PLEASE MEET JYPSY:
Some call her the foundation of her tribe. “God gave me the special gift of understanding my people and their needs.” Her voice is gravelly. Her message solid. “She’s our cornerstone. She’s the mortar that binds us together,” her people say. Indeed, Jypsy is well pegged with parlance from the masonry industry. She is a rock. A pillar. Her spirit immovable. Her integrity a slab of concrete.
Under a dirty bridge in Seattle I met Jypsy 3 years ago. It was a dark place. Near a cement factory. An encampment tangled with tents and troubled souls. Jypsy’s people. Bordered by a railroad spur and indifference. Switch engines basted powerful horns, rolling slowly only feet away. Disturbing. Shaking the ground. Shaking guts and conscience. I passed a smoky fire. In the darkness a woman roasted meat chunks skewered on a long knife. I was startled and kept walking the mud path. On to Jypsy’s tent. Her presence contrasted. Like sunlight splashing on graffiti. Her wit and humor soothed above the industrial noise. Like pebbles rolling under a stream. “I’m Jypsy.” she said. I shook her strong hand, “I know, I’ve heard of you.”
They call her Momma. Jypsy is a leader and a mother to her band of souls living in poverty. These days her health is poor, but she is cared for by her people. She carries portable oxygen and struggles to breath. She coughs. Her respiratory system challenged further by her frequent laughter.
Jypsy speaks of her influences. Her grandmother was loving and kind. Her mother destructive and mean. “She beat me. But I had the insight to recognize the sorrow and confusion that tore her from within. I love her and forgive her.” Jypsy was abducted at age 9. She was drugged and sexually abused. She feels anxiety still. I asked how she remains positive. “We’re all taken care of. In God’s hands we will be fine. We start with this each day, and our problems are minor. “ Jypsy speaks of accountability. Acceptance. Love. Her eyes are warm, but sometimes fierce. Her laughter punctuated with fat tears.
Jypsy’s life is a spiritual journey. “I’m not perfect. I often wonder what the F I’m doing.” I ask her what we should know. “We must not be subservient to ourselves. We must be accepting of others. We must be accepting of all. We must never be bound to our own.”
As I departed a train blocked my path trapping me near the woman by the fire. She pointed her knife at me, offering me the piece of meat on the tip.
SODO Neighborhood | Damian
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