Cold Water

Cold water in the seas, the rivers, and streams

Cold water in the rains at night, in the springtime, the wintertime

Cold water against tired eyes

Cold water in the gutters, clogged with leaves

Cold water from melting snow in mittened hands

I've lived a little too long in a world a little too cruel

So now I've got cold water in my heart

How Can We Measure the Worth of a Stranger?

This past weekend a group of us ran a pet food and coin drive in front of our local Vons, in support of Helen Woodward Animal Center.  

 

For those of you that don't know, Vons is a chain of grocery stores in the US.  Maybe in other parts of the world too-I dunno, really.

Anyhow, It was a pretty good experience-humbling to be snubbed by good people with problems and lives of their own, and gratifying to be heeded by good people that cared.  Some of them shared their stories along with their nickels and dimes and dollar bills, crisp or faded and wrinkled.  Some of them had dogs with them, and some of them bright cheeked children.  

But it isn't for them that I write, although they deserve all the thanks in the world.

Halfway through the first day, an older Asian man parked his bicycle across the way from us and entered the store.  He came and went for a while, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette for a while, and then striding off into the store, or away toward Bertrand's Music store.  His face was deeply tanned and leathery, he wore a soldier's camo and sturdy boots.  Around his right arm was proudly pinned a yellow sash that read "Philippines".  He studied us by turns, but didn't say anything.  At first.

Then he came toward us, smiling reproachfully, and said: "How come you guys don't ask me?"

And shame flooded me.  Why hadn't we asked him? We had asked almost everyone else that passed by.  There was no smile kinder than his, no bearing stronger, prouder.  Why hadn't we thought to ask him?

He pulled out a beaten black leather wallet and pulled out two one dollar bills.  His weather-beaten, square-tipped fingers carefully smoothed them out and tucked them into our donation box.  

Why hadn't we asked him?

He accepted a piece of chocolate, beaming, and left, legs pumping easily on that beaten old bike. 

A poor veteran, spat up by Big Brother, and snubbed by the likes of us.  Who are we?  Sixteen and seventeen year-olds sitting in front of a whistle-stop of a faceless corporation and asking for donations.  Who are we to judge his worth? Because in essence, we did just that-we decided for him, without his consent, that he couldn't donate.  That our lot wasn't his lot, that our cause couldn't also be his cause.  

I can't remember the last time I was so ashamed.  

But our thanks were genuine.  His smile lost its edge and his eyes disappeared in a sea of creases and wrinkles.  After he left, we sat in silence for a while.  

After he left, we had people come up, twenty dollar bills held at attention, demanding reciepts for tax returns.  They left in a huff when they heard that we hadn't any to give. 

My own grandfather fought in World War Two.  It could have so easily been him.  Lord, I hate society for sweeping the valient into shadows.  They deserve so much better. 

You're Grounded

The strangest thing.  I have been sitting here, on dirt, for a while and before that, I was standing on it.  It's like I'm absorbing power through my bare feet.

I've heard the word "grounding" thrown around before.  In a physics class last year, in the videos of raw vegan foodies, on the lips of the random hippie that comes wandering my way.  Just kidding.  There aren't very many hippies where I live-either that or they're all in hiding from the rest of us ignoramuses.  Haha.

But I admit that I don't know a while lot about the subject.  My basic understanding tells me this: contacting the earth-the GROUND-with uncovered skin is beneficial, the idea being that as industrialization and urbanization pulled the human race forward. the opportunities we've had for communicating thusly with Mother Earth have dwindled.  I can't tell you if there's any actual merit to this, as I have done zero research.  I'm not a scientist-heck, I'm not known for my stellar common sense either-but I think I'm cabable of describing how it feels.

Feels great.

I stood, earlier, and drank my papaya-strawberry-banana smoothie, and looked out into my backyard.  It's a nice lot, just patchy here, and overgrown there.  Still mostly green, though.  I was standing in what used to be covered in grass but is now mostly dried, crusted-over dirt with a sprinkling of clover and crab grass.

Then, when my smoothie ran out, a whole blenderful of the stuff, I brought out a mason ar full of nettle tea.  You know, those big glass jars that come holding those "Classico" pasta sauces.

What? I'm not made of money, you know.

And by now that sun had come out again.  The crumbly dirt beneat the soles of my feet and between my toes, in my hands, the sun warming the spot bettween my shoulder blades, and my arms, my face, my neck...

I am not a scientist, therefore I cannot assess the scientific benefits of grounding.  I cannot even guarentee that I'm doing it right (again, zero research).  But as a human being, I am more than qualified to judge the spiritual benefits.

I feel tranquil, like I've considered every burden I've ever had to carry and made peace.  I feel strong, like I am unbreakable.  I feel brave, like I'll never be afraid again.  Above all, I feel healthy, and glad because of it.  It's not like I was any less healthy before I took my sandals off and danced like a five year old on a patch of dirt, but it's like now I'm able to appreciate it.  Now I'm aware of the human potential, the power in my limbs, the beauty of youth.  Even greater than that, the beauty of vitality.

So now, gladly, I sip at my nettles and wiggle my toes in the dusty earth.  My lungs expand with great breathes of warm, Spring air.

I guess I don't really give a hoot what scientists have to say; I don't care what Google might have told me, had I looked.  There must be something to grounding yourself because at least you're removing yourself from iPhones, microwaves, etc.  I think I'll be coming out here a lot more often, because now I feel regretful that I have to go.

If I get ringworm, though, I'm gonna be super pissed.