Story: A House That Love Built

A House That Love Built

I see the reality others don't see. Perceiving the wholeness of situations, from multiple viewpoints, at all times neutral, sensitive to the latent emotional themes sometimes unnoticed by the feelers themselves. I see. And I write.

He was not as crazy as I thought and she much more so.

The sadness of the closing. Their time is now over, though they don't see it. She doesn't know what he did for her. He doesn't know what she's done. Yet. And maybe neither of them really knows what they did for so many...

Nothing lasts.

They gave away so much Marijuana, to so many hopeless indigents. Creating warmth and succor where before had been a gaping hole. And then they gave more. They gave every day of the week, most hours of the day. By phone, by window tap, invited or not. They liked you and cared about you. Whoever you were. He grew and she bagged. Often she'd cook for everyone there. I didn't feel comfortable there at first, it seemed too good to be true.

But every time I returned I saw the same thing; loving, selfless, giving. You could rely on it. They were for real, no doubt about it. Honest to God Street Saints, with nothing to prove, but their Love for their brothers and sisters on Earth.

They dreamed of growing larger, branching out, going legal, or simply living by example. But they would fall apart. She first, to a younger man. He later, back to his own life. Separating, they destroyed the Invisible Temple they'd built for so many.

Where there was Unity came Discord.

For the rest of their lives many homeless men and women would remember the "Pot Angels," who lived near Glide Church. Warming their hearts at the thought and the memory: That two people could create and spread so much Love together.