Living and working on the street can be hard, I spend so much time out there, I feel like I live there, but unlike some of the people I walk past daily, I'm just a visitor. There's always group of people camping outside the farmers store on Queen St. They sit on folded cardboard boxes, with a sign asking for change. sometimes I can't face what they represent....often I take a detour and cut back to High st till I get past them... (and the guy at the kebab shop, but that's another story...). But strangely, when I do connect, there's only beauty and love in the exchange. Yesterday, I forgot until it was too late, to veer left into Victoria St, then past the windows full of cakes on High St....So I armed myself with a smile, and dropped 50c into the hat as I walked by. I imagined I was walking by, but next thing I'd stopped and was playing a few tunes on my violin, and they were singing along in Maori. We exchanged hugs and the customary kiss on the cheek, and one of the women smiled the kind of smile that comes from the bottom of the deepest heart...and I felt warmed and heartened by the aroha (Maori word for love), that was shared. Beneath the tattoos, and the smell of glue, the wairua (spirit) of the people was strong....strong enough to lift my spirits for the rest of the walk up the steep slopes of upper Queen st.
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