The Thousand Yard Stare is never far from me. I feel I can slip into it at any time, needing only a moment's break from the fray for it to appear. My co-laborers live in one world, I live in another. Among the Homeless such a state is not frowned upon. In fact, you might even say it is revered. A certain holiness is attached to the time one needs to reconcile with whatever horrors the day has brought. It's an unspoken code never to disturb the sober absorption of what hell one's life has become.
In the "regular" world, it's a different story. God forbid you should go into a Thousand Yard Stare at a jobsite. Even at break time it is verboten, bound to be shattered by unobliging onlookers. Christ, can you fuckers give me no respite!? Some sordid soul always comes along with a "Hey, snap out of it!" or some such whiplash - and they don't let up until a look of anguish registers on your face.
Small events like this are noticed when they happen but wash away with the currents of the day. The Monster Man who snaps you from your reverie is either scared to see you escape the pain of a world he entombs himself in or is outraged by your failure to worship his godly world. Little battles of spiritual warfare like this are conducted every day, all the day long. I'm sure in offices these battles can even degenerate into running vendettas and political backstabbing. I wonder what the world would look if seen only from the spiritual point of view.
I can imagine it would be pretty ugly.
No one wins a war - to have descended into fighting is to have lost. To please the money god, I must bend my will and suppress my desires to live. At night, the efforts of daily life bleed into my dreams, distorting reality. Twisting life's flow for Meaningless Endeavors for money twists the soul as well. In times of attempted rest, the perverted thinking of "dying is living" replays the trials of torture endured from the conscious day. I fear the period of shut eyes. Wringing sweat covers me from head to toe as I'm jarred awake from nightly Dream Screams.
The Homeless are expected to suffer, to disintegrate from Miserable Existence. Whether admitted or not, we are all well aware of our dog-eat-dog ways. When a man watches his peers go off to war as he stays behind, the guilt is overwhelming in his failure to share the burden. When you spot me, I see that same consternation in your eyes. It's the guilt of having turned your back on love. Funny thing is, I share that same guilt.
But what would God think of your guilt?? Or your parents? Or your kids? That's why we must hide the Homeless! Hide the Homeless now! Do it before God finds out what you've done to your love.
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