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Exiled_Child
Guest
I just a few minutes ago learned that a friend here in Seattle has died from an overdose. His street name was Pilgrim, and though of course I know his real true birth name, Pilgrim is the name he was given on the street, and it’s the name everyone here knows him by. The name that fit him so perfectly. This is just overwhelming for me, because he honestly was a wonderful soul, the type of exceptional person who stands out above all others in your memory as one of the truly towering characters you’ve been privileged to know. He was originally from Sacto, and he served ten years in a prison called Deuel Vocational Institution, which is oftentimes referred to as “Gladiator School” by people whose paths have travelled those sorts of roads. He was like a rock that I could always count on; he was always there for me when I needed someone strong to talk to. He was a cradle Catholic, and in prison he embraced the work of Saint John of the Cross, and Pilgrim’s the one who got me so interested in him. He gave me a treasure of a gift, St. John’s collected works, and that was always one of the things we had between us. Because most people here, of course, just mock and deride Christians, especially when you’re walking around the street and talking with people you meet, but Pilgrim was always a rock of unswervable, unwavering faith. People would make their obscene, filthy comments about Christ and Christians, and Pilgrim consistently, always had a way of cutting through it all with his soft spoken, low-key prison voice and prison demeanor, in that way that certain ex-cons have. People who’ve walked through their Dark Night of the Soul over many, many years, and who emerged strong and wise and unfathomable. I can’t explain it, but people who have interacted with cons will know what I mean. He really was just a miracle of a person - physically capable of mopping up the sidewalk with anyone who was out of line, and yet he was always gentle and understanding to a remarkable degree. My description is probably off, because I’m distraught, but there was something undeniably holy about him. To those who really knew well, at least. For years now I’ve daily carried around in my pack this beautiful yellow hardcover book he bought for me of St. John’s collected writings, and it’s something that I always turn to for comfort. Again, it’s something I can’t explain well, but Pilgrim helped me through some dark times myself, and I’ll be forever grateful to him. I’m sitting here shaking as I write this. The last prayer request I made was for a girl I loved who killed herself, and now this, a man who lived the harshest, most painful existence, and who I miss terribly already. Please, if you have a few moments, say a prayer for Pilgrim.
