After a short time sitting in that spot, I noticed a very unusual middle-aged woman who had walked onto the plaza. When I saw her, she was standing about twenty-five feet away from where I was. By all appearances, the woman was most likely quite mentally ill and perhaps homeless as well. She wore a completely ripped apart down jacket that was in fact missing the entire left arm sleeve. Her ragged clothes barely hung onto her tortured frame; in fact, her unbelted and loose fitting pants were falling off of her waist and her private parts were clearly visible. She didn't seem the least bit concerned about her disheveled, immodest, and sad appearance. She stood for a while and looking up to the windows of the office buildings above, started to scream inaudible words that seemed to cry out in anger and pain. Eventually she tugged at the waistline of her pants and pulled them up restoring a very small amount of dignity to her appearance. After a short while, she sat down on a bench-like stone wall and then she began to rummage through a canvas bag that she had been carrying. She proceeded to pull out what looked like crushed paper cups and a collection of colorful plastic straws. Then she stood up and proceeded to walk back and forth to a nearby trash can, each time violently pitching the cups and straws into it. As she threw the objects into the trash, she yelled at each of them–as if casting them individually into the fires of hell. After finishing with the cups and straws, she began to dig deep into the same trash can. Eventually she pulled a McDonald’s bag out of the trash can and started to rummage through it, retrieving a container half-filled with French fries and a paper cup with some remains of a beverage. She sat down again on the bench and methodically ate each fry and then finished the meal by drinking whatever was left in the cup. In what seemed like a great irony to me, a man sat on another nearby bench, perhaps not more than fifteen feet away from her, and he proceeded to empty what seemed to be an entire shopping bag of bread crumbs onto the pavement in order to feed hundreds of pigeons who came scrambling to enjoy his generosity. The woman seemed oblivious to the man and the pigeons he was feeding. Not long after she finished consuming her McDonald’s meal, the woman reclined on the stone bench on which she had been sitting. A swarm of flies immediately attacked her and she proceeded to swat at them, even hitting herself in the face as she cried out in a loud voice, "get off of me." After a short while, and what seemed to be an unsuccessful battle with the flies, the woman appeared to fall asleep. She rested there for a long while, even as the sun beat down upon her and as the flies defiantly continued to assault her face.
I took out my camera and at the same time debated with myself about whether or not snapping her photo, even from my distance, would be an invasion of her privacy. Very careful not to capture the image of her face, and very discreetly, I took two photos. I had hoped to capture the moment so that I would never forget that poor woman and her plight. I also thought that if I could share my experience that day with others, even through the photos, that somehow I could help to bring attention to what is no doubt a problem for that woman and for millions of other very humble people who share this earth with the rest of the human community.
The sight of that poor woman, and the burdens that she so obviously carried, moved me to a sense of great pity, but I did nothing for her just then and probably couldn’t have even if such had been my desire at that moment. I found myself choking back tears as I watched the woman and as I contemplated her situation, but I felt completely powerless to do anything that could help her. I wondered to myself what kind of life she had lived up to that point; I wondered what her name was; I wondered about the daily struggles she must have had; I wondered if anyone had ever attacked or raped her, or if she had been abused in some other sinister way; I wondered if she had committed some egregious acts or crimes in her life that had destined her to be an outcast; I wondered if she had been a happy child and if she had good memories from her past; I wondered if somewhere there was an old photograph of her from her youth in which she wore a beautiful dress and could be seen smiling broadly; I wondered who might still be holding that photo; I wondered if she still had family or other people in her life who loved her and worried about her and hoped that she would come home someday; I wondered if she had any friends at all and what kind of joy, if any, they might bring into her life; I wondered if anyone at all could do anything to help her; I wondered if what I saw that day would typify the manner in which she would live her life until the very end. As I contemplated all of these questions, I felt very sad, even hopeless.
Suddenly, darkness entered what had been a cloudless and beautiful day.
All that I can do now is to pray for that woman, and for other people who have similar difficulties and problems. May God help them and may they be given the strength and guidance they might need in order to overcome the sufferings of this life.
To the very unusual middle-aged woman who had walked onto the plaza that day: whatever your name might be, may peace and all that is good be yours someday soon.
