I was driving through San Francisco along Park Presidio to take the Golden Gate bridge to get to Bolinas. Most of the time I travel these streets there are people who catch my attention. I love the freedom the city offers and people accept in expressing who they are and what they believe. I frequently see freedom in fashion or hair, open artistry of life. The intersections are not quiet. I’ve wondered about the tiny old women I see waiting for a bus or the teens on their cell phones seemingly oblivious to traffic. It is all too easy to live without engaging the other humans streaming right alongside of me. Unrelated, disconnected, we travel parallel to one another and yet without openly acknowledging that the unseen pulse of life is moving through us all. At the very least we are sharing the air, the same air that has moved in and out of countless lungs before me and will continue to move through others after coursing through my own tissue.
He was shouting into the traffic though I have no idea what he was saying. I wonder what had so captivated his heart that letting everyone know was paramount. It might seem to be obvious given the objects he holds and wears. But it wasn’t the words I could not hear, it was the passion of his desire to share regardless of how he might appear that affected me. The courage to be so dedicated to his belief that he could surrender attachment to the ‘normal’ boundaries of society and bring his message to the streets for anyone who might pass by. The message I received was to be willing to let my own voice be spoken, offered, to value that I too have some small gift to offer to the chorus of life. We each do.