My Journey into Busking - Part 3 - the value of a coin.

Searching through the scraps of paper, half eaten sandwiches and dirty food containers, the man located what he was looking for. He picked out the glass bottle worth 10 cents from among the filth and placed it in his little canvas bag that was draped over the handle of a two wheeled trolley. 

The man’s clothes were tattered and torn and his wrinkled hands were black from the dirt and grime of street life. He was a patient man who had accepted his humble position. He was not proud, but neither was he arrogant and bitter. He had developed a skill in seeing what was valuable amidst the common and unwanted things of everyday life and this had changed him on the inside and strengthened his self-worth. He knew he was just like that discarded bottle, and someone special had eyes just for him.

He lifted a few scraps of rubbish to reach further into the bin. As he did, his ears picked up the sound of someone singing. He listened for a while as he retrieved another bottle. The voice was not trained in performance and was not eagerly vying for approval or attention. The buskers words floated upon a scratchy melody as his guitar strummed. “When darkness closes in, I shelter under your wing; you love me and heal me from sin”.  As he listened, something within him stirred. Somehow he wanted to be a part of the busker’s expression. Somehow it echoed what was happening in his heart and life and he wanted to be a part of that song. He opened his old cloth purse, took out 50 cents, then walked over and placed it into the busker’s guitar case.

The busker stopped mid-song amazed and stunned by what had just occurred. Something special and meaningful had happened before his very eyes. He understood that to get this 50 cent coin, that wonderful man dressed in rags had to journey from rubbish bin to rubbish bin, amidst glaring eyes and a harsh environment, to a recycle depot and back. This money would help pay for his next meal. “Thankyou my friend”, the busker whispered in appreciation. “Thankyou”. The man dressed in rags, lifted his hand knowing his offering had been gratefully accepted and in that instant, both the busker, and the man in rags were richer than anyone else in the city.