On Thurs I was sitting on one of the benches in the DTC and noticed this fellow looking into the bus station. I have seen him before. He stands out to me. I have not yet had the honor of being his listener.

As it turned out, last Thurs I sat in the DTC for pop-up listening and… no one shared a word with me. Two weeks prior the opposite was true – I found myself listener to deep, rich, vulnerable heart-stories. Being witness and confessor for others can be very rewarding as you all know. Interestingly enough, holding space at the DTC without anyone sharing a story was just as rewarding. I have a feeling you will relate to this: just being in the DTC at street level feels like being home. 

I sat there confessor to the silence. Of course at the DTC the silence holds everything from the murmur of chatter, laughter, occasional shouts, winter cleats tapping and scratching across the tile, people talking on cellphones, and the recitation the bus schedule out loud.

In the vibrant silence I found myself remembering some of our guests: John M (homeless advocate), William (BFS), Surena (who scuffled off to a bus without noticing me sitting there – if she had seen me she might have recognized my affection for her), Daryl (whom I see often at the corner of Spenard & Benson holding a cardboard sign)… Memory of them and their stories felt like very good reason to spend an hour at the bus station.