Broken minds are everywhere, invisible
Today is the 80th anniversary of D-Day. Would have been an extremely different and horrifying world if Nazi Germany and its Axis Empires had won the Second World War – and they very nearly did. Thoughts of our history with changing attitudes toward duty and sacrificed blazed around inside my mind. Went to hike the Shoreline section of the regional Interurban Trail system. Brisk walk with a daypack up to Trader Joe’s and back home to my apartment complex. Part of regaining my health so I could backpack in the mountains once again, thruhiking the Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood in Oregon at the end of July weighs on my mind, so first had to walk swiftly on the flats without passing out. Off I go. Soon passed a homeless White man in pink clothes wearing white, puffy booties as he sat in the sun enjoying the late spring weather. He focused on using his hands to crank or turn parts on what looked like a small wood and leather puzzle box about the size of a softball.
Later passed a well-dressed, young Black man, looked like a college student with a beige V-necked sweater on, as he stomped from the Shoreline Trader Joe’s over to the trail while hollering about God. His daypack burst with clothes and books. The man’s voice is really loud, his arms and legs jerk with agitation, and he lets the whole world know he is “angry!” When he looked over and saw me trotting along with my one trekking pole, he shouted, “By the Almighty God, by His Holy name, I’m gonna kill you for having that stick!”
What? Kill me? For walking with a stick? Made no damn sense. Glad I had me that “stick,” too, and a knife in my pocket, a short little blade, but he’s young, fast, and darted around like a madman, prolly a nice kid off his meds with worried parents wondering where their son is. I felt nervous, a little bit scared, a little bit anxious as I was very aware I was much older and slower at age 65 than many young, streetfighting roughnecks are. After I turned around at TJ’s figured I was likely to encounter him again, so patted my pocket to make sure my little, fixed-bladed Gerber knife was easily reached in a pinch. What good would it do anyway? The thing to do, according to what I read recently, was not to go into fight or flight mode but to pause and calmly say, “Hey, are you OK? Need anything?” Gripped my stick, acted nonchalantly as I stayed vigilant, and trundled my bundle on down the path. Would I even get the chance to ask him if he was OK? And, yup, soon enough, there he was.
Passed him haranguing another man sitting still on a bicycle with his legs bracing the bike upright. This maybe-college student kept shouting, “In the name of the Almighty God, by His Holy Name, …” Couldn’t make out the rest of his words nor understand him. Puzzled me. My anxiety gave way to compassion when he noticed me hiking down the trail. He jerked up and once again screeched he was going to kill me in the name of his Almighty God for “walking with that stick.” Thankfully he dropped armloads of clothes and books onto the ground and stopped to gather it back up. The fella on the bicycle took off toward TJ’s, and I kept trekking south. Wasn’t gonna run, just walked briskly. Holy Man sounded as mad as a riled up nest of hornets, yelling and preaching in gibberish. Couldn’t understand a lick of whatever he was bellowing about or for, altho the words “Almighty God, by His Holy Name” came thru several times. I looked back anyway a few times to see if he attempted to rush up on me in silence. The last I saw of him, Holy Man was wobbling fast down the trail then careened off into the bushes like damn trail wreck.
A few folks walking their dogs or pedaling away on bikes or sweetie pie couples holding hands passed me or I passed them. The world seemed to be back at peace with itself, an illusion, of course.
On way back home passed Pink Clothes Man again. He was still cranking on his odd puzzle apparatus, but had moved to a new bench higher up the hill. He looked up, and I saw his face, a leathery White face with 3-4 days growth of dark whiskers, beaming away into the sunshine.
He spoke to me.
I stopped, asked, “What?” as I turned to look at him and smiled in a friendly manner.
His face reflected the Sun as he beamed up at me from the park bench, stopped cranking on his odd little puzzle, and declared, “It’s a beautiful day!”
I grinned, threw both arms up in the air, holding the trekking pole in one hand still, and loudly said, “Glorious!”
Spun around to the other side of the trail from where he sat. We both nodded again and enjoyed the moment.
He then noted we wore the same kind of sunglasses. They’re the fit-over-the-glasses slipovers.
I pulled mine off and remarked mine’s a little broken. Showed him where the left earpiece had snapped halfway off with the left lens bulging partway out. He then offered me his own. I saw he wasn’t wearing any specs under his sunglasses.
“Oh no,” I said. “I’m good. Keep yours as, hey, you gotta protect your eyes, too. Thank you, tho!”
We wished each other a nice day, and I hurried on back to my apartment complex. Had to leave soon to go pick up my wife from work.
Maybe Pink Clothes Guy stole those slipovers from some drug store or grocery, or maybe they were a gift, or he bought them. But a homeless person will need them more than me, even tho I have to wear sunglasses to protect my own ailing eyes.
I marveled in the space of about an hour I had one homeless man threaten to kill me over a “stick” in the name of “Almighty God” because I used a trekking pole and had another offer me his sunglasses on a sunny day.
Recently at work the security staff gently escorted a screaming, wailing woman of about 30 from the building who was trying to steal random items while in the middle of a mental health crisis. A group of us coworkers and customers alike appeared to feel a crazy mix of sadness, compassion, disgust, fear, anger, and helplessness. If only our country would treat our mental health crisis with its corresponding addiction epidemics the way we got going on Covid-19…then again we did a poor job as a nation coming together even with so many sick and dying. We also need to stop separating out dental, mental, complementary and alternative health, vision, and all of the other kinds of healthcare as “different” and merge them all together as one universal distinction. To debate private versus government insurance is pointless until we all agree as to what, exactly, is healthcare for the entire bodymind.
William Dudley Bass
Thursday 6 June 2024
Tuesday 11 June 2024
Shoreline/Seattle, WA
USA
Copyright © 2024 by William Dudley Bass. All Rights Reserved by the Author & his Descendants until we Humans establish Wise Stewardship over and for our Earth and Solarian Commons. Thank you.