This morning, BH and I watched the following video which was shared by a sister blogger. The link is here in case the video does not show up.
It is the story of a homeless man who lived on a traffic island in the middle of Avenida Pedroso de Moraes. He wore layers upon layers of black plastic and every day as we passed by in a rush to get somewhere else, there he was, huddled up in rain or sun, writing something. Writing endlessly.
Locally we called him the Poet of Pedroso. Everyone knew of him. But not many knew him really. As BH said this morning after watching the video, we should all do a little soul-searching on why we weren't the ones to stop and talk with him first. Yes, after he got his own page, people did begin to drop by and talk with him. I did not.
Why is that? What would you say? Would you ask to see the poetry? Would you ask how he is feeling and how would you answer if he were to say "terrible"? I think most of us are so conditioned to fear or at least avoid the "crazy" homeless, that it never even entered my mind to stop.
Fortunately, there are bigger souls than mine and the woman who narrates much of the tale is one of them. I love these stories. Saving lives one at a time. I wish Raimundo well always.