Why must we beg for help? I don’t want to be rich. I just want to live. Why attack me rather than help me enjoy not being rich? Surely me wanting to be poor-er helps you to be rich-er. (Forgive my grammar, I did not go to Harvard.)
Where does this fear come from? It’s so puzzling to me, why you would go out of your way to dispute my choices and try to entice me to conform and be like you. Maybe I don’t want that. All I want to do is walk in the Sun all day, and learn what He’s doing, teaching, and providing. What’s wrong with that?
The sad part is, I can’t just walk around and do good in the Sun day by day; I’m poor and there is damn near no place to use the bathroom. I’m homeless, therefore you deem something is wrong with me!
“Pull yourself up by your bootstraps,” you tell me.
But I don’t want no straps, I just want to love life, and love you. Why hate me?
When I attempt to hide in alleys or behind cars to urinate or defecate, or to try and find a warm dry place to rest in the cold — you look at me with disappointment, anger, judgment. You chase me down and chastise me with your eyes and your choices of power.
You call it “good” to herd me like cattle from one block to another, from one neighborhood to another, from one state to another — just because I don’t have a home. Thanks to the Sun for creating a Sea, or else I might not never have a chance to rest my feet.
Surely you, Mr. Rich Man, have had to at least urinate outside at some point? But you must remember, Mr. Rich Man, that men and women were here before there were houses, before the words “rich” or “poor” or even “hate” itself passed over our lips. The sciences say mankind has been here for more than one billion Sun risings.
I am asking you to listen to me, this man who is poor in materials but rich in heart. Have the poor not proven by now that we love the rich? It’s just perplexing why you don’t love us back. We insure your riches, by accepting our desire to handle being poor. Why impose sanctions, criminalizations, to make the poor go crazy? Do you desire me to walk around and talk to ghosts, spirits, or voices? Why make me pray so hard for a solution to be poor and at peace that I become loud in the streets and people look at me like I don’t make any sense? You won’t talk to me, so who should I talk to?
I have given so much for you to be rich, because I understand from mathematics that Mother Earth does not have enough resources for all nearly eight billion of our brothers and sisters to be rich. So why has my sacrifice for you been met with so much hostility? You would rather lock me up for urinating in the streets than provide me, at least, a place to urinate. Don’t you see,, it takes a lot of work to be poor, as it does to be rich.
Many, many, many Sun risings ago, as a youth I had a fight with a person who more recently became deceased. He flat out told me then, “I DON’T WANT TO BE RICH!!!” And it took me more than 10,000 Sun risings (27+ years) to finally understand what he was saying and to know the error in my own ways. He was right. And even if he hadn’t been, how childish it was to fight over a person’s choice, especially when that choice was neither Good nor Evil. It was his power to decide his own level of love for money. Not mines.
May he rest in peace.
In my first article, I asked you to consider what is good and what is evil? In my second article, I questioned power: Is it simply a choice? The question I leave you with today is: Do the masses really, in their heart, want to be rich? Or do they just love the fantasy of it but in their living mind make a choice to be poor for the rich?
Much love and respect.
