Yesterday was a full moon, and it seems everything has been really strange since.
I spent an hour Friday afternoon drinking tea at Starbucks waiting for my yoga class. While waiting I saw something amazing happen. I witnessed a woman convince the homeless man, hibernating in the coffee shop, to follow her to the nearest shelter.
It is fifteen degrees outside and thinking about him, and all of the other homeless people outside in the cold all night, makes me very sad. I pretended to listen to my ipod, but instead heard every word of their conversation. I'm not sure if this woman was a social worker in disguise, but she knew exactly what to say and how to convince him to go with her. I wanted to tell her how impressed I was, and humbled, but didn't want to interrupt.
This experience is on my top ten heroic moments list.
After their exit, I spent a few joyous moments alone...drawing. Those moments ended abruptly when one of the closest images to a hippy walked in the door.
With two tables, and about four chairs empty, the man in a hoodie, painted leather jacket, and paint splattered sweats made his way over to me. He asked to sit in the chair right beside me, and taken aback, I replied 'yes.' I was so far into the corner of the room, my option of scooting away was deplete. He proceeded to start a conversation with me. Turns out he is extremely into meditation/ yoga and considers himself a 'healer.' When asked what exactly he does, he replied.
'I help people with depression and anxiety.'
Immediately I wondered if he was attracted to me, with only a glance? A poor soul sitting alone at a Starbucks. Did he know only hours earlier I was discussing, yet another night of sleepless, anxiety-filled dreams? These dreams have been going on since May of 2009, and most mornings leave me feeling like I ran miles, instead of resting. Or, Did he merely view me as an easy target? Someone helpless, drawing on a napkin, and young.
His stories of a trip to India and several music festivals were intriguing, but when it was my time to leave I felt strange. I spent the majority of yoga class and the evening reflecting on the encounter. Something, which I have yet to pinpoint, left me both inquisitive and bothered.
Was this a messenger? Or, my own messiah? There were no other witnesses in my little alcove, which made me wonder if maybe he was just a figment of my already perturbed and distressed imagination. He was not aggressive, and hardly asked me any questions. It was as if he already knew. The experience still lingers in the abyss of my frontal lobe, but I believe he may have been my own Hermes, a messenger at the crossroads of my life.
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