It's not my place to say what she went through, what she had to endure, but she is getting through it and shining more brightly than I have ever seen her. Step by step she is clawing her way back, perhaps to a place she has never been before.
The more manure the more beautiful the flower.
The train station was sparsely populated as I waited for the 3:45 to arrive to take me home. You know the scene: a few pimply skate kids, teenage girl blasting Katy Perry through her ipod, old guy playing pocket billiards, a dead pigeon splattered all over the water tap. You know, just a typical Sunday afternoon suburban scene, a dude with cuts all over his face wearing shoes too big for his feet and clothes that must have belonged to his grandpa. He must also have been wearing human repellent because wherever he walked up and down the platform others would walk the other way.
He was actually kinda scary looking. Come to think of it maybe they weren't cuts on his face after all. Maybe he attacked the pigeon with his bare hands and ate it's gizzards out. The pigeon I saw was missing its entire bottom half - not a pretty sight I can tell you.
But no, I don't think this man did that and I'll tell you why.
Sitting as comfortably as one can in a train seat I close my eyes and try to catch a few Zeds while the train rattles toward the city. Closing my eyes was the action of choice here as the carriage was littered with rubbish from top to bottom. It was pretty hard to find a seat that didn't have an empty something or other packet on it. I'm sure every passenger thought the same as me "bloody scumbags". But none of us would think to clean it up of course.
Not long into the journey the back door flings open. As I open my eyes I see our rough looking friend standing at the doorway. He announces his arrival by saying "Hello everyone, my name's John, I'm a homeless man. I'm here to clean the train. If you can spare some change that would be awesome. If not, could you please put any rubbish you see into the middle aisle so that I can pick it up".
How can you not be impressed by that? I gave him what change I had and watched as he made his way through the carriage picking up all the shit that the good people of this city were kind enough to leave for this man. No further coin graced his palm and our fellow passengers thanked the heavens for train windows as they provided a believable distraction, but John kept on picking up the refuse left behind by those far better off than him.
Now I know what yer thinkin. He's just a crafty little bum who's found a clever way to con people out of their money. Right? Well if that were the case then good on him I say. He only asked for loose change and that ain't gonna kill nobody. But no that's not it. There is far more happening inside this man.
The looks of disgust this man received were beyond shameful. How peculiar is it that the busker sitting opposite me (who also creatively begs for money) shoos John off like a mad woman throwing a bucket of water over a stray cat? I've seen the standard of busker in this city and it's pretty safe to say that this guy has offended plenty of people with his offerings. Yet if his facial expression is anything to go by, this busker had seemingly never been so disgusted in all his life, as the day a homeless man asked for change.
'John wasn't just being crafty. It wasn't just a sly way to scam a bit of coin. As he made his way past me on his return trip I ask him "How'd you go?"
"Not great" He says before breaking a smile and proudly adding "but the trains clean".
Rise oh Phoenix, rise.
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