Wanderings in my Village

Village player

There he is again, the guitar playing dude surrounding himself with suspicious eyes. They don’t know what he will play next, they shift on the very spot they stand. This man, no name that I know of, yet he strums his melody of tunes, loud, crisp and bold. He has no fear, simply hopes for a few coins to be tossed into his open guitar case sitting near his moving feet. He shouts out tunes from country through to rock n roll. His audience is wanderers of the Village, lost in their own sea of despairs. He madly strums and hacks at his strings, no care in the world, happy, smile on his face and always open to a friendly share of words. His voice is bass, Johnny Cash his idol, knowing he has spent his time behind bars at times, freed, back on the corner belting out his lyrics. I sometimes toss in a few coins or a dollar bill, thanking him in my small way for being there for the many lost and lonely like himself. Cheerfully he smiles, his eyes all-knowing, wise, many years on the street corners of insanity. It’s just another day in the Village, where all the naked people shed their pretenses and walk among us. Some spitting, cussing the laws of the land, others simply being thankful to be alive for another day. I turn my head and a panhandler is about to place his cap in front of him, his cardboard sign in his hip pocket, I know the rituals, the desperate people in the streets, I see, I pen, I feel their pain. Many sleep under the bridge, hoping for a peaceful sleep, the lice will be their company, the raccoons and wild dogs their attackers. A fire is lit to keep them warm and fend off those predators of the night. I continue my wanderings, never knowing who or what I will come across next. Yet, my soul is full, I feel the aura of souls wandering around me. Not afraid, I’m in my element. Being human has its responsibilities. So many faces, all-seeing, all different, yet expressive they are. Stories unfold from many, none of us perfect, we feel each others pains and sorrows. Sharing when we stop for a time, knowing deep eyes, penetrating each others vulnerabilities, non afraid. Sensitive to each others journey, thankful to be alive for another day.

Vincent Moore   March 29th,2017


Wanderings in my Village — 16 Comments

  1. Hello Vincent, my friend. Always good to see you and of course, to read your wonderful work. I wonder if you are magical? I received this just in time to rescue me from a sad place. How I would love to be able to share the gifts of my muse on my own personal site. Hubpages has become an unbearable war zone….a place where human beings forget to be human. The state of affairs in terms of our election and the political insanity is rampant and out of control. I can only tolerate so much and I begin to break down. Know what I mean, Vincent? So anyway, thanks for sending this to me. It’s a bright light in the darkness. Love, Paula

    • Well hello back dear Paula, it’s always so wonderful, when fine writers from my past at the Hubs stop by, you are one of my cherished friends. Magical in which way? I’m so happy to come to your rescue, the timing was right then? Sharing one’s Muse is not an easy task, he/she comes at will, not always in a good mood or place, I was drawn to pen about my walkabout in my village. It’s called The Village for it’s mad array of personalities that wander about, I’m one of them too I suppose;-) Yes, I’ve read from someone else about the Hubs being a war zone, I don’t miss that, the travail of your election left a lot of friends who separated and now are enemies. How sad, that we allow politicians and their political dogmas alter our feelings towards one another. I know that the far left, battles the far right daily, biased in rampant both mainstream medias and it’s ugly, very, very ugly. Yes indeed humans forgetting to be humans, Religion and political viewpoints KILL in many ways. Please stay strong my friend, release your mind, walk the beach or deep woods, deserts or mountain range. I know what you mean, I’ve had my share of disappointments and heartaches, it’s taken me a long time to recover and find myself again. I am happy to have shone a light into your darkness for a spell. Peace and love I send you from me in my village. Hugs.

  2. Potent account of the scene on that ‘corner of insanity, dear Vincent’. I was listening to some Alan Watts earlier today. He mentioned that humans are born with a bit of rascality in our makeup, every single one of us, and that the most unbearable ones are those who either don’t recognize or don’t admit that they have theirs. Hope your day had some rascality and a lot of civility in it. Hugs and love ~ Nellieanna

  3. My dear friend, this poet can be a rascal too at times, but I keep my composure and good manners well cloaked inside. The stage in front of me daily is a colorful palette of excitement, never knowing what will brush by me. I am a student of the unknown, always happening upon different faces and personalities, I’m stunned by the many colorful souls I encounter daily. Their makeup hides their feelings, yet I can often see through the grease and misery of many of them. My life has a civility, maybe I need more rascality in my life however?

  4. Thank goodness for the humanity in passing strangers! The guitar player seems quite content doesn’t he ~ he has humility ~ a quiet ego ~ humble. I wonder if he has to strip away the layers of self esteem he’s put on every morning of his life to be where he is? But no ~ humble people seem more able to cope with anxiety about their mortality as they seem to put a useful perspective on life and how they choose to live it. They no longer have an obsession with the ‘self.’ ( with all he’s been through ~ a quiet ego now) they place less importance on themselves because I guess they’ve come to know their own limitations ~ sad in a way ~ but authentic!

    I loved this Vincent! As usual you pen from the heart that brings a tear to ones eye ~ melancholy at its best my friend!!

    • This comment was left by a fellow writer friend of mine on Facebook, Cheryl Woods, I wanted to share it here. Yes his ego is arresting, calm, unafraid, yet down deep, I know he hurts. Playing is his release and a welcome from strangers is his applause. Self-esteem is often lost for most of us who no longer have it, lost it or stomped on it. Do they care? in their stature of life now offered to them, the street is their home, their stories plenty, a life of dreams and goals shattered behind them. I don’t think mortality scares them, the crossing over is often just a simple breath away and living and sleeping in the streets it can fade fairly quickly. Self is behind them, and worthless in many ways. Self was taken from them for so many reasons, a reflection of who they were, the families and lives they left behind are shadows seen from afar.I find a lot of peace in many of their faces and tones and I journey along with them, discovering much of myself in them, yet thankful, not to be where they are, yet anyways? Thank you sweet Cheryl for your keen observance of humanity, I know you know the workings of a soul. Hugs

  5. This was a beautiful tribute to the men and women who live on the street. I can not pass by without sharing. When I hear people call them bums, it makes me furious. ‘ Walk a mile in my shoes ‘ comes to mind.

    • Thank you Ruby, very true, these are men and woman who had a life, as menial as it may be, no one deserves to be on the street. It’s sad to see so many wandering about, hopeless and in fear of their future. I always carry change in my pockets when I travel the streets, handing out where it’s needed. I feel deeply for these lost souls and offer comfort when I can. I pray all is well with you sweet Ruby, I miss you and others, I’ve been away for awhile, my inspirations are returning and God willing my muse will walk out of the shadows. Hugs

    • Thank you Amy, your absolutely correct. I truly believe that connection with less fortunate is healing for my soul, anyone of us could be the unfortunate one on that street corner. Give unconditionally and a miracle happens, you receive peace of mind greatly.

  6. The streets are a hotbed of humanity facing a multitude of varied perspectives, the warmth of understanding to the coldness of indifference and more. It troubles me that the street popular is ever-growing through the years. Politicians rattle on about how to handle the homeless…develop some level of support system or vicariously sweep them under the rug. The more I walk the streets as part of my day the more I feel a sense of connection in some way or other.

    • I agree Don with the numbers that are bulging on every street in every city throughout Canada and the USA. Many are forced into the streets from loss of work and income, loss of homes and jobs create a good portion of homelessness. Yes there are also those who suffer with addictions and mental problems as well. I keep an open mind when I do my walkabouts, I’ve met and have had discussions with many types. I always look at them with the hope of lifting them up a bit before I leave, I give what I can give unconditionally, but don’t let them abuse my kindness. I know I could just as easily be beside them panhandling. It’s tougher as we age, incomes are lower and sometimes seniors struggle in that regard. Connection indeed, we all need a lift up from time to time and it’s important that we show that to our fellow man/woman/child who are less fortunate than us. Thank you for stopping by Don with your welcomed insight.

  7. Thank you for taking me along on your journey. We have many street people here in Riga and the one thing they love to do is play. Often they’re in competition with music students looking for a handout. The music is loud and diverse and occasionally a great voice does rise out above the rest. I often wonder if that one voice could have the chance of discovery and rise above all the misery but alas I will never know…..

    • That’s why its important to walk among them, there is much talent in the streets, a diamond in the rough can often surface and get their break. I enjoy walking the streets and listening to buskers. I agree there are many street people, all there for their own reasons. So many stories in our highly populated cities of the homeless. Thank you Rasma for stopping by to read and leave me a comment, it’s been awhile. I hope all is well with you and yours. Hugs