Homelessness and the Suburbs

Yesterday, I met a man who is planning to buy and develop a working farm in my area. His intention is to make a home, there, for at-risk young people — kids who otherwise might end up on the streets, homeless or in gangs, kids with troubles like autism and other disorders that keep them out of the mainstream. The farm gives the kids a place to work and live, the sales of produce keeps the whole thing self-sustainable, and with some grant money and other fund raising efforts, it's a win-win situation.

I am so happy to have met a philanthropist with the heart and mind of an entrepreneur — a person who can see and execute solutions to these problems, and isn't afraid to put a lot of hard work into the "unrewarding" task of helping others. My own idealism about these things makes me a good *helper* for such an endeavor, but somewhat challenged in the *leadership* role. I really wish, sometimes, I could be that person who is really good at breaking down the barriers to progress on a big scale.

What I find in my own life is an ability to chip away at the negative structures of society, in almost minute ways. I *love* sitting with a homeless or mentally ill person and simply talking about stuff. I *love* being friendly with people whom others shun. I remember being "that person" very well . . . in fact I still *am* that person in a lot of ways, even though, today, I have *some* of the outward trappings of "normal" society. When I approach someone who "looks weird" and start up a conversation with them, I always come away recognizing how many people I know who "look normal" and have absolutely nothing interesting to say.

I try to remind myself of what Baba said about results of spiritual work . . . that a *big,* splashy, spiritual effort is sometimes only an ego trap, and can do more harm than good when the intention is misdirected. My most recent "big effort" was my call for a sit-in of homeless people in front of my house. Sort of silly, overall, to invite a bunch of homeless people away from the places they feel safe, to simply be homeless at *my house* . . . and I wasn't even able to rally my friends enough to guarantee food for them for a short period of time!! Mostly because I am "too weird" to sustain an effort like that from "normal" people, I guess. lol.

So, I guess the lesson for me here is "leave it to the professionals." It was sage advice my Dad gave me in the early eighties, when I started trying to sing Bette Midler songs as practice for some of my theatrical efforts. Bette . . . you are a true professional. I *know* you are right about the The Rose . . . it indeed exists as a seedling, far beneath the winter snows. It's *your* job to sing about it, and *my* job to cry every time.