Happy Sam should never have been homeless. I only wish I had the descriptive powers to relate the vibes he exudes that just naturally make you want to root for him. He has this classy, soothing air of good feeling about him that makes everyone be on his side. He never complains about his situation, not even silently. (Don't confuse "unheard" with "unknown", folks). I admit I'm in awe of the guy in that respect as there's no way I can make it through a day without some serious bitching. It's a bile most of us need to puke up on a daily basis.
Everyone bitches differently. Some say, "It's not so bad at the bottom", hoping to appease the gods of misfortune. But they are merely keeping the bile inside and when the time comes for the inevitable fucking life brings the poor, they explode. Others swing the other way, bitching about everything because they have no say in anything. That kind of anger can rot your gut. Most of us are a mixture of the two with hopefully a little Happy Sam thrown in.
You see, Sam has none of that; being neither resigned nor destructive. His inner peace is truly a marvel to behold, like an eye of a hurricane. Just being in his sphere of influence makes the claws of anger drop from your soul, giving this sort of lighter than air feeling that if I could bottle would save mankind even from itself. No one can resist it, like an elixir for life! All this without causing a single spark of jealousy to boot.
So my curiosity was piqued when I saw my secret role model (my public stance is: "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!") sitting off by himself in reflective pose over by the I-45 overlook of our clusterfuck mixmaster here in downtown Dallas. It may not have been obvious to most but I could tell something was wrong. His body language was different - not "down" but just somehow off. Was he a mere mortal after all?
I sat down beside him on the hillside grass in silence feeling the rush of my defenses dropping, knowing I wouldn't know what to say until I was in the moment. I surprised even myself with my unguarded frankness.
"So what's wrong?" I queried, hoping I wasn't merely painting him with my usual negativity.
He didn't answer right away and he knew I didn't need an answer right away. Even his silence rocks! I took that time to relish Sam's natural elegance and how I might copy it. I laughed to myself remembering Sheila's line of how "dirt just moves around him". He could look better in a slept-in ruffled suit than I ever could in a finely pressed one. Sam proved the old axiom false: it really is the man who makes the clothes. I put "get inner peace so I can look cool" on my life's to-do list.
"I'm just waiting," murmured Sam.
Aw, hell, here's where I gotta pretend I know what the fuck he's talking about so he thinks I'm as cool as he is. "Know what ya mean...," I ventured, hoping not to put a question mark at the end of it. I mean, I guess all our lives are on hold in one sense or another - at least when you're moneyfucked anyway. Or maybe he meant something completely different. After all, he's not an asshole like I am.
"I'm just waiting for God to care about the truth."
OK, so it was something completely different. But then I pained myself - which I always know is the wrong thing to do but do anyway when feeling pressed - to make what I thought was a relevant comment. "Maybe God's waiting for us to care about the truth."
Sam's flashed a sharp look towards me. "But of course," he said as one bothered at having to express the obvious. Clearly, I had missed his point. I felt like such a failure, afraid to show my true reaction.
Happy Sam never shows this side of him. He never gets caught up in philosophical discussions or how The Man is fucking us (He is, dammit!) or any other debates of reality. But logically, to have the kind of peace and goodwill he did he had to have a side that cared deeply with unshakable convictions. Yet I was a tad floored when he let me in like that. It meant an admission of trust in me and I squirmed not knowing how to repay that priceless honor.
It's true, truth has gone down the toilet, washed away by seas of lies, shouted down, slandered and vilified in malicious mania. But Sam is a true dreamer and by staying true to his dreams saw the world as it could be - as it should be. Or, as I think Sam was telling me now, as it will be.
Happy Sam wants to build a home in this world but he knows the destroyers will undo every stone he puts down. Yet he knows the time will come for his home if not in this life then the next. And I can imagine his house as one full of love and life where I would fear my soul to tread but ache to do so. And that's when I found myself smiling on a dying planet watching jam-packed cars honk at one another in trapped torment as their fumes shorten our global lifespan.
Sam suspected my thoughts and looked over at me with a twinkle in his eye, reading me like an open book. I actually blushed as self-revelation is not my way. For a few moments I felt the peace too and wanted to stay rooted in that world forever. Then Sam got up and walked away as I reverted back to my normal self, picking up a rock and launching it at a Hummer driver.
"Republican fucker!"
-----------------------
How to have such class?
No comments:
Post a Comment