Soothing the Beast in All of Us

We are all so emotionally and mentally fragile.   I think most of us hang in the balance, where we could be sent over the edge mentally, and for some of us, it wouldn't take much.  The city can be a tough place to live at times, especially around holidays, when emotions run high.  It can also be a haven for the mentally ill, the homeless, where they can often find shelter, warmth and food.  Somewhere.
Suburban Station offers that to the homeless and the mentally ill.  With the bitter cold temperatures and the snow and ice from this week's storm, the concourse has been a gathering place for many, who otherwise would be freezing.  This week I have become more aware of homelessness and mental illness than during a normal week. 
So many people who are mentally fragile visit me every day.  I'd like to think, it was my music which soothes the tortured beast within them.  I'd like to think my music is the language which we have in common.  There is a an attractive young Asian woman who strides up to me daily, talking a blue streak in an Asian language I don't recognize, non-stop, using hand gestures and pantomime.  Her sweat pants are usually wet to the knees.  She's not dressed for the weather.  There is, however, no negativity in her.  She seems gentle and sweet.  I wish I understood what she says.  Sometimes she mimics rocking a baby.  I'm sure she has a story to tell.  Then there is the man who curses me out.  Every day he calls me all kinds of expletives, as I just continue to sing.  There's also the aging hippie, who always stops and talks to me for about three or four minutes about how I would probably earn more money if he just moved on and left me alone to do my singing.  There's a twinkle in his eye.  He starts to leave, then stops, turns around, and pretends to come back, then starts to leave, turns, pretends to come back, smiling the whole time, like, he's just messing with me.  Then leaves for good.  
Many of the others ask me for money.  Yesterday eight people asked me for money before I got my first tip (they were eyeing the eight dollars I put in the guitar case at the start as "seed money").  The open guitar case with money can be a lure.  Yet I'd like to think it is the music.  Beyond language and words.  Tapping into the emotions directly.
Maybe that's why I feel drained after singing for two-and-a-half hours.  I don't usually take a break.  In that 150 minutes I've sung songs about all kinds of pain and sorrow and joy and love.  I've met so many people who smile at me, as well as those who vent their anger at me, or share a story in Vietnamese, or some other language.  Most of the time their stories are in English, and I've understood every word.  In that short time, I've been through the emotional wringer. 
I don't know what the answer is to homelessness, much less mental illness.
Like war between nations, I think it is a condition that will always exist, as long as there are people on earth. 
And I'd like to think there will always be music, people making music, sharing music, in public and in private, to soothe the beast within all of us.....