Greetings once again to the Circle,
I have a ticket in my wallet for the Kansas City express bus leaving Tulsa at 7:05 P.M., Saturday night (tonight). Plans are to be on it, rather than spend another night in the Mission. Pull into Lawrence at one-something in the morning, but at least it will be Lawrence.
Strange. Of all the cities, towns, places I've seen during the past couple of weeks, Lawrence stands head and shoulders above them all. I am reminded of "The Wizard of Oz" where Dorothy says something to the effect that there's no place quite like yr own back yard.
I received a wonderful gift an hour or so ago. This morning I was over at the Center, getting my T.B. test read (negative), and just as I picked up the blue backpack to go shave, the intercom announced the bathrooms were closed for cleaning. Well, I thought, shave at the library.
But that didn't happen, either.
I'd received an e-mail from one of the Circle who lives in Tulsa, Barbara, and she mentioned she might be able to make it down to the library sometime Saturday or Sunday, assuming I was still in town. So I sat there thinking, well, go shave. Just in case she shows. But that didn't happen, the shaving.
I was on my way to Western Union when I ran into Cochise (whom I have written of earlier), and there he was talking to some street minister. I stopped to see if they had any coffee. Cochise was drunk--as usual--but remembered me, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me over to introduce me to the preacher. He couldn't remember my name, of course, but that didn't really matter. He wanted the preacher to know that he and I went to church together, although we've never really done that.
Well, perhaps we have. Depends, I suppose, on how you define "Church." There is a church without walls which exists independently of dogma or theology. A church of Aloha, if you will. I'd like to think both Cochise and myself attend that one on a regular basis. As do many of you.
So...he detained me. And when I did manage to shake myself loose, I walked on a bit, found a low wall to sit upon, and was rolling a cigarette from found butts and tissue paper from one of those tiny New Testaments when I heard this feminine voice say, "You're Dickens?"
Barbara. My Angel From Tulsa.
If I were to describe her in a word I would say...elegant. I used the phrase "imperially slim" to her face, borrowing from "Richard Cory" by Edward Arlington Robinson. And she was all of that...and more. She sat down beside me and I could just *feel* these waves of aloha coming from her. Now picture this: there I am, at my very worst--appearance-wise--since getting to Tulsa. I'd been shivering violently not long before, so had on maroon sweats over my black jeans, the quilted shirt open beneath my sport jacket, a 3-day growth of whiskers. A poet in very much tramp's clothing, and yet she gave not the slightest indication that I was anything other than one of God's children. (And she said she liked my poetry, to boot.)
So she had gone looking for me and had found me, thanks to Cochise grabbing me by the arm. At times like this, I tend to marvel at the timing of the Spirit of Aloha who ever and again gives me such wondrous gifts.
And it was very much a gift.
She'd brought a thermos of coffee, and I sat there rolling cigarettes, doing my down-n-out gig, and she was the picture of class. A class act.
We visited perhaps 20 minutes, and at the end, I walked her to her car, shook hands with her (such slim, artistic fingers she has!), and went my way. She asked if I would keep her in the Circle, and of course that was my desire as well.
So...a blessing from Tulsa just as I am preparing to leave. The library closes in 45 minutes, so I will be heading down to the station to wait. Am tired, very much so, but also eager to get on the road again, to see those miles moving by, to climb inside my head and commune with such blessings as I have received during this...hegira.
For this has been essentially a hegira, a spiritual journey. And it is, I trust, far from over. Just that this particular chapter is drawing to a close.
I came here not really knowing where I was going with my life. And it was here, in the wee hours of the morning, that the Spirit came to me and told me that no matter what road I might ever find myself on, that there were but two destinations: Ninevah (that way) and Damascus (that way). And both are essentially the same. For those of you who know scripture, you'll understand what the Spirit was saying.
Noelani will understand this, Rebecca will understand this, Cathy will understand this. With some of you I have shared more of my spiritual side than I have with others, and I do not wish to offend anyone with this side of me, but it's very real. It is who I really am. My poetry is essentially spiritual and based in Aloha.
I will never see Ralph again, holding up his pants with one hand, the other clutching that forgotten cigarette. But I am quite sure (smile) that "Apple, peaches, pumpkin pie..." will be running through my head now and then. And I will remember his politeness, when he would suddenly come out of the colloquy with his demons and rejoin the world as we know it. I will remember that. I will remember the kindnesses shown me, just as the slights, the averted eyes will also remain.
And soon I will be the picture of quiet elegance again. I take my lovely black wingtips and
little else. But clothing awaits in Lawrence.
But here is what I will take which means so much to me: I will take those of you with me who wish to go, who wish to share in how this tattered life is a-going. You are all welcome to come along, although I know that some of you do not wish to. Perhaps soon I will cull those who've not written at all.
I've received wonderful letters from so many of you. You have shared your hearts with me, your pain, sorrows, regrets, hopes, and visions of a brighter and better tomorrow, just as I have shared mine with you. And is this not what it is all about? Isn't this thing called Life mostly about Aloha?
So I leave you now, but I leave you with the Spirit of Aloha. We're all safe within her arms.
One final notation: last weekend, listening to that wondrous bluegrass gospel, I suddenly felt a song rising up within me. A gospel song. There was this flower, see, accompanied by thorns, and the theme of the song would be the beauty of both the rose and the thorns, and that the thorns would someday find a perfect service as a crown for a certain Carpenter.
I wanted to write this song for someone very, very special to me. I'm calling it...Love Is A Rose. Smile. Some of you just might be able to figure out who I'm writing it for.
Now, it's time. I love you all, even those of you who find me boring, obtuse. I am all of that, too. Smile. But it's me.
Aloha, dear Circle. May the Circle be unbroken.
A hui hou. (Till we're together again)
Dickens
From the Streets of Tulsa
