what if God was one of us

I have never paid much attention to this song. Joan Osborne’s version or Prince's weird remake. That's right; I said Prince did something weird! But it has never been running thru my head and I will tell you why.

There is this gentleman who lives here in Tossa. Let's paint a picture for you since I thought it would be rude to flash photograph him. But first, can anyone tell me the natural state of hair if you never touched it with your fruit infused shampoos or a large toothed comb? Well it goes into dreadlocks. I am not talking about the Bob Marley well thought out and planned one. I am talking, and depending on your disposition, the creature from the movie Predator type "dreds".

Well this gentleman, the day I first laid wondering eyes upon, was wearing no shirt, interesting running shorts, sporting a head full of these dreadlocks (the aformentioned type above), I think also sneakers, headphones and a gold cross around his neck and he was jogging past me thru the center of town. Something was quite odd about him. Could it have been his running shorts? Let's see if I describe them. ummmm...well....you know the kind of full panties that women now wear? They look kind of boyish and they cover like 90% of the ass. Well his running shorts were like that...tight and hugging his pubic area. I think they were psychedelic colored, I am not sure. Maybe I was awestruck in his lack of dress as well as his choice of dress. I did notice the gold cross around his neck, which unlike the size of a Flava Flave's clocks around his neck, was quite petite in size but he was only a few feet away from me so it caught my eye. He had stopped his run to cross a street, still jogging in place, silently negotiating with the upcoming driver who was about to run him over. Hmmmm...A sign of intelligence if his appearance did not precede that notion. Quite odd in stature and first glance, but still looking somewhat fit, I noticed he turned a few of the locals heads. He is a tall and lean white male with brownish red matted hair. Not looking malnourished and obviously having enough energy to go for a run, still his overall appearance struck me as out of place. Could it have been the grizzly Adams beard, which was neither trimmed or cut like he was well manicured, which added to his homeless look from the neck up. Still how many homeless people do you see jogging around Byrd park? Either it was his first major appearance in this mid afternoon late summer day or was a rare appearance by a local celebrity. But he definitely stood out like a nun in a whore house.

Still I do not think I have done justice to describing this guy. Outside of his matted hair and overgrown beard, he did not look homeless. Now I would use the word homeless not to insult him, but more of a visual we Americans have when generalizing the unfortunate group of people we run across in our daily, big city lives. A generalization of a group of diverse people we know to be possible alcoholics, drug addicts, mentally off balanced, emotionally disturbed or just plain out unlucky in life people who live in the alleys, streets, public parks and under bridges. I do not want to assume he is homeless in the least bit but paint a visual of this character that words can’t seem to do justice over.

At my first sight of him, I had no indication that he was an "un-neat" person other than the over grown beard and matted hair. Still I have never watched the full transformation of someone trying to transform their hair into dread locks. Well maybe one but that was over the course of one semester watching Steve Fountain in French class twisting his own hair between his thumb and forefinger ever 2.3 seconds which I assumed was out of boredom more than cosmetic preparations. Back to the gentleman at hand, I would say he looked more “wild” and natural than homeless. Still, being a small community, this gentleman surely stuck out like a sore thumb and caught my attention.

As quickly as he came, he jogged off into the semi crowded street, clapping his hands and raising his arms in what looked like him being really into his workout and music in his headphones. I was left dumbfounded. Left with my jaw wide open and internally wondering, WHAT WAS THAT! I did not dare ask the locals if they had seen what I saw but I noticed on the locals faces, that this was a rare and interesting treat. Something to look forward to, eh?

Time passes...and by the luck of the north wind, there were several sighting in my 11 months here. Most without incident. They progressed in excitement for me as I slowly began making friends and having more conversations about our mystery friend seen strolling thru town. I could only piece together a jagged story, which I was aware was mostly rumor and guessing, that one day this guy showed up in Tossa with a Vespa but the cops took it away (for some unknown reason. Maybe they told me but I did not understand the Spanish when they told me), that they think he lived in the woods or something since no one knew where he lives (and I say again...Tossa is small!! So you kind of by chance find out where people live) and that he is probably rich since he has no job, nowhere in those little shorts to carry an ATM card and well, there are no other supporting facts.

Each sighting seems to grow stranger and stranger and fueling my curiosity in just who is this character is. No one seems threatened by him. Children do not follow him and mock him causing him to bite his tongue and storm off in frustration. I do not see people treating him differently, only stares and silent whispers. And when a tourist went missing (and I know this sounds extreme and something out of a movie but...) and her body was found 5 days later, I was relieved to see that there was no witch hunt for this stranger for "questioning". I hope one understands that last line. Still my first social contact with this person was an odd event.

Carme and I had the night off from parenting and decided to have a drink before dinner. We were seated at Comics Café when, like a ninja, this strange fellow walked up. He was walking along the sidewalk which, if you can imagine, contains a number of tables with seats under an awning projecting from the bar. When people walk down the broad sidewalk on this main street, they pass the island of tables street side and cafe side. Eric, the owner, has to be careful when crossing human traffic cafe side when he is serving a tray full of drinks. Well we were sitting near the stream of human traffic nearest the cafe's front door and that bottle neck can cause you to slow down just a bit when walking thru to recognize your long lost mother is sitting in the island of tables next to where you are walking thru. Well this gentleman was funneled thru this traffic. Shirt in hand, wraparound sunshade perched atop his sun kissed forehead, fanny pack around his waist(possibly containing that elusive ATM card to access his presumed millions) and extra tight shorts...for comfort and support I supposes. Carme did not see him but I gave a silent type of "we have been married for almost 10 years" signal to warn her that something interesting was nearby for her to casually glance around to. I did not warn her in time enough for me to turn my eyes from the target and her to casually turn her eyes toward the target (so it did not seem like we were talking about him) before he was upon us. He was 2 feet from us, close enough to a person that they begin the process of acknowledge your existence in casual passing. And in one split second, our existence, Carme and mine, came clear to him in one breath, he locked on us and stopped dead in his tracks. All I could do was draw back as I was surprised at the cat like agility this man possessed from stopping on a dime from almost and Olympic style walking marathon pace! This is what he did:
1.he put his finger in front of his mouth as to silently say shush your mouth or don’t speak, then closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side, silently saying "no".
2.tapped the arm of Carme's chair nearest to him (Carme almost jumped out of her underwear at his bold and swift transition from one mime event to another) and waved his finger signifying another no-no.
3.took his cross of Jesus between his thumb and forefinger that was hanging from his neck and with the hand that was free and gave a thumbs up sign.

And again, as quickly as he came, he left, breaking out in full stride again and getting lost in the crowded sidewalk.

Carme and I sat dumbfounded for a second. Then we stared at each other as to say "what the f---". Then, with mouths open, looked around to see if anyone was staring at us in amazement as we seemed to be one of the first of the locals to have made contact with this stranger. But no one was paying much attention to us at the time. Then our eyes met each other again as to silently say "did we just dream this?” Then we broke out in laughter. Carme and I have never lacked in conversation, but we put all important business on hold to decipher this stranger's message to us. Is he a man of divine wisdom? A nut? You decide. Our first contact with this odd fellow yielded more questions and more myths to pass on to our grandchildren.

I have seen him walking down streets on other occasions, walking with a purpose and speed. Like he was going to a meeting or something. But there are no meetings here in Tossa. And he always is less than pristine. This adds to the myth of his living in the woods. Not that is making fun of this guy but he does not have a vast amount of wardrobe to show off and usually his clothes are well worn and untidy. There is always some combination of the aforementioned shorts, a button down shirt, a few t-shirts and some shorts. Of course, with his uncut and tangled looking hair and Robinson Caruso growth of a beard, well it does not add to the mythology of this character. I have seen him, sitting in peace at the cafe next to my shop, in the afternoon sun, with a pad of paper and some water colors and a small Styrofoam cup. Now let me just add that I have just realized I have not seen one Styrofoam cup in the country which seems to be very big ongoing "green" (see future blog ongoing green in Spain"). I casually passed this gentleman sitting and smiling and laughing under his breath after each stroke. Seemingly he was amused with each way his painting transformed with each new color. A sign of artistic brilliance or madness?

Who was this odd character and where was he from? What is his story? I was destined to find out. One especially hot day, after coming back from lunch break, I found this strange character sitting in the outside seating at the next door cafe, Cafe Ramblas. I knew Yoli and Mari Jose always close thier cafe for siesta and do not open until 4ish. It was not 3:30.

I had a good view from the street corner and I slowly coasted with my bike toward my shop, studying this character as he sat, with his button down wide open, looking left and right, like he was waiting for the bus or something. I figured this was a great time to try to talk to him. Maybe he is confused or just resting. Still this was market day, well earlier that morning. The market runs from early morning to 1pm and then the street cleaners come in to clean up all the trash left by the vendors around 3pm. The market is like a traveling flea market with clothes, trinkets, local candies...you name it. And they clear the street of tourist and locals parking there so the vendors can pull in their trucks. So imagine the street being completely clear and not open for traffic until the street cleaners were done. So at best, I had the local trash men in some close proximity in case this guy goes for my jugular!

So, as I usually do, I mentally practice my Spanish in what I am going to say to him with only 10 steps to go. As I am going thru and conjugated every possibility in my unusually large head, I realize maybe he is here waiting for me. Maybe to rob my silly ass and here I am...the fly walking right into the spider's web. So I spoke in Spanish and it goes a little something like this:


***in Spanish***
me: Hey, how are you. What’s up?
Him: (a bit confused and stuttering) ummm...hi
me: are you ok, needing anything?
Him: ummmm...no...I was just...well...ummm resting
me: so you are waiting for Yoli to open up?
Him: uuummmm ...well I was ...I am not that good with Spanish, I only....ummmm....know a little bit.
Me: so what is the language you prefer to speak?

And I wait for eternity thinking how ridiculous was that question. I only speak English and a little Spanish. He might come back with some remote Thailand rural language or dialect. I could be lucky and he might say pig latin but I doubt that. But things get interesting really quickly as he leaves me hanging. I am not sure if he is ignoring me or distracted by something else but he is visibly in more than one place at a time. Now my concerns for him go from worry about him being dangerous to me and possibly he might be suffering from dehydration or worse case scenario, some form of mental illness. I am not sure how to say it but my first impressions have been that he was a gentle soul but maybe a little odd and eccentric. Just then, he lifted his head and looked at me with one eye closed like he was going to try something out on me when he opened him mouth and said to me with the clearest and most elegant British accent..."English".

I AM FLOORED!!!! He is from freaking Wales and is as intelligent as you or I. Now let me explain why I am so floored. Admit it or not, in America, with most of our impressions of other cultures and people are shaped thru TV and movies, when I hear a British accent I think of James Bond or John Cleese and Monty Python. I think either refined or elegant to silly and drunk. I think of someone being really smart and Oxford educated or someone really drunk and slurring. I know the visions ranged but all of a sudden, this man with his tattered outside seemed like the most brilliant man in the world. I was relieved that I could actually communicate with him and get to know him. Like divine fate was at hand.

So he told me a little bit about himself. His name is Daniel and he is from Wales and had been here for about a year. He confided in me that he did spend some time in psychiatric holding (assuming against his wishes by his tone when he spoke of it) but figured if he focused and read the word of God and lived out of his element for at least a year, it could heal and re-center him. He did not use the words heal and re-center...I have this annoying habit of finishing Carme's sentences when she cannot think of the word in English and to show her that I am actually listening to her. But with his occasional breaks in speech and losing focus when looking around, I kind of helped myself to finishing his thoughts.

So I named this blog after that really popular tune because i had a thought. Just hear me out if you will. What if God was one of us? What if God walked the Earth again? Would He be in one form or many? If in many forms, would He be part of the flow of normality or stand out to test His creations and their reactions? Who are we to judge this man? How would we treat Him if we knew He was wearing tight shorts, headphones and staying in shape?

All in all I feel pretty good about introducing myself to Daniel. I think he could use a friend. My plan is to see if I can find him again and learn more about him. See where he came from and where is he going before he moves on to another location, if he hasn't already. Here's to you Daniel, brave soul indeed.