Homeless Soul

         

  

 

There is no Them.

There are only facets of Us.

John Green

This morning I watched a man wander down our street.  He wore black clothes decorated with soil in the fabric and highlighted by rips and tears.  His crown was a faded black stocking cap, pulled down over long and stringy gray hair.  His face, an unnatural color,  was not clean shaven and deep creases were the medals he wore.  His torn shoes reflected his long time in battle.

A neighbor's car pulled to the side of the road.  A retired gentleman from three blocks down got out and approached this poor tired soul.  The man extended a coffee and a McDonald's bag filled with food.  The wandering man shook his head definitely declining the generous offer.  The neighbor encouraged the elder man to accept the food, but whether tired, hungry, or poor, the wanderer was not inclined to accept the food. 

I am proud of the neighbor who wanted to help, and I wonder about the tired old soul.  I speculate if he was off medication that would permit him to remain tethered in this world.  Was he schizophrenic or paranoid or simply a homeless soul. 

As hours of my day passed on, I continued thinking of the wandering man.  Where was he now and where would he go?  Might he be a Master from another realm invoking compassion is our very souls?