There are beautiful people everywhere. Even on the street.

Sometimes it is hard to rid ourselves of the belief in the "other." That sneaky feeling that somehow we are essentially different than those who follow a different path or end up on a different corner.

It is getting easier though.

The state of being homeless has never really concerned me. I have not feared it as I so often experienced it as a young child. In fact we were left on the edge so often that it nearly seemed the natural state of things. And when I walked by homeless folk on my lunch break, in my uncomfortable shoes and even more uncomfortable tights, I never felt there was a distinction between them and I. Not beyond the fact that I had someone to report to if my lunch break went over and for the most part knew where I would be sleeping.

Nor did I ever have an opportunity to form an opinion of the homeless that blamed their position on any sort of lack of character or motivation. Even as a child I understood the unpredictable element of luck. Some people had it. Some people didn't.

My family belonged to the latter, much bigger and more inclusive group.

I'm not sure of luck even now though. If one is born unlucky, can we alter this reality as we alter our course? I don't know. Not yet.

You can not tell from the video that my new friend has no legs. Eventually you, I hope, will see my photographs and will see then. I only mention it so that you will have some small piece of context. I stood there taking photographs of some of the other men in his company and then turned my head to see him wheel himself close to me and ask "And what tribe are you from?"

"My mother was Choctaw, but me, I'm just Black."

"Well you look more Indian than Black. Let me sing you a song."

My mother used to say teh same thing when I had my hair in a braid down the back of my head. And instantly I remembered her, deeply.

I think it's possible for others to be welcomed into the comradery of these groups as I have been. All it takes is the understanding that nothing is simple.

Snell was not simply an alcoholic Indian. I am not simply a single mother living out of my car for a spell. And so on.

Nothing is as simple as we make it in order to more easily deal.

Walking by Snell, as most do, without even a thought as to whether these complexities exist says something about our society. We overlook the "other" to lose ourselves in routine. "I can't look down at that drunk Indian because I am late for my lunch date" or "I pay enough in taxes that I am sure there is a program he could be applying for" fall from even the most kind hearted "liberal's" lips.

But things just are not that simple.