The Homeless, Section 1

On:  ScrabbleBinxy.Blogspot.com
Author:  Carroll Scherber

Created:  July 17, 2014

The Homeless, Section 1

Are the Homeless truly homeless, or are they just without a home?  What is it like to be without… without a home… without a place to place your belongings?  What is like to be homeless without friends, family, acquaintances and associates?  What is life like when you cannot earn a wage, or rely on the government for assistance?  Is there a place to play upon this earthly ground, is there a place to play upon a playground, or is there a place to play above the ground?  Where is home, where is my playground, where is the place I place my head, and just where is the place I place the remains of heart?  I am here to provide you with my heart on this matter for my heart is my home, and my heart is the only home I have; so, what I have left is my shield and my sword which protect and defend my heart which I carry home.  Therefore, I am never truly homeless; I am just without… without a place to play with my things inside a place I can call home.

The Homeless are homeless for many of reasons, and many of reasons which are unknown to me or maybe to you because you may know of a man who is homeless and shares a pathway into a place within your home.  Under federal law to be homeless is to be without a home; as to your chronic condition of homelessness is founded upon various conditions and varied situations.  To be listed as “HOMELESS” sounds so derogatory in terms of the name itself.  We all have a picture of an individual on the street corner, either with a sign or just with their hand placed outward ready to receive the smallest amount of denomination possible.  The signs are come in many sizes, many shapes and in many forms; most commonly from a cardboard box.  What you don’t question is where the box came from; what is their home, was it their temporary shelter, or was it the covering they placed over their head when it rained.  The sign what was it made of, what was written upon this piece of paper that drew your attention, and what was used to stencil upon placard which was being presented before you that passed by your eye?  Was it a pen, a crayon with color to emulate the need for which their heart may have or may have not desired, was it a marker which was discarded and may have gone transparent, or maybe… maybe… it could easily be the feces of our own human waste because we are the waste which mankind so easily discards.

Whomever the man or woman is on the corner, under the tree, in front of your local market or store, in the park which may lay upon their backside or in a shelter which may house many, a few, several, or just one; how do you look upon them?  Is it the same way you look upon yourself in the mirror which I have brought to the forefront verses the background, or is it the way you look upon your family, your friends, your relatives, your acquaintances, or your internet friends?  You may read upon with your disgust or an appetite to do nothing; whatever it may be, that image of homelessness is right there in front of you.  The images of homelessness come in many of form, shape and size because the homeless even have to look upon the mirrors which we share in public.  Are we the homeless or are we the ones without a home?  I maybe secure in the place I reside, I may be protected by four walls, a ceiling and a floor underneath my feet, or I may be secure with who I am.  Who I am is protected now by my shield and my sword for which I carry to protect and defend against the gaining foe which will stand before me and attack at my heart.  Where the Homeless places their two feet or their backsides is a place of their choosing; however, their choosing may not be the place of their heart.

The term “HOMELESS” is given to us by our governments which oversee the population of those who become transient.  Where is the need of homelessness?  Is it the need of just a place to stay for a while, whether it be for a day, a week, a month, three months, or a year; or is it a label which we place on those who are carrying their baggage behind them, or within a vehicle, or upon their backsides, or is a place for one to get a fresh start, possibly with a job, or possibly for recovery, or possibly a rescue or an escape?  Is it a place to shower, to shave or a place to defecate; maybe…, it is for all three?  Are reason are truly only know to us and not to our governments.  The label in my opinion is a label that I wish I did not have to wear; nevertheless, it is a classification that I must place on paper in order to receive aid.  As to how much aid I receive is dependent upon my need, my disability, my handicap, my disorder, my quest, my survival, and even a community support.  My need for a home was based upon my need for a job, a need for wages, a need for shelter, and a need because all other doors were closed to me.  I may be standing on the Unemployment Line awaiting a position, but our unemployment factors do not work the same as they used to twenty to thirty years ago from this era of self-promotion.

My need comes from a place where I cannot park and sleep in my vehicle on a nightly basis not know where I am going to be able to shower, shave and prepare myself for an interview.  My need comes from knowing that sleeping upon my backside upon the ground which the earth’s core warms are backsides and the air cools the sweat that radiates from our brow.  My need comes from know that I don’t have to defecate or urinate upon your lawn, or leave a brown flaming bag of manure; nor do I have to ask for a key to utilize a public facility knowing that the restrooms are for paying customers only.  My need comes knowing that I do not have to wash my garments either in a toilet or within a sink which may leave a trail of markings behind.  Because of who I am, I take these things into consideration and for your consideration; although, your consideration may not equal my consideration.  I am not judging you as to what you see, but I am merely highlighting the things that you may see or want to forget.  Do we forget our homeless?  Possibly…?  We pass by then on a daily basis, and as to the actions that we take are the actions that we don’t take.

I have been known to not take any action when I may have been employed; however, it does not mean that I do not open my head to the thought of the need that is required to support our homeless.  Am I guilty of not contributing?  Yes.  Am I guilty of not offering?  Yes.  Am I in a situation that has been brought upon by the actions of others?  Yes.  These actions may easily have been because of the recession, these actions may have easily been brought upon by the Sheriffs of Riverside County, these actions may have been brought upon by my own hand, or these actions may have easily been brought upon by our policies on how we hire our homeless society.  I struggle on a daily basis; now through depression, false arrest records, false accusations, harassment thought a form of electronic communication, knowing where my next place of residence is going to be whether it be inside a jail cell serving three square nutritious meals a day, or whether it be in another shelter, or whether it be scouring the street for a place to park or to escape the heat of the day where the sun shines brightly down upon the trees which provide the shade where seek out the breeze for which the wind will provide to cool our backsides and the hair which may rise upon ones chest.  I am struggling to make a court appearance, make a job interview, to make life happen underneath my feet.  I am struggling to stay in contact in family, with friends, with business contacts, with my animal kingdom, and my medical appointments; it even goes to the extent of proving my cases for which I have so unjustly and been wrongfully accused.

I struggle to maintain my sanity knowing that at any moment of the day my depression could escalate.  After surviving a suffocation, a suicide attempt with a knife to the throat, a suicide which lead to resurrection and a suicide attempt which lead to me calling the local Sheriff’s Department leading to an ambulance and the pumping of my stomach, I find almost solace and a friend within a shelter which has provide me a place to call home.  It may not be permanent, but it is out of reach from the harm that others have caused.  Homelessness is not a virtue nor is it something I would wish upon anybody, but it is a place where I can obtain a hot meal, warm bedding, clean clothing, workforce assistance, aid to medical appointment, maybe not all types but those that are available, or a friend, and a place where I can feel comfortable, yes…, I said, “comfortable” to defecate.  My needs are fewer than others, however, they may be greater than most; my need for assistance is the need for a place, a place where I can look, I can glare, I can study, I can move forward, and a place I can advance and especially a place where a mirror is hung inside a nook so I may prepare to examine the images that I see upon a daily basis.

The images are sometimes singular in thought and the motions appear the same, the person behind the grocery cart may be the person you least likely to expect to change a nation; whereas, the motions are the same to insight a bit of change into ones hand, hat or box for you either assist or not assist in placing a noble eagle within my grasp.  The images of the homeless are the images you want to see.  Each person’s condition is different and never the same.  An image of the homeless is an image which can set before you; where have you placed you mirror?  Is your mirror on your bureau, your nightstand, on your bathroom wall, hung within the closet, on your makeup counter, or strategically placed within the room for your self-image to appear; whereas, in a public restroom your image may never appear, for you may just have to look for a shiny surface that is either dull or a distorted reflection of who you are.  You mirror or reflecting glass should be in a place for you to pass by every time you either enter or exit a room.  The image are always going to change, and so, are the people that pass by these images of who they are.

The minutes of the day are the minutes within the hour; whereas, seconds of the day are the seconds we wonder if those images we look at are going to change either in front of our eyes or in front of someone else’s irises.  The images may take on a metamorphosis whether we are peering into those not so shiny objects which contain a reflection of my distorted image because the image upon my face is already distorted by the uncleanliness of our environment; or whether if they appear within a piece of glass which contains the nickel for which are noble eagles may reside.  There may be a room without a reflecting metal; does your image still appear or do you stand there a feel your way through the image which you have memorized for so many years; subsequently, you could say the image was standing in the room.  The reflection of the image may not have been set before you; however, you could have easily created an image within your own creation of an oasis.