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Cultural problem of homelessness [Poem]

I am inspired by my teacher Ven. Mingyur Rinpoche as well my own experience of loosing my home, more than once… today on the street cruising with people and little bit of coin and love and most importantly security in my own sane mind along with my rage I can cope with my pain inner and mental physical and parental.

Feel sane in your rage people, feel sane, it isn’t about superficial kindness and fake peace where a smile breaks your face from pain and everyone who sees it knows what you are feeling. In silence no one comments.

Because of the goddamn money?

Money isn’t a problem here!

It is a sense of value

The real human connection in the current condition and with the right right reasons, without love money will never buy you love, street can show you what is missing and enhance your healing.

Awareness and pain numbness cannot hide don’t let rage of unresolved problems stand in your way, money isn’t the reason.

Money isn’t the shame and in homelessness if money is a game then it will be shameful to see it one day and say

Good damn, for this paper ?!

For this coin!?

This is not the value the real human treasure it isn’t the value of people

Money won’t replace what your guide can give you, because money isn’t the value, sharing is simple, love shares, gives and it doesn’t shame, degrade, it rises and heals.

It is pain.

Street hurts everyone.

The blind the most.

The deaf and cold to reality.

The ones who want to be right in a dream of illusory culture of their mind. The proud who hold on to the image of correctness. Who are they correcting? Have they got their lives figured out or are they really holding to scarcity and fear of failure and loss and depression and most of all to the death. They do, they are clenching death in their hands.

The desire to kill so goddamn real for some people over money? Over no love, just a coin, where is your worth? It isn’t in your bank account it is in the sane mind. The sane give with a smile on their face without greed. All things solved. No home, homelessness hurts us all.

In our country Canada everyone is included already in homelessness, in your taxes you pay towards shelters, and medical care (great big shelter it is too). Homelessness touches any walk of life and socioeconomic spheres, damn pain, it does, even millionaires end up on the street homeless sometimes wanting to bring order to their lives, the heavy pace of life and discomfort pushes all inner connections to work harder than normal.

Because we haven’t got a clue how to pick up a telephone.

Some cry, some laugh, some cannot bear their emotion, don’t handle money if you cannot handle your feeling.

Yes I would take my daughter on the street with me and feel safe together and discuss all that matters, maybe it is like the Peruvian mountain that needs to be reached, this one is a dive and like all things in life it is what you make out of it. Feel comfortable it can even bring you a laugh. Street is yoga.

Homelessness can be visible or hidden, exposed or silent, in the mountains or city, in the shelter or tent, the scariest one is one in your home where you were born, chained and detached scared and poisoned locked to obey and do not ask questions, thank God Goddess, hermits and loners I could pray. People would see me, it was transparent. People weren’t helpful and kind. Humanity has a feel and sense a vibe and transparency and it flows mostly in the direction of resonance with what is good and whole and helpful and restoring. Not killing.

Rinpoche is so good to me, I can meet myself again on the street, real, whole, quiet, observant, cuddled, cold, with pain, no tear, just feeling the inner talks, working themselves out, thank the street it is here to help you all workout your discomfort and fear shame and delusion paranoias and problems.

I want a home, a real one filled with love and care good vibes and values and no war, no silent treatment and no avoidance, no carpet 4 inches off the floor covering up all that was swept under it, so thick and ugly, the sticky mucky dark disturbed mental and emotional junk that prevents us from seeing what real colour of the floor is,

then after a while, we also ignore the floor, and somehow we get this disease and we don’t look at people and we have only these papers in our hands and plastic cards tapping and passing paper aka money and numbers without at all reflecting about the other human being or that carpet covering up that 4 inch pile of scum. Damn where is the real value hidden?

I am into walking a lot.


Image by author, homeless man in Toronto.

By Maria Aleksa Szewczyk

Maria Aleksa Sonam Wangmo (she/Goddess) 🖋 my family name is Szewczyk. 🌴🦦🌴
I am weird. I believe in nature & nurture. I am an Ayurvedic Life-Style Counselor. I have a husband Loten Dahortsang. I have a daughter Kata.
ཡོཾ་ཏཱ་རེ་ཏུ་ཏྟཱ་རེ་ཏུ་རེ་སྭཱ་ཧཱ།
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha! That’s for my family. 🐚🪨
I have a mandala.
I have Big Love in my life. I have children.
Chocolate is my friend. We are teachers. Chocolate has much to teach.
We love to help people. 🧉

💕Motherhood is important 🌬

I am an Author. ☮️ to people.
Art, culture & language of women 💃🏻
Ooh la la la la la