blubbered my way through recounting the last twenty minutes of my life to which he offered his amazing listening skills and support.

My phone died as I walked through my front door.

———

The photo is a small quote I have posted at the corner of my mirror. It seemed like the perfect fit.

Peace y’all, bless.

[heliosrose-blog]

Waking

Walking

Would that I could capture the color of all these fallen leaves

Preserve the radiance of their decay

But instead I remember all the reasons why witnessing death

Teaches us to breathe a little deeper

To touch what is fleeting

To hold what cannot be kept

Heartbeat

Breath

And by breathing in,

I bring my purpose here.

I can't shake the ache of the air these days

How bittersweet the outline of your shape is in the morning

How bittersweet the scent of you is before the sun has shown me your face

How simple it is to be here with you

And how hard it is to let you go.

Waking

Walking

The trees are dying in order to live again

I speed up only to slow down again

The sigh of autumn is summer's last breath

And I, too, am a season

I change

I end

And I begin again.

[heliosrose-blog]

I woke up this morning and did the only thing I could think of doing: I made breakfast. I made french toast that I smothered in maple syrup and I ate it all up with a honeylove of mine who is just as sweet. I woke up this morning in a house full of community who had come together not just to face the night, but also to greet the morning. I woke up this morning and I made breakfast, and my friends did the dishes, and we moved quietly around each other with the gentle touches that say all of the things that words could not. The touches that say

you are not alone

I am here with you

careful, hot pan behind

I love you

pass me the salt?

I am here

we are alive

we are alive

we are alive

And then I went outside, sat in the sun with my toes dug into the dark earth and wrote,

All I can say

is that the night is over

All I can say

is that the morning has come

All I can say

is that the dirt beneath my feet

is still dirt

is still solid ground

All I can say

is that "Historical Nights"

often give way

to Revolutionary Mornings

All I can say

is that I love you

We are still here

and we will continue to live.

--the morning after, in the aftermath

Be gentle to each other today. Treat yourself kindly. Community is the only answer to all that is unknown right now. Remember the warmth of sunlight, the coolness of the earth, the sturdiness of the trees. Drink water. Indulge in something sweet. Sit still. Move your body. Cry. Laugh. Breathe.

breathe

breathe

breathe

Peace y'all, bless.

[heliosrose-blog]

A week or so ago I saw an old homeless man walking down the street handing out flowers to passerbys

red petals against gray pavement

and by the time we reached each other it was the last of his flowers that he offered to me.

I accepted it with smile that said thank you even as my eyes asked why?

He answered my questioning gaze with this reply,

"Even god granted an ugly man like me the ability to give away beautiful things. You gotta give what you got."

My chest felt like it might split open right then and there and all of the ways I have ever learned to say "I love you" would pool on the concrete at my feet.

But I didn't know how to say all that I meant so I said "thank you" again instead

because sometimes you just have to keep it simple

and he nodded and gave me a toothy grin and said,

"Best be gettin' on home" and walked on, humming a tuneless song.

Home.

Confession: I am plagued with homesickness these days.

All I can think of is the fact that

I feel as though I am a visitor everywhere I go

--a guest even in the house of my own body.

It's been a strange way to live,

to uproot in order to grow

to scatter the seeds of my heart everywhere

to be carried by the winds of my wandering soul.

But now I see that

I've been chasing home everywhere else except for where I am.

Where am I?

Today I am returned to a city I once called home to tie up loose ends.

This morning I stood in the kitchen of my old house here in Denver;

I washed the dishes

I wiped the countertops

I swept the floor

--and yet these motions felt like the stale echoes of older, more sincere gestures.

Confession: Every movement my body makes these days feels hollow.

Even while I walk I feel I am made more of the high, grey sky above my head

than the deep, dark earth beneath my feet.

Confession: I am walking now

and nearby there is a fallen flowerpot cracked on the ground,

its contents spilling out:

Red petals against gray pavement

and a moment of deja vu fills my head.

Do you ever get the sense that you've been here before? Like, not a place, but rather, an entire life? This happens often for me, this blurring of lifetimes. It happens when I'm out walking and the leaves stir on the ground by an invisible wind, or when I look up and catch the eyes of a stranger from across a room full of people, or when I reread an old favorite book after many years and have this dual experience of reading it as who I am now and remembering reading it as who I was then, or whenever I make the same silly faces at every baby gurgling over their parent's shoulder while we all wait in line at whatever grocery store, or when I stand in the street in the rain and let the scent of petrichor and wet leaves surround me, or when I watch a dog catch a ball tirelessly in a park with its owner--a living, loping image of love and loyalty. The repetition of motion. Simple devotion. The cycle repeats, endlessly. I get the sense that I've seen all these things before, and not just once, but maybe tens or hundreds of times. And that I also will see them all again, later, not with these eyes, but with another's in some distant day in the future. It will be the same, and yet it won't. It breaks my heart. No, it's not so much breaking as it is expanding. My chest hurts a lot these days, but it's an important kind of tightness that reminds me heart ache can happen even when we're happiest. I don't always know what to do with this sense of connection to all things that ever have been, are, or will be. The coming of winter brings the recognition that everything dies; I'm dying right now. It's not so much morbid and immobilizing as it is simply true.

Everything matters and yet nothing lasts. And yet we get the chance to begin, again and again and again.

Homeward bound, someday soon. But for now, red petals against gray pavement and even the cutting crispness of this chill air cannot dampen the fire in my heart.

[heliosrose-blog]

There is something about the end of summer

when the green of everything that has dared to grow

suddenly seems just the tiniest bit hollow

and the liquid gold of late afternoon melts into the dusty blue of evening

sooner than before

because the shadows suddenly seem to weigh more than they used to

and the air is just beginning to have an edge to it

so slight you might think that perhaps you just imagined it

—but that’s death, isn’t it?

Hidden everywhere in plain sight;

exposed only by the exhale of every breath our bodies borrow to live.

How is it that the body always remembers what the mind tries to forget?

My lips still know the taste of your skin

My fingertips still know the curve of your spine

the groove of your hips.

My body remembers you everywhere

and the names of everyone I have ever loved

are still stitched to the underside of my ribs.

Pick a thread

unravel me with memory

I am unafraid

of coming apart at the seams

because,

you see,

I never learned to believe that it was necessary

to stop loving everyone I ever held in my arms

because how could I?

Even your breath left an imprint on my heart.

At this point I don’t even bother trying to learn to forget

I let my body remember

all of these love letters

still stuck under my skin.

They get caught in my throat now and then

when I see something so beautiful it has to be shared

and I turn to speak to you, but you are no longer there

and somehow words die even as the stories are lived

I can no more erase the marks of the time we shared together

than I can stop the seasons that have come to pass since.

"Seasons of lovers"

Lichen, mechanical pencil, and a bluejay feather. 29 September 2016.

[heliosrose-blog]

I used to live in a statue

that I would sometimes call my body,

I used to etch all of its failures

on the underside of my ribs

trying to cage my heart in

trying to force it to be still

because its beat was too big

too loud

too much

I used to stare in the mirror

and only see all that I wasn't

staring back

but now

I am the sound of shattering glass

I am a woman in motion

I carry my stillness with me

I am impossible to capture

because I am hewn from the essence

of everything that has ever dared to be free.

I am a work in progress

I am a composition of imperfect edges

I am a sculpture of all the hearts that I have ever loved

I am a woman in motion

I carry my stillness with me

I dare to be free.

[heliosrose-blog]

Fungi, Jill Bliss

[heliosrose-blog]

..and I saw the black stars hanging in the heavens | cam damage by self

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