A New Champion
A New Champion
An eventful morning during my run at the park: I met a new friend there.
As many of you know, I am friendly with many of the homeless folks who live at the park near my home in Los Angeles. Today there was a new gentleman. I call him "Russell" after Russell Crowe in Gladiator, because at our first meeting, he became a champion!
There is a pathway that weaves around the park at about .8 miles. I run that pathway between 3 and 6 times every day, depending upon my mood and time commitments.At the southern bend of the trail, I first saw Russell. He wore his hair like a Knight, short bangs cut straight across and around, but with slightly longer hair in back. It was dark dark brown with tints of grey, and he wore a full beard. His skin was dark and leathery from the southern California sun. But his eyes were bright, a deep, deep hazel, with a light that shone from behind them.
He saw me looking at him and looked right at me. I smiled a small smile as I ran toward him, the Trumpet Voluntary (The Prince of Denmark's March) played. "Russell" looked right at me, nodded, and nodded at the foe that stood between us (which, for me, I could see was a sprinkler watering the grounds, but who knew what it was for him.) He proceeded to MARCH RIGHT THROUGH THE SPRINKLER as I passed him.
I kept running.
As I curved around the southern bend the second time, his back was to me, but I saw him waiting in his long, dark green trench coat. As I approached him, Jeff Buckley singing in French in my IPod this time around, I saw Russell stiffen. In that way that I KNEW he was seeing some foe between us on the first approach, so I knew he sensed me sensing him as I approached him this time. I felt a fear and a quickening, and kept running.
After all, I don't know this fellow. Most of the homeless folks that live at the park by my house- at least the ones I have given food or talked to- are mentally ill. I don't know Russell yet. I don't know if he would even like me writing about him on FB yet, because, well, I've never asked any of my other folks if they'd mind or not. Anyway....
The third time round, which was to be my final round on this bright morning, he was waiting for me, at the same bend, standing tall and proud as any warrior in victory. He beamed when he saw me. He stood, his eyes in a wide V, rooting deep into the ground, two tree trunks joining in the center of his hero's chest, his hands at his hips in strength and courage. He looked right into my eyes, and I looked right into his. As I do for all people I see, I said a quick prayer for wholeness, healing, and peace. He smiled. I smiled. He nodded his head, a quick bow of recognition and motioned his right hand. "Let her pass."
As for every other moment of his life, i cannot say. But in this moment, he was clear and pure joy.
Amazing.
So, thanks, Russell!
You made my day.
An eventful morning during my run at the park: I met a new friend there.
As many of you know, I am friendly with many of the homeless folks who live at the park near my home in Los Angeles. Today there was a new gentleman. I call him "Russell" after Russell Crowe in Gladiator, because at our first meeting, he became a champion!
There is a pathway that weaves around the park at about .8 miles. I run that pathway between 3 and 6 times every day, depending upon my mood and time commitments.At the southern bend of the trail, I first saw Russell. He wore his hair like a Knight, short bangs cut straight across and around, but with slightly longer hair in back. It was dark dark brown with tints of grey, and he wore a full beard. His skin was dark and leathery from the southern California sun. But his eyes were bright, a deep, deep hazel, with a light that shone from behind them.
He saw me looking at him and looked right at me. I smiled a small smile as I ran toward him, the Trumpet Voluntary (The Prince of Denmark's March) played. "Russell" looked right at me, nodded, and nodded at the foe that stood between us (which, for me, I could see was a sprinkler watering the grounds, but who knew what it was for him.) He proceeded to MARCH RIGHT THROUGH THE SPRINKLER as I passed him.
I kept running.
As I curved around the southern bend the second time, his back was to me, but I saw him waiting in his long, dark green trench coat. As I approached him, Jeff Buckley singing in French in my IPod this time around, I saw Russell stiffen. In that way that I KNEW he was seeing some foe between us on the first approach, so I knew he sensed me sensing him as I approached him this time. I felt a fear and a quickening, and kept running.
After all, I don't know this fellow. Most of the homeless folks that live at the park by my house- at least the ones I have given food or talked to- are mentally ill. I don't know Russell yet. I don't know if he would even like me writing about him on FB yet, because, well, I've never asked any of my other folks if they'd mind or not. Anyway....
The third time round, which was to be my final round on this bright morning, he was waiting for me, at the same bend, standing tall and proud as any warrior in victory. He beamed when he saw me. He stood, his eyes in a wide V, rooting deep into the ground, two tree trunks joining in the center of his hero's chest, his hands at his hips in strength and courage. He looked right into my eyes, and I looked right into his. As I do for all people I see, I said a quick prayer for wholeness, healing, and peace. He smiled. I smiled. He nodded his head, a quick bow of recognition and motioned his right hand. "Let her pass."
As for every other moment of his life, i cannot say. But in this moment, he was clear and pure joy.
Amazing.
So, thanks, Russell!
You made my day.
