Helping out in a topsy-turvy world

■ Whether it be through writing, music, activism or teaching, we can all sew a patch on to the tattered flag of resistance and make it stronger.

Every day we have to navigate our way through so much madness, and try to remain sane, the miracle is that we still function. After a report on homelessness on RTÉ yesterday, the first ad I heard was for a new hairdryer that costs more than €300; some people will sleep on wet cardboard while others will buy the most expensive blow dry ever. Something inside me always collapses a little when I hear information like that.

Today in Terenure I saw Christ. The wild acres of his unmown beard were like a forest fire. His eyes, red marbles in tiny milk saucers. On his shoulder he was dragging a tree. Stooped, pines on his shoulders, following his own Christmas Calvary. The passion and nativity all in one. His tree fell to the ground and he stumbled trying to pick it up.

“Can I help you?” He reminded me of a man who used to read me stories years ago. “Ah, you’re very kind, I’m only up the road, I’m after falling twice already.” His words smelt of a long afternoon of malt and oblivion, of drowning inside himself.

“There’ll be murder when I try putting this up at home.”

So, Christ and I hauled his tree up Terenure Road, passing all the windows lit with nostalgia. There was no Veronica to wipe his brow. There will be no pilgrims to come and see the Shroud of Terenure.

“I’m here now,” he said, halting at a gravelled driveway.

I smiled at him and pressed his hand. He’d walk the rest of his Calvary, back to his crib, alone. So, Happy Christmas. Billy O Hanluain Kimmage, Dublin 12