Down but not out in Tulsa....
A chilly morning. At First Episcopal where they feed of a morning, the talk was all about how damned cold it was last night. Down around 40 degrees, someone said. Some were still shivering, standing in line waiting for the coffee to spread a bit of warmth. A ragged line. I sat on the bench and looked at them, seeing which were immediately recognizable as Street and which were not. About 90 per cent instant. Carrying big transparent garbage bags filled with clothing. Long, ragged hair...big old shoulder bags...ratty clothing. Most are instantly recognizable.
Overheard Conversation: So they was some kinda damn short in the damn solenoid and so he gits under there and taps it with a damn screwdriver to make it start, see, and the other guy he puts it in gear by mistake and runs over the guy underneath.
Someone says, No way! And someone else says, Serves him right, anybody who'd do something like that sho nuff deserves to git runned ovah.
I'm missing something, but move on. I don't get the connection between a shorted-out solenoid and deserving to get run over.... Another of Life's Little Unsolved Mysteries. I didn't learn if the guy was injured or not, but I assume if he'd been seriously hurt that would have been mentioned.
It's just after 10 A.M. and I need to get moving in the next half hour or so. Need to run up to where the bag is stashed and get my stuff over to the Center (that's what they call it) and see if I can get some laundry done. Tonight the Assembly of God from Prue, OK is supposed to come get me and transport me to their services.
I am thinking...they need a t-shirt design for their little church. And that I am just the guy to do it for them.
Last night I dreamed about that...getting a design together and going back up on Diamondhead and selling it...in the dream, it was all so simple until the lady told me she couldn't have it designed by today. That it would take some time. I was all indignant. Well, *I* could do it today. She looked at me with infinite patience, and of course I didn't recognize the Dancer in disguise. But it was she, of course.
So I am beginning to make moves.
I am still smoking. Last night I could tell the Power simply wasn't there and it would have been utterly futile to attempt a LetGo at this time. I dreamed about Power, also. The Big Book tells us, "Lack of power was our dilemma." Yes, I see that. And I see it all over the Street. The utter lack of power of the sentient marble to move out of the rolling rut. Alcohol and drugs are the demons who rule down here. Mad kingdoms of despair.
It pleases me to be able to share all of this with you. Many of you write back, some do not. I suppose somewhere down the line I will begin to cull the wheat from the chaff, and drop those who take and never give back. Sigh. We'll see. Your letters *do* feed me, do sustain me. And writing this...whatever, helps give focus, purpose, meaning to these 40 days in the wilderness. For I have come to look upon this as a kind of VisionQuest, one not to be spat upon, dismissed, whined about (why me, O Lord???) or any of that, but a time to be accepted with gratitude.
So few get to do this, get to walk into the Lion's Den of the Down n Out and yet return to the other side, unscathed.
There was more talk of stolen backpacks this morning...there may well be honor among thieves, but I question how much honor exists down here. You find someone you can vaguely trust, and have him watch your bag as you go for a coffee refill. You share the tobacco and papers with that person...You live a life based on fear and not-enough.
I don't want to live that way. Walking to the library this morning I thought back and saw how much of my life has been lived in anxiety, in a poverty-mentality even when I was making upwards of $100 an hour over in Honolulu. Even then, I was in fear. It makes no sense to me now that I have nothing. Here I am, my greatest financial fear has come to pass. And yet, there is no anxiety. It's come, it's here, and all that garbage I worried about is simply...illusion.
The Voice whispers, "And which of your needs is not fulfilled?" Truthfully, I have *all* that I need. Not all that I want, but all that I need. I am once again fed, I once again reach out to human contact via the cyber-gods, I once again lift up my voice and bellow out little snatches of the Street.
There is really nothing to fear. A lady wrote me that she felt she had been in a rut for so many years, and that she had decorated her rut in such a lovely fashion. I paraphrase, but you get the idea. I thought that such a telling thing to say.
It's time to get a move on.
Remember that I love you all. Write me. I must go do laundry, take a shower, put on a dress shirt, dress slacks, and , um, power tie. Heh, heh. May *be* on the Street, but don't always have to look that way.
You be careful out there. Don't forget who luvs ya.
