I live near the Buffalo Psychiatric Center. We have lots of college kids from Buff State, families and the occasional homeless person. We also have a small assortment of people who go by daily to and from day treatment. They are usually not inclined to look or talk or interact in any way. All in all, a pretty good area.
It's late morning, hot, especially for Buffalo. The sun is hot, the air is hot, the breeze is both hot and sticky. I'm trying to catch a suggestion of coolness on the lower front porch. There is an old man, skinny, not thin. Greying hair, dark pants, black leather jacket with nothing under it, bandanna tied around his head, holding his greying pony-tail in place. His face is wrinkled and weather-work, but what concerns me right now is that he is beet red and perspiring profusely. Dehydration is no joke. I've been in the back on more than one ambulance in need of nothing more than a bag of fluid. He looks at me and I ask him if he wants some water. "Yes," he says, his voice raspy and soft. "That would be nice."
I move toward the house, but he has come around to the porch stairs faster than I could have imagined possible. I am NOT inviting this person into the house. Not my intention, not my plan, not by the hair on my chiny-chin-chin. He is looking at me intently. "I have found the path of salvation" he says to me. "The path to salvation is through, and only through marijuana." Terrific. Give this guy some water and get moving. My daughter comes to the front door. Thanks be to the real God for sending her at that moment. Could she get this guys some water? She gets a sports bottle full of fresh cool water and gives it to me. I hand it to the guy with the sweat stained bandanna. He drinks, he coughs, as if the water was burning on the way down. He stops drinking to explain to me that god gave pot to man to help him become saved. He knows this because he, himself IS god. Would I like a demonstration? I am clearly not going to talk him out of his delusion, so sure - let's see what you've got.
He says, "I'm going to look into the sun and cause the wind to blow. Watch." There is already a breeze. it is a hot, sticky breeze, but it's there. He backs onto the sidewalk and stares directly into the sun. "Do you feel it?" he asks hopefully. I have to tell the truth here. I wanted to see how far this nut job would take it. "Not yet!' I reply. "wait for it!", he tells me. I cannot let him continue to do this to himself. "I feel it now!" My daughter joins in, "I feel it too." Let the poor bastard off the hook.
"Your work here is done. it's time to move on.", I tell him. " Would you like a refill on your water before you go?" Yes, thanks. I refill the bottle from the hose that my daughter is using to water the garden. It's her cover story for being out there and I am deeply grateful. I hand him the bottle and he plunks himself on my porch steps. Oh My Goodness! Then I remember. How many stories have I heard about angels appearing as men and how they were treated. Lots. OK, let's say this is an angel (I'm getting hot too) and this is a test of my ability to be compassionate in the face of what superficially looks like stark raving mad. His head is bowed and he looks up at me. He begins to speak:
"I have my demons. I've been in counseling since I was 21. Not one of the counseling agencies here will talk to me anymore. I have beer for breakfast and I will not give up my salvation through marijuana. So I need to get something off my chest. (oh no, here it comes) . I really am god. I make the marijuana grown in my house. I only share it with my disciples. I am a virgin. Nobody believes me that I am god, but it's true. I can look into the sun and tell the wind to blow." He gestures to his shirtless grey-haired chest. "Salvation comes from me in here. It goes to the marijuana and I share it." He tries to quote the Book of John in the Bible, but cannot remember chapter or verse. But he assures me that Jesus started smoking pot when he was 3 and continued using it the rest of his life, sharing it with his disciples. I was right the first time - stark mad.
I'm not sure how long he would have gone on. "It's time for you to go" had come out of my mouth several times, to no avail. My son-in-law came outside at that point and looming above our visitor said, "Can I help you?". It must be a guy thing, but bandanna man said his farewells and left the porch, and in fact our side of the street. He did stop briefly on the corner to gaze into the sun one last time just to make his point about the breeze. He took the water bottle with him.
I worry about folks like this. I hope he's OK. I hope he gets help. I wonder what life must me like inside the head of someone tortured with thoughts like this. If he was right and demons are in him, I pray they leave him in peace some day. If I had a herd of swine nearby I would have prayed to drive his demons away for him. There was nowhere to fling them. He seems to be ok with his condition. I'm not sure what I coulda shoulda woulda done differently. It is what it is.
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