THE ANGELS AND MOLECULES OF OUR STORIES AND SONGS

This afternoon I was sitting outside at Starbucks during my lunch break. It was such a beautiful day, and working in an office has really made me lonely for the clouds and the birds and the Rosebush!

A wind was stirring all around me, sending napkins flying and ruffling the pages of books. I saw a blur out of the corner of my eye. Like a strong spirit or angel. I felt like something beautiful was going to happen. Something that would touch me and change the world. Or that would change my world, if nothing else.

There was a bum approaching. He was asking the girl sitting at the other table if she had any change. He said something to her like, "I bet if you had a hundred bucks you'd give it to me." She shrugged and said she was sorry, she didn't have anything to give.

How sad it is, for all of us, to have nothing to give when someone asks us. Wouldn't it be nice to always have something to give?

It was such a beautiful, free moment-- such a sunny afternoon-- that I just wanted him to move on. I didn't want to miss whatever beauty had come my way. But, first of all, a lady had asked me for change when I was going into Subway. I told her I'd give her some on the way out. But she'd been gone by the time I'd finished eating.

Secondly, both Odin and Jesus are said to wander among us as beggars. Odin especially. (I mentioned the Teutonic Gods this morning, in my my other blog. And it was Odin who'd lingered in my mind.) I have a strong policy of always giving change--or at least patience-- to bums. It's better karma than genuine kindness.

He asked me if I had change, and I said sure. I got some quarters out. I was really just being vain with myself, that I was giving him money even though I am totally broke.

When things are going very, very badly is when we are given the opportunity to learn true faith. Maybe you need to learn that all interactions have value, whether the values are monetary or not.

"You are a beautiful lady," the bum said, his eyes frazzled with weariness and fractured with cataracts and sorrow. "I bet you are a teacher or an artist."

His words and insight shocked me, but I did my best not to let it show. A recognition of who I really am, or, at the very least, how I see myself. (A writer is an artist.)

I was gracious. Of course I could accept his compliments! He was just a dirty bum! No one whose opinion could sway me.

He took the change I handed him. "My name is John," he told me, smiling.

"Good luck, John. " I looked back at my book to let him know that our interaction was over. I was dismissing him.

He just stood there. He didn't walk away.

Reluctantly I looked back up.

He smiled at me with a steady gaze and confidence. "You are true lady," he complimented me.

I smiled patiently. "Thank you."

"Your mother brought you up right," he continued. "You don't talk to strangers."

He was smiling with a strange, knowing smile. I felt self-conscious. What was he smiling about? I am always too revealing-- and I don't just mean my cleavage-- even when I think I am being reserved. What had he seen? What had he noticed?

Who was he?

Odin had two crows, Huggen and Munin, that flew around the world every day gathering news and information for him. I looked around on the street and up in the sky. All I saw were pigeons. If the God of the Runes and Ruler of Valhalla was lurking about, he was very unimpressive--what with the traffic and road construction and all of the smog and cigarette smoke.

"Thank you, Lady," the bum said, taking his leave and bowing to me slightly.

No crows, true, but still a gift from the Divine. An angel speaking to me through another.

The winds whispered all around me. You saw him. So he was able to see you. Sometimes, all we want is for another to see us. To acknowledge us. To look us in the eye and give us what we are asking for with no recriminations and no obligations.

When I looked at him, I looked for God in him. And I believe that often, how we see the world effects it. I looked for the Divine in him, and I saw a part of him that no one looked at.

I wrote about THE SIXTH SENSE but one thing I didn't mention is how rarely we really see each other-- or our world. Sight is the most important sense. We measure the whole rational, scientific, empirical universe through our sense of sight. (Think about it.)

Most people don't even notice the spirits of the living-- how would they ever percieve the spirits of the dead? Can you imagine sight strong enough to see the Divine Spirit of the people you have to work with everyday? (That really annoying guy that always has bad breath? The girl that always assigns you the worst tasks on the group projects?)

Right now, no matter how bad or how frustrating things are for you, you are being asked to give. You are being asked to find what is beautiful in the world and look only for it. To look for Jesus in the drunk and Aphrodite in the prostitute.

Lakshmi is holding out the offering plate, and Buddha wants your beer cans. Everyone wants and desires and needs. But, I think, right now, we are being asked to give. Whatever we can. Spare change, a laugh, a hug, or maybe just looking the other way when someone stumbles.

Maybe just giving up one moment of your lunch break and the blue sky and freedom to talk to someone that is rarely listened to, but might have something important to say.

That bum was so far down that a dollar's worth of quarters and simple politeness made him feel validated. And I have so seriously lost sight of who I am that I needed a random encounter with a stranger to shake me out of numb complacency.

"An artist? A lady? Your mother raised you right?" An old ghost with cold eyes mocked me.

But another part of me said "Yes! An artist! A teacher! You were raised RIGHT! Really!" And she laughed and spun in circles around me.

In a comment Swift One said not to complicate things unnecessarily. If motion generates heat and energy, don't create a thousand angels to explain the motion. (I am paraphrasing and interpreting.And not to single him out or say his comment was "wrong", but just to say that I was inspired by it. That it had me thinking.)

I believe that around every molecule there is an angel whose only purpose and job is to whisper "grow, grow, live, live." I believe that especially when we are telling a story or singing a song or writing a poem, or making art, that there must be angel around every word, every breath, every heartbeat. Every molecule must murmur "grow, grow, live, live."

We are the storytellers and the story. We are the hero and the villain. We are the beggar and the lady. And wouldn't anyone give themselves a legion of Angels for each breath? A God to bless each afternoon? A passing Spirit to whisper our dreams and remind us of who we really are?

Because if we are all things, and we give those things to ourselves, we give them to everyone. To all of us.

And if we agree, and if we listen, then we whisper back "yes, yes, love, love."

UNTIL NEXT TIME, TOODLE ON!!!