Sharing a room with The Bag lady
Today’s thought brought back a memory years old. Many years old. The company I was with transferred me to one of their downtown Sydney branches. One of the first locals I bumped into on the way to work was a lady pushing a supermarket trolley full of black bags; the kind used for rubbish disposal and jam-packed.
She would be muttering to herself as she slowly pushed her belongings from wherever to wherever, stopping from time to time to give a passer-by a piece of her mind. It was hard making out what she was saying as her speech was slurred by anger and whatever else pained her, but you just knew she wasn’t casting blessings upon you.
When I mentioned her to my colleagues, they chuckled and said something along the lines of, “Oh; you’ve met the Bag Lady. She’s homeless and she’s harmless. She’s alright.”
I’d say that lady has long passed, having concluded whatever her purpose was, because of her however I can offer you two thoughts, dear reader. Here they are, compliments of a Lady.
Firstly, everyone here, in this ego culvert of breakup and bastardization can leave a beautiful and noble message. A beautiful and noble message aimed at helping their fellow-fallen climb out and reunite with the glory of what they truly are.
The Bag Lady did that. Her life and times and presence weren’t any more a waste than any of the great masters or inventors of lifesaving discoveries. She was a child of creation as are the rest of us, earning her ticket back in her own way—as are each one of us.
Secondly, the old saying: After the game, the king and the pawn go in the same box, applies here in full measure. When life is done, when all the striving and struggling has ended and it’s time to go, nothing matters except whether one goes hard or easy, and neither possessions nor powerful positions are of help with that. Put another way:
The difference between sharing a room with the Bag Lady and chilling in a 5-Star establishment is but a matter of thought.