My father doesn’t listen to me and neither does anyone in my family. My sisters do but it’s really selective sieved listening. They listen and then they demand. In fact it’s almost like they listen so they can demand in retribution. And I have no problem with that. I have no problem with my sisters.
My youngest sister tells me I would make a good writer and the world will one day read my writings if I am consistent. Is that true? Because I never really write to my sisters. But I remember this time I wrote something quite witty by my assessment. And believe me when I say they are top echelon. But that is not the predominant point here, although it could have been in an alt setting. But I wrote this witty story and showed her when we were all home. And she laughed and laughed and really enjoyed it. Whenever she could, she got in my way so I could finish it. But I keep telling her some stories are not meant to be completed. Some beautiful stories like the life of my best friend never get completed and perhaps that is okay.
But that is not the truth regarding what I told my sister. I didn’t complete that story because my fears pegged me. What if I didn’t match my high standards of wittiness already set in the beginning? I am sure you sometimes have this fears as well. The world is a multifaceted web of continued comparisons. Oh he donated one million euros to charity but the other person in his joneses donated five million. How could he? I find that really fascinating. Does the good of another good act get in the way of a lesser all the same good act? I think good things should be celebrated independently of themselves. When we compare two differently good things, we lose the chance to appreciate their cumulative true values.
Honestly, if you know me you will know that I don’t enjoy walking so much in the open even more so in the busy streets of Lincoln. But the other day I was walking on the streets and I saw this homeless man that caught my attention. I felt profoundly sad for him. I felt the kind of sadness everyone who has lost a lover or never had a lover or never had the chance to feel loved had felt. He wanted some money. Which wasn’t as much a problem for me as the acridity of the elements was for the homeless man. The money was just there sitting in the asylum of my oversized pants begging to be given. The man’s face correspondingly was creasing to be saved. And my humanity was shaking in the upper section of an hourglass cat walking narrow spaces to the very bottom of human forms wanting to help this man.
Do you know I felt exceptionally sad for this man? And do you know I just walked away? I feel like crying because now you think I am a bad person but trust me I am not. I walked away because like I said; the world is a multifaceted web of continued comparisons. I walked away because I juxtaposed the conditions of this homeless man with other homeless men, looking side to side, one homeless man to another homeless man and back and not knowing who to help. It is true money was a limitation in my case but helping one good man was a better condition than to not have helped at all.
I am always thinking of changing myriad things that I forget to change one thing at a set opportunity. When my youngest sister said the world would read my writings, I must confess it placed an insurmountable pressure on my thin looking tuft of narrow skinned neck. It made me afraid. But now I do not fear anymore. If I am able to become a bestselling author then I would have helped many people consequently. My youngest sister said I can only do this if I am consistent. Anyway, if I am consistent and do not turn out a bestselling author then I can only help the few people who related to my writings. It won’t be much. But it would be something. And if I inspire others to do something good by that? If I inspire a future bestselling author? Well there then I would have done something even bigger.
And that is the thing about rendering help –it has a ripple effect like the waves of the seashore, calmly spreading when at peace, and violently when enraged, but spreading all the same till its energy reaches remote lands in any case and every living thing experiences its generous energy.
If I pass by that same street again, I would peek hard and long enough for the homeless man and give him everything in the asylum of my oversized pants’ pockets to indicate repentance. That would compensate and right all wrongs right? But what if I don’t see him anymore? I think I would give it to another homeless man. Good doesn’t have a specific address. Good can live in the house of anyone.
I hope good lives in your house. It’s time for dinner and my house is packed because it is Easter. My aunt always screams with the vibrations of a locomotive engine when anyone is late to the table. If I don’t leave this writing now, bad would live in my house. Till next time.