Under this bridge

I decided to walk home last night through Woolloomooloo which is the rough part of town near where I live to get home as soon as possible from a bar I was out at last night. As I made my way down I expected the usual commotion and of homeless people that life had hit the hardest. Instead what I noticed were groups of people huddled together with their blankets and beds braving the night. It was so quiet. It was not the usual commotion and yelling that normally happens when I pass there during the day. I can't forget how quiet it was and how vulnerable they all seemed. As I walked up the hill and beyond where I could see them I began to cry thinking about them. I couldn't help thinking that these were sons and daughters of mothers and fathers; that each one had a story and had a series of events which lead them to sleep under this bridge huddled together to face another night outside.

Today my life is back to business as usual and I wonder if I'll forget them. My life is comfortable and easy compared to those that live on the street. We so easily forget the things that impact us and leave an indelible mark because we are forgetful creatures of habit. I know I can't help everyone but perhaps remembering how I felt last night will remind me to be human and to have compassion and empathy amidst my daily life.


Daren Sirbough

In amidst the fireplace and the wandering thoughts lie melodies that repeat themselves over and over again like a raging sea across the shores of the coastline. The words often come later and are fragments of the many lives lived in this body. The seeker; a lost soul; the lover; a mourning wanderer; the story teller; the hopeful dreamer and the list goes on and continues to grow as each days light fades into the horizon.

Yours always,