Wandering downtown after my 18:30 client tonight, and as I was approaching the St. Francis to meet Jason getting off work at 21:00, three youngish men approached me. Two were white and one carrying a small box was black. The black guy was the leader and he greeted me, shaking hands with me and asking me how I was doing and told me his name, which I do not remember. I told him, while gesturing to my embroidered name on the ALC Massage Team vest I was wearing that my name was Paul. He laughed and said “I didn’t even look at it.”
So, I’m wondering what the scam was that I was about to hear, as I stopped there on Geary Blvd at Union Square to listen for a moment. He asked me if I ever thought about where I might be 50 years from now, and if I had thought if I would be in heaven or hell. [My words in the conversation are italicized... thanks, 
Maggie (Missy Sedai), for the style.]
Oh, I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell.
We were out here tonight to talk to people about God and Jesus.
There is no God, and Jesus is a myth. I don’t worry about heaven or hell because I don’t believe there is a soul. My person, my lifeforce, if you will, springs forth from the action of my body, and when my body dies, so do I. That’s why each moment we have here on earth is so precious, because when we die, we don’t get anything else.
You’re right, each moment is precious.
You got that right. *smacking my own forearm* This is why I focus on living as much as I can in the present moment, because when this is gone, I’m done.
Do you ever pray?
No, I don’t pray, but I do sing, and I dance, and make a joyful noise. And I do love others as I love myself. But I don’t do any of that because I am afraid of being judged; I do it because it feels good to do and because it makes sense to treat others with kindness because it makes the world a much better place in which to live.
OK, man, well be good!
He offered his hand to me, and I shook it again.
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas to you, too.
And I kept walking into the night, crossing Powell St and walking to the employee’s entrance of the St. Francis, where Jason will be coming onto the sidewalk at 21:00, and leaned up against a tree-filled big concrete planter, careful not to squash the pansies planted around the edge of the planter.
While I was waiting the 15 minutes for him to arrive, I was singing softly to my self, and playing mazefinger on my iPhone, as well as checking my email. An emaciated, dirty homeless looking guy with shaggy hair and beard, wearing a khaki windjacket and tan corduroy shorts, dark sock, and a pair of shower shoes comes up to me and with a voice barely audible and gravelly, proceeds to tell me that he’s an artist and he’s looking to draw a portrait of someone.
Well, I can’t stop you from drawing a portrait of me, but I don’t have any money to pay you for it.
His face falls, and he asks me if I could just give him a dollar.
Tell ya what. Tell me a joke, and I’ll give you a dollar.
What?
Tell me a joke, and I’ll pay you a dollar. But you have to make me laugh.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
I don’t know, why did the chicken cross the road?
Because it had to get to the other side.
I groan inwardly, but tell him that that’s an oldie, but it’s funny, and I give him a dollar. Next time I do this, I’m gonna stipulate that it has to be a *dirty* joke, and that I’m going to capture it on video. The guy shambles off across Geary toward the Handlery Hotel and I put him out of my mind.
Jason appears out of that side door and looks over in my direction, and he smiles. I pop up and join him, looking at his limp. I haven’t written about this yet, but it seems he fractured his patella about six weeks ago or so, and on Monday he couldn’t get out of bed, and it was swollen like a grapefruit. He doesn’t know how it injured it, but it’s the same knee that he had arthroscopic surgery on a few years ago. It’s only a stress fracture, though, and he can walk on level ground without much trouble. Stairs and slopes are troublesome for him, but he’s being as careful as he can.
We start walking down the street together, and I ask him about his day, and what the doctor said on Wednesday about his knee. We stop in Lids, the hat store there on Powell and O’Farrell, where I have him try on a couple of different hats. I’m just thinking about what looks good on him for when I can afford to get him a small present.
Continuing toward the Muni station, we stop off at the BofA ATM so I can deposit my receipts for the day before we take the escalators down into the station proper and get on the next outbound train. I suggest he might want to sit down, but he thinks that once he sits down, he won’t want to get back up, so we ride standing, continuing our conversation. I tell him that once he is off on his own, he can get a cat again – he had a couple of really sweet cats back in Wyoming that he left with his wife when he came out here. His face lights up at thought of getting a cat, and he gives me one of his rare, beautiful smiles. It’s the one that he doesn’t give to anyone else but me, completely unlike the cheesy one he gives to the folks at the Edge, and it melts my heart every time I see it.
I was thinking about riding to Castro with him and grabbing some supper, but I have to be careful with funds right now – I had two no-shows this week. Instead, we part with two kisses and a hug, and I give his butt a fatherly pat as we break our embrace.
Be good, baby.
Talk to you tomorrow, Daddy.
I get off the train at Van Ness and feel like I’m walking three feet off the ground on the way home. After the polite encounter with the missionaries, in which I feel as if I did my “duty” as an atheist to politely but firmly engage with them, the silly encounter with the homeless guy, and then my walk home with Jason, this day has turned out to be pretty gosh darned good.
As Stephen (dakoopst) wrote about earlier today, we each have to fight our battle for equality the way that fits our own personal style the best. I once had a very tense encounter with a bible study group at a restaurant once where I tried to mock their beliefs and ask them Why Jesus and not Zeus or Vishnu or Ra or Apollo? That way leads to closed minds and hearts. Instead, I tried a different tack with these missionaries. I was calm and polite and stated my own beliefs to them firmly and without mocking or anger. The encounter ended with grace and lightness of heart on my part. And that’s how I will reach out to them. Not with mockery and vituperation, but as someone who is humble yet confident and full of loving-kindness.
This is how to change the world.
Pie Is Baked,
Pie Is Eaten,
Pie Will Come Again.
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