Oh, Ireland

A distant place that I oft fail to see,
has been erased from my memory.

She’s clothed in green, unlike any that I’ve seen,
and from the ground pours the emery.

Satin skies give way to an auburn guise,
and I’m left spinning in a field.

Birds of blue sing not a note out of tune,
and all my wounds have quickly healed.

‘Tis the land where my great grandfather
Walked hand in hand with my great grandmother.
‘Tis the land I’d like to call home.

‘Tis the land where my great grandfather
Walked hand in hand with my great grandmother.
‘Tis the land I’d like to call home.

Oh, Ireland take me home to thee,
Oh, Ireland.

Oh, Ireland take me home to thee,
Oh, Ireland.

Murky

Muddy water,
murky like some muddy water –
that I keep sippin’
even though,
I know it ain’t for me.

The warden’s daughter,
Lonesome like the warden’s daughter –
that I keep wantin’
even though,
I know she ain’t for me.

She ain’t nobody’s
and I ain’t nowhere –
Nowhere’s now
the place to be.

She ain’t nobody’s
and I ain’t nowhere –
Nowhere’s now my home
ya see?

Misheard Lyrics

So I was listening to a Blackalicious song “Blazing Arrow,” and I heard a line that intrigued me. What I heard was “the kind of homeless only God can know.” The line, in fact, is “the kind of onus only God can know.” Either one really gets me thinking. Onus means a difficult task, burden or obligation, and for me I immediately think about sacrifice. But homeless, somehow affected me more.

There have been stories in the newspaper recently about a sculptor who installed small statues of a homeless Jesus on a park bench or street corner with a hand extended begging for change. The only way one knows it is Jesus depicted is by the holes in his hands. One such sculpture showed up in my home town in Connecticut in front of an Episcopal Church. People passing on the street were startled and so was I when I went for a walk late one night on main street. Who is this homeless man begging at one in the morning? I walk pretty late at night and had never seen someone begging for money that late before. Nor had I ever seen someone begging for money in my home town, which should inform you of the kind of place I grew up.

Some people even called the cops on the homeless statue. 

I was glad for the culture shock. It made me stop what I was doing and think. What am I doing to help those with outstretched arms? I have heard people say some version of this next sentence a lot lately. “Oh, I’m not giving them any money. They are just going to buy drugs or beer or cigarettes with it.” Congratulations, you have become the morality police. Walking around, being stingy with your money and “cleaning” up the streets with every dollar you stuff back into you wallet, only to spend it on some pumpkin spice latte that will kill you in 30 years.

But I’ve had these thoughts too. What I decided is that instead of not giving the money away, I am going to ask the homeless man or woman I encounter, if I can go to the nearest (crowded) deli or coffee shop with them and buy them something to eat or drink. I have not done it frequently. Sometimes I’m still too scared or maybe too stingy and think I don’t have much myself.

I heard this in a sermon recently. Those who make $40,000/year or below give slightly over 10% of their income. For every $10,000/year more that people make, they tend to give away 1 to 2% less. Let me sum that up: the more you make the less (percentage) you give. I’m not saying this occurs across the board but it does leave me pondering.

I want to start good habits of giving while I have very little, and plan to give away consistently, even if it’s not much. I think it’s good for your heart to get used to that posture.

Sometimes mishearing lyrics can open a whole new door in your mind. Sometimes it can change your perceptions.