Reflection: Food not Bombs

Tonight was Praxivist’s third Food Not Bombs. Christian at Earth Goods donated it food and drink for it. Mar helped to her surprise with the refrigeration. Earlier at six o’clock, I brought twelve eggs over to Emily’s to cook them there. She shared her time, her kitchen, plastic cups, granola bars, and bread. We made twelve golden browned egg sandwiches. They finished miraculously just minutes before meeting up with Alanna, Sam, Sam’s friend, Lauren, her sister and their friend. The coordination of all this just fell smoothly, right into place. Everyone showed up timely; we had slightly enough room in the two cars, and gracefully, an array delicious nourishment diversity. We dove on roads, through signs, through lights, then parked the cars beside the Millhouse Panda. Opening of trunks unveiled our abundance. We are privileged. We are in abundance. What are implications onto others with this abundance that we are in? Others do not have because of our abundance. We know where the food is, and we know who is, and where they are without access. Therefore it is our duty, our moral obligation, and our niche to reduce suffering, to not waste and feed the hungry, empty bellies. Arms fully full carrying boxes and bags in between traffic; we survived crossing the highway-natured street together. On a brick ledge before the grass of the First Baptist Church, we laid out the spread. Pizza squares and circles, garlic knots, pasta, breads, chips, orange juice, raisins, yogurts, granola bars, and egg sandwiches. I went up to the church steps to embrace and welcome the community there to join us. They receive us kindly, friendly, and gratefully here. The unexpectancy of it all must feel like some kind of surprise party. Within minutes people were accumulating and congregating, uniting through meal sharing. Food brings us together. Sharing it, eating it together breaks down barriers. Barriers of society’s accepted versus society’s rejected, higher class versus lower class, have versus have not, color, gender, sexual orientation, and age. The solution to many of our problems, crises, and suffering exists in un-separation, in inter-relations, inter-dependence, and interconnectedness. From far away I noticed a familiar face from crossing paths before. It was O.T. Not “Old Timer,” but “Otis Thomas.” I love that name. He is fifty-seven, sleeps beneath the walkway over the Hudson in the trellis. “Who is that? Woody the woodpecker?” He once yelled out in a disturbed sleep from jackhammer thundering construction out there. O.T. is my favorite person to see on the streets. He is lively in his energy, always with a story. This time he told me that he has been collecting cans, hiding them like squirrels do their nuts, scattering his can, bottle stashes around Poughkeepsie. For breakfast he gets a bagel and a coffee from recycling them. How earth friendly I thought. O.T. is happy to live, but ready to die. He believes in the Lord Almighty, he believes in angels, “and there are devils, so look out!” is what wisdom he gave me. I saw the cosmos mystery in his eyes. He remembered me from the last time we crossed paths on the crossroads. “Cross-roads, you get it? I’ll see you at the cross roads.” He said, looking at me with eyes that knew, that had seen, and had met. We hugged in his departure, as he left to catch the bus. All men, we are brothers. In some way, in some form I will meet him again. Many who are homeless are college educated, were skilled dedicated culinary artists, professors, or servers on tropical cruise liners. Then outsourcing happened, 9-11 happened, the economy happened. Jobs are scarce and the times are hard. People shiver around nights in the dead of winter, in countless layers. The homeless shelter does not welcome all. Sometimes there are less beds the number of heads who are in need, so cocooned outside is where some sleep. How is one expected to stay sane, to keep cool, live rightfully in health, under such societal rejections, trials, and tribulations? In retrospect, I reflect and tonight was beautiful, insightful, sunny delightful. It is clear to see that we are welcomed and appreciated by this beloved community. The dynamic is angelic. I wish to be here more often. I intend to do this again. The energy is right, and all the people are nice. All the leftovers are donated to the shelter. What would have been wasted attains meaningful purpose. Beings with gifts, gems, and high potentials are in a homeless situation. Society deeming them waste, I can only rest my head and pray for the day, which like the food, that they to will be given the opportunities, recognition, and means to attain theirs to, their accepted, meaningful purposes.

-anthony