Plague Journal, Ashes To Earth
I
In my beginning is my end. In succession
Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,
Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place
Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass.
Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,
Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth
Which is already flesh, fur and faeces,
Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf.
— excerpt, East Coker, by T. S. Eliot
Yesterday I traveled to Geneva to take a walk along 3rd Street. The day was chilled, too cold for reading outside. I simply walked camera in hand. The street was empty. Monday is a slow day for the few restaurants still offering outside dining. Just a few steps after exiting the car I encountered a man, suitably masked who spoke to me. He asked me if I had any extra change. He was warmly dressed. I looked at him and knew clearly what he meant. He was homeless. Extra change? I do not carry change anymore. I hardly carry any cash since the pandemic. In any case to be of any help at all demanded more than two or three quarters.
I felt for my wallet. I had seventeen dollars, a ten dollar bill, a five and two ones. I gave him seven dollars, and held on to the ten. He thanked me several times over. I looked him in the eye and asked him to tell me his story. He said that he was from Woodstock and lost his job there in April. How did you lose the job, I asked. He replied that that his employer had fewer and fewer customers after the pandemic occurred. So he was laid off. Things are even more difficult now, he said. I asked him where he was staying for shelter. He spent his evenings in an abandoned house without electricity or water. I couldn’t think of anything else to say so I bid him fare well.
I walked, took a few pictures of the tableaus outside of the businesses
along the street, my mind kept going back to this man, an individual facing in a few weeks the onset of dangerous cold, without protection or facilities to care for himself. I take running water and a functioning toilet for granted. The more I thought, the feeling grew that he needed the remaining ten dollars more than I did. I would be able to replace those few 
dollars with little ado.
Under our circumstances of life, cash and the plastic equivalent is the safety net, the exchange medium by which we secure essentials basic to our health, safety, our continued well being. Under the conditions of a pandemic when 
exposure to others is to court grave illness, what will he do? Will he seek out a public shelter for the homeless to be warm?
I looked about for him on the opposite side of the street upon my return. I did not see him. Since it was late in the afternoon, perhaps he caught the bus back to Woodstock.
These are the photos which I captured as I walked. The cluster of fallen leaves resting on the stone step is the primary, most important photo in the collection.
We are here only for a short time. You and I ought to do as much as we can to help. Do not be an ass…
2 thoughts on “Plague Journal, Ashes To Earth”
In my heart I want to believe the story of the man you met on the street. In reality I am skeptical of his story. Perhaps I spent too much time in Berkeley and in New York City where panhandling was a way of life for some. Stories were fabricated and kind-hearted folks, such as you and so many of us want to be, reacted to tales of woe by opening our pocketbooks.
I’m not saying the person you met was a con artist. We need to judge each individual person on a case by case basis and make a call about helping or not, based on our “gut” feeling. In the scenario where a person is not in desperate need and the way they make a living is by milking the kindness of strangers, I see no difference between that person and the current crippling disease occupying the White House. It is only a matter of degree, but the outcome is the same. People are hoodwinked in believing a falsehood while those who have actual need to be able to survive, go without.
We live in a world of lies. Those who tell lies have been given carte blanche to continue and even ramp up their behavior by Donald Trump and his cronies. “Take advantage of the suckers,” may be Mr. Trump’s mantra and so we must approach the everything with an air of skepticism.
But let’s get back to your man on the street. Because there is a possibility that his need was real and that hunger is a foe he faces each and every day, we must trust our own intuition. There are millions of people who do not have enough to eat and who live without a roof over their heads. The Bible posits the question to Cain, “Where is thy brother?” to which Cain replies, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” The answer for us in the world today is a definitive “YES”. We live in a closed environment where each of our actions impacts the lives of those around us. If we do not care for those in need, then who will. Sometimes we must put aside skepticism and the cynical nature that keeps us separate from our fellow humans and do what we think is best.
Our president and many of his supporters believe we should turn our collective backs on starvation and brutality. When we do this, we are destroying ourselves and what’s left of our humanity. Only by embracing our place in the world as a whole can we save it and ourselves.
I did not analyze the image of the person before me, to make a snap judgment on whether he in fact was as he presented himself. He well could have been a con. The story was plausible, and he asked only for change. I agree that we live in a world of lies. The world is a matrix of good and evil, because we have created it. Maybe the notion that I am my brother’s keeper is something beyond “good and evil?” The objective is to get past cynicism and paralysis — to do what we can.