Of course, the elephant in the room "is where on earth was Tony the next night?"
I was surprised by the icredible, continuing pain that engulfed me in the weeks that followed. I did not have the resources to see him through to wholeness. By resources I mean finance, space, time, personal qualities and the co-operation of those who already share my day-to-day existence. I reached a point in which I could understand why someone would chose indifference. All that was left was pain and powerlessness.
I collapsed on the kitchen floor one day, thinking I did not have any freaking leverage. I was always wanting to make my environement more abundant with life an healing, and finding that my leverage was almost non-existent. I wished I was the prime minister or something, not just an average punter. H. pointed out that if I became prime minsiter I'd be surprised by how little leverage I'd have then.
So I racked my brains about the sort of answers I've come across before:
1. "It's the little things that count". True enough I suppose. But the desperate state of modern capitalism is not altered in any significant way when I listen to an anxious prison visitor, watch her kids for the afternoon, or have some tea and cake with an isolated old lady. If anything, those a**hole politicians love it when I do things for free.
2. "You're not that disempowered, you're just not willing to think outside your comfortable box". True too. You could move to a new house in a new place with new people and create an environement that could and would accomodate Tony's needs for however long it's called for.
3. "You are extremely cynical for a nonprofit professional". True, I do work in the sector and have plenty of friends, colleagues and contacts who do too. It's pretty crazy that I'm not even thinking of them or their organisations. I'd need to put my cynicism to one side and phone the housing associations I actually personally know, and use my higher degree in bureaucratic hair-splitting to actually fill in some paperwork and write some references.
The answer, I think, will be a combination of the three. I know it works. I've done it. I've had my beginner's luck. My whole experience as a Christian has been characterised by brilliant beginner's luck and early experiences of success ususally followed by a sense of crippling powerlessness and a feeling that I can't possibly wing it again. But in my usual flawed sort of way, maybe I still can.
