1977
By Sydney Gay
Math scientists like Albert Einstein say there is a relationship between number combinations and events. In a book called The Ancient Science of Number’s, the combination of 1-9-7-7 is an angel number representing abrupt or extreme change in life accompanied by a shift in the understanding of money; 1977 was a profound year for me. What I learned I brought to Ajijic.
In 1977, I am a single New York mother living in a house I bought for thirteen thousand dollars. I worked part time as a yoga teacher and had a seven-year-old daughter whom I adored. There was a graveyard a few feet from our house; the former owners were buried there. At night (not every night, but often enough) ghostly vapors whooshed through the kitchen and down the basement stairs.
1977 is also the year I met Ibis. The ibis is Africa’s most sacred bird; my Ibis was an Afro-American man who walked with a hand-carved walking stick made from a tree. We met at “Lost Person’s Paradise,” a way-stop for the homeless, where saints like Ibis came to live.
A hundred years ago “Paradise” was a hotel surrounded by flowering trees and a private forest. Franklin Roosevelt’s estate adjoined “Paradise” on the right, Nelson Rockefeller lived on the left. Very beautiful, as you can imagine. After World War Two, the hotel closed and became an orphanage. When the orphanage was abandoned and left to nearly complete ruin, the collapsed property was purchased by Dorothy Day and used to house destitute men; rent and food free.
Who is Dorothy Day? I didn’t know, but soon learned she inspired people, including me, to believe the poor among us deserve to live in dignity. Twenty derelicts, wounded souls who had lost their homes, enjoyed private rooms on the upper floor of “Paradise.” No one preached to them; the men were graciously welcomed to do whatever, be whatever, they wished. Because of Dorothy’s outlook on life, we had very few behavior problems.
The entrance to “Paradise” was the kind one finds in grand hotels, except here and there the lobby floor was broken enough to see the ground below; walls were cracked, the ceilings peeling. The dining hall had enough tables to feed fifty. To the left of the lobby was a prayer room with 12 chairs, rarely used, the men upstairs did not bother to go there; however, scattered through the forest were handmade meditation benches.
There was only one bathroom on the main floor; the plumbing worked sometimes and sometimes not. When the toilet flooded, it was always Ibis who cleaned the mess. He kept the mop locked in his room, for if he did not, it would either be stolen or used for target practice by a man upstairs.
The old-fashioned kitchen had a huge iron stove, which I volunteered to clean. When I opened the oven, a million roaches flew at my face. Well, maybe not a million, but a mass of them sailed across my chin, dropped to the floor, and ran out the door. Ibis lived in a closet-sized room behind the kitchen, sparkling clean it was, no roaches, none at all. In what Christ-conscious people might call a spiritual agreement, he asked the roaches to stay away. And they did. Ibis didn’t have a bed to speak of, only a platform covered with discarded blankets which he washed by hand.
The moment he and I met we knew we were meant for one another, but destiny would only give us one year. We worked in partnership six days a week. Our office was a collapsed porch surrounded by climbing vines and a view of the river, all of which resembled Africa. No two people could have been happier. Since childhood, life in Africa was the dream I held dear in my heart. We were not lovers, but were intuitively intimate; completely harmonious, like sister and brother born of the same seed. There was no romantic pressure in this relationship. Where Dorothy is concerned, Ibis honored her as a saint. A church suggesting I volunteer to help people in Paradise, provided the opportunity for me to experience what this meant.
Physically Dorothy seemed insignificant, nearly invisible, yet she had the strength of a lion and accomplished what government was unable to achieve. Today 30 self-sustaining ecological environments for the homeless exist across America, England, and Canada. People, both men and women, arrive by word of mouth as if the hand of God had invited them, and those who arrive are welcome to live without rules, without fear of government or forced medications. Dorothy never talked about herself, only talked about what needed to be done.
As 1977 continued, I learned Ibis was born in Harlem and his mother was still alive, but since age 13 he feared returning home. This gentle young boy had been brutally beaten by a neighborhood gang—not white people, his own people; the bones in his spine and chest had been crushed. Dorothy Day offered him protection and it was in “Paradise” this gentle, gentle boy become Christ-centered, spending most of his time quietly healing or helping Dorothy take care of the property. She gifted him a vibraharp; thereafter, every afternoon angelic music floated through the hotel, out onto the lawn, and into the forest. In “Paradise,” Ibis and I were a duo giving concerts on the lawn, which, after Ibis passed away, gave me the courage to bring a different kind of music to Ajijic.
It’s worth mentioning that Dorothy began her career in 1920, as a news writer and social activist protesting for the poor; she went to prison many times. Her worst incarceration came after picketing the White House. The police were brutal; they slammed her over an iron bench, beat her, and threw her into a cell like a caged animal. After many years of ineffective protests she claimed, “I am convinced all people, every one of us, are called by God to be saintly; only saintly people have the power to heal the ills in a sorrow-filled world, and those who cannot see Christ in the poor among us are atheists indeed.”
The realization of what Dorothy accomplished followed me to my next volunteer job with USA Thinking Team, which eventually led me to Ajijic. Today in Ajijic low income families can no longer meet the rising rents. Currently we are helping one family at a time. This year it is the Romero family. Permits are in place, walls and roof are up, electric and plumbing materials will be delivered on Friday. If you have land or space to put to good use, we have families who need your help and I have the builders. Let’s talk. This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. – 766-3202
