Fragile

I keep coming back to the same idea:


We are so fragile.


Only when I think this it’s more like a lament:


--a cry a sadness that washes over me a desire to cry a desire to love and to be loved--


we are so fragile we are so fragile why are we so fragile why are we so how can we be so fragile why doesn’t everyone see how fragile we are is it only me who is fragile is it only me who can see fragility why does this fragility make me want to cry fragility is met with more fragility your fragility makes me want to cry it makes me want to cry it makes me want to hold you it makes me want to run away I don’t want you to see how fragile I am I don’t want anyone to see my fragility I am not this fragile I am not fragile I am not I am I


How quickly humans can go from tears to something else entirely.


Inside fragility is agile.


I won’t fall apart if you breathe on me.


Though there’s no telling what one soft breath might do.  Alter time.  Suspend gravity? Bring on the rain?


The ripple effect of one kind word is more frightening than a fist.  Why is that?


Violence is easy.  We know that kind of pain with a dumb understanding.


Kindness is something altogether different.  It tears open your heart and leaves you vulnerable.  Leaves a feeling of indebtedness.  And it’s easier to pay back with a fist than to pay back with a kiss.


Compassion is painful.

Catholic Guilt Inspires Action

So, when I was walking to the Blue Line stop at Cicero on my way back to CTC from Michele Clark High School, I see a person lying on the sidewalk, face-down.  At first, I took said person to be a drunk construction worker.  He was wearing jeans and boots and had messy longish hair.  Some sirens cut through the air and this person sat up suddenly, so I knew that he wasn't dead.  There were other people walking about and no one else stopped but me.

Then I see that this person is a woman, and she is obviously high as a kite and is nodding out while trying to pick up some change that she dropped on the sidewalk.

I yell, "Hey!  You're sleeping!  You can't sleep!"

Meanwhile the traffic on Cicero Avenue is barreling along, the cars getting onto 290 are whizzing by.

She kept nodding out.  But eventually, she stood up.  I picked up her change and handed it to her.  All the fingers on her hands were swollen like sausages.  I don't know how she was able to hold the change in her hand, yet she did.  She could not walk in a straight line.  She kept wobbling and veering and almost walked into the street.  I held her back a couple of times.  Finally I saw that it was clear to cross.

"Do you want to cross?" I asked very loudly.

She followed me across the street.  Once across the street, I was worried that she wouldn't get far enough away from the corner to avoid falling into traffic.  She got as far as the light pole and the concrete barrier for the overpass above 290.  "Sit down."  I kept ordering.  I figured she could sit on the concrete edge of the overpass.  She did not listen to my pale orders.  Instead she nodded out until she was folded in half with her head down and leaning against the light pole.

I walked several yards away and called 911.  Told the lady on the phone that this woman appeared high and was going to get herself run over by a car.  I also mentioned that her fingers looked like she might have had frostbite.  "Do I need to stay here?"  I asked the 911 dispatcher.  "No, we'll send someone."

I walked up the block to the train and went through the turnstile.  From the platform I could see the firetruck, then the ambulance, then the cop car come by.  I think they put her in the ambulance so at least I can rest assured that she won't get run over by a car (at least not today).

Later, I tell Ange the story and muse over her fingers...how I assumed frostbite, but I don't know maybe something else could cause that.  Ange, ever the doctor exclaims, "could be leprosy."

"Leprosy!?!  People have leprosy in the United States?"  I freak out in my ignorance. "I touched her!"  I exclaim.

Ange consoles me, "You probably won't get leprosy."

Hmmmmmm.  Great.  Just great.

Still, felt horrible watching that woman and how out-of-it she was and how dangerous her life is and how she didn't even seem aware of her sausage fingers.  Ugh.  I hope she is ok.

Marching on...

February felt full of flights of fancy.  Fretful fearsome foolishness.
Now onwards with March.
Mucho meditation is needed.
Must master moodiness and misguided machinations.