TALK TO STRANGERS

After a certain unset age, we are told to give up childish things. One of the most childish things that we are taught to never give up is the practice of not talking to strangers. We learn this creed from a young age. You must fear the unknown; you must avoid people you don’t know. Cross the street if you must. Step around the body. Nothing to see here.

The thing is, when we close ourselves off, we feed our souls with a closed loop, which is nutritionally worse than Fruit Loops- Toucan Sam be damned. If you try to live on Fruit Loops, the effect is spiritual starvation.

When we talk to a stranger, we never know if we will be the one who will benefit from this contact, or if they will be the one who benefits. Benefits are mysterious because they are not always obvious. Who is the angel here? Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s them. When we allow ourselves to care about someone who we don’t even know, we grow. When we allow ourselves to receive care from others, we grow.

I must admit some words, like angel, are triggers for some. I grew up in an Episcopalian church from age 9 until about 14 years old. I’ve written about that before; no need to repeat. Please note angel is a large word that comes from many cultures.

Angel derives from the Greek angelos, a translation of a Hebrew word meaning "messenger." Angels are considered the lowest of the nine orders in Christian celestial hierarchy and also appear in Islamic and Judaic tradition.

Messengers, Spirits, Ghosts even. These messengers from another realm are real people in most cases. No need for wings. They may not be aware they possess this talent. You may not be aware you could be one yourself.

Yesterday I made the point of complementing some strangers on their gardens. It was a beautiful way to bring out a smile from guarded individuals. We are all still suffering the after shock of the forced shutdowns of the pandemic. It will take generations to fully appreciate the psychic deaths we suffered. Mental illness is such apart of our world now that many of us think of it as normal. That is a huge shift from how mental illness was seen in other decades of my life.

I saw a neighbour who lives up the street. She has a daughter who we have witnessed growing from a child to a self determined trans individual. She had a dog, she didn’t have a dog, now again she has a dog. She also had a husband. He died recently from poison drug supply. His driver was anxiety. He had a “ good dealer”. He was loved by his family and he loved his family.

Now he is gone from their life in a physical sense. Went to bed one night, did not wake up. So incredibly sad, and pervasive and common. More people die in our town from poison drugs and poverty than ever died from Covid.

I crossed the street as I wanted to let her know my feelings of condolence. She was in tears shortly, and we hugged. Neighbours, but strangers. Hugging on the sidewalk, as she talked through her complicated feelings. I’m not sure what compelled me to cross the street, but I am so glad that I did. Her trans teen joked that Dad could finally get some fucking sleep, as that was all he ever wanted. She laughed at that thought. Him finally getting that fucking sleep. But the hurt of her loss was real and raw.

I don’t relate this to toot my horn or grow wings. I relate this as a simple act of sympathy and sharing. What we humans are here for.

Like Eden Ahbez said, The greatest thing we ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return.”