I used to rattle around in the War Zone, hearing people's stories. They're really profound. Many of the people around me had few words for what was happening to them, so listening closely was very important. One word, one phrase, has to suffice for large concepts.
I tried, at the time, to interest the Alibi (local, free paper) in publishing some of these stories. The middle class knows nothing about life, east of Louisiana Blvd.
I always wondered how in the dickens middle class people could ever care, or help. Even those who provide services to the War Zone presume things, based on their own experience, which have nothing to do with War Zone life.
It's like they're speaking two different languages.
My background helped me bridge the chasm between both worlds. I could see the value in people's stories. Things could radically transform, if those with the decision-making power could just know what it's like.
So much of the damage in the War Zone is merely a failure to communicate.
So, I wanted to tell their stories.
I wrote a few, but not as many, or as deeply, as I'd have liked.
Today, on the bus, looking at people, I had that urge to record their stories again.
I don't know what it will mean.
I don't know if I can "sell" programming of first-person poverty.
But I KNOW these stories could change our world! I KNOW they could!
When I could get people in the War Zone outside of that victim/perpetrator paradigm, truly amazing perspectives, philosophies and spiritualities appeared.
I'm going to think about it very carefully.
But the main reason I was smiling so much was that I saw the people around me as pure wealth: stories.
Every where and every one is a potential story.
I don't know how I'll do it, or even what I'll do.
But I'm going to collect these stories, edit them and do something useful with them.
Some how...
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