The Temple of God

The priests then withdrew from the Holy Place.
All the priests who were there had consecrated themselves,
regardless of their divisions. 
All the Levites who were musicians—
Asaph, Heman, Jeduthun and their sons and relatives—
stood on the east side of the altar,
dressed in fine linen
and playing cymbals, harps and lyres.
They were accompanied by 120 priests sounding trumpets. 
The trumpeters and musicians joined in unison
to give praise and thanks to the Lord.
Accompanied by trumpets, cymbals and other instruments, 
the singers raised their voices in praise to the Lord and sang:
“He is good! his love endures forever!”
Then the temple of the Lord was filled with the cloud, 
and the priests could not perform their service because of the cloud, 
for the glory of the Lord filled the Temple of God.

2 Chronicles 5:11-14

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Tuesday Tune-Up Two

Q.  Do you know who I am?

A.  Not exactly.  But I don’t think it’s relevant.

Q. So why have you summoned me?

A. Because it’s Tuesday.

Q. Tuesday?

A. You heard me.

Q. What have I got to do with Tuesday?

A. I don’t know.  It just kind of seemed like a good day to check in with you.

Q. You mean you’re going to see me every Tuesday?

A. Yes.

Q. Why?

A. Because it represents order.   Regularity.   Discipline.   Things that are sadly lacking in my chaotic life.

Q. Why is your life chaotic?

A. I think I’ve explained this already.   But I suppose it can bear review.   I made a drastic life change about a year and a half ago, in which the old standards and values began no longer to apply.  An effect of this shocking translation is that of chaos.

Q. But don’t you despise chaos?

A. I not only despise it — I am entirely threatened by it.   As a creative, I thrive on order.  There is no place for chaos in my ideal, beautiful world.

Q. Then what can be done to remove it?

meditation-key-loving-reaching-healthy-weightA. Meditation.

Q. Are you serious?

A. I am indeed.

Q. But isn’t meditation a device of the devil designed to make the mind open to demonic influences?

A. Oh, please.  I may be a Christian, but I’m not stupid.

Q. You aren’t?

A. I could conceivably be offended.  Of course I’m not stupid.  Only chaotic, convoluted, and confused.

Q. But how can meditation help you with this?  

A. I can’t tell you.  All I know is that the one time I dared to try it, the results were marvelous.

Q. How so?

A. I noticed all these bizarre thought patterns that had been holding me back.  And in noticing them, and accepting them, somehow they dissolved.

Q. Do you mean that when you were done meditating, you were no longer harangued by these processes?

A. Not for a while, I wasn’t.  A few of them later returned to me, along with some new ones.

Q. So what does this tell you?

A. That I should meditate every day.  It’s a place I need to revisit regularly, in order to get myself clear.

Q. So what’s stopping you?

A. What do you think?

The Questioner is silent.

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Brotherly Love

As any of my close readers surely know, I’m a person who made a dramatic shift in  location and lifestyle round about July 2016.   So dramatic, that I’ve been having some difficulty relating to old friends and family members.

I don’t know if age is “relative,” but I do know that as I’m about to turn 65, I feel like a fit and vigorous, healthy man. Even though I earlier lamented that I’d gained weight and that my vital signs no longer boasted a 55 heart rate and a 100/65 blood pressure, I found recently when I had a check-up that my pulse is still 60, and my blood pressure 112/80.  Although I suppose it’s inevitable that I eventually contract a serious disease, I’m not any more worried about it than I was twenty or thirty years ago.  The idea that life stops at 65 flies in the face of the fact that after twelve years of homelessness, I feel that my life has just begun.

So when old friends contact me, I often feel a tinge of depression.  Most of them are so depressed and distracted by life.  Of course I have moments of depression, but I don’t live there.  One of my friends never even laughs at my jokes anymore.  It’s not that I mind being around depressed people when I’m not at depressed myself.  I’m not that insensitive.  It’s that it’s hard for me to deal with their expectation that I, too, am “supposed” to be feeling depressed or miserable, at this stage in my life.

At the local Recovery Center where I volunteer, I try to help other men who have had similar issues as my own, whether derived from homelessness or from some other form of sustained trauma.   So I asked my counselors there about this dynamic.

One of the counselors suggested I don’t contact any of these people at all, even the ones whom I’ve always gotten on well with.  She said that to continue buzzing them is only preventing me from fully embracing my new and better life.

Then I asked: “What about my brother?”

“That’s different,” she said. “Contact him about three times a year, unless he contacts you first.”

At that, I figured it was about time to contact him.  So I did.  He hasn’t contacted me back, but that’s just Steve.  In some ways, he’s about as opposite of me as they come.  Whereas I tend to use too many words to convey my point, he tends not to use enough.  Also, his issues are much different than mine – what I know of them.  Basically, he was brought up by my logical-scientific dad, and I was brought up by my emotional Sicilian mother.  Somehow, she favored me, me being the first-born son.  But Dad favored my brother.  As the first-born son, I was supposed to follow in his footsteps.  But the logical-scientific stuff was just — not me.  It was Steve.  So Dad taught my little brother everything he knew — so much so that Steve got 800’s all across the board on his achievement tests: physics, chemistry, and Math Level 2.  He graduated with a 4.0 from the California Institute of Technology.   I haven’t graduated from anywhere.

Not yet, anyway.


The above is my rendition of an old Hollies song I kinda like.  In this day and age, we often feel that our siblings have been a burden to us.  I often think I must have burdened my brother quite a bit when I was still homeless, continually looking for help that he was not disposed to provide.   Similarly, I wonder if he feels he was burdened by me.  It seems to be a dynamic in modern life that one brother will “succeed” financially, and the other won’t.   I wonder if I gypped him out of some of his success, by leaning on him, as I did.

In any case, I thought of him as I played this song.   If only we, as Christians or spiritual people, could freely bear the burdens of our birth brothers and sisters, the way we so readily bear the burdens of our brothers and sisters in Christ.  Here’s hoping.

I love you, Steve.

Once Homeless Always Homeless?

smileIn trying to do my part to raise awareness as to the homeless phenomenon in America, I would be remiss if I left out the fact that there are certain perks to the homeless experience that often go unnoticed. In fact, it is partly because of those positives that I managed to sustain my homeless condition for as long as I did. If it had not have been on some level enjoyable for me, I would probably have figured out a way out of it before lingering twelve long years in it.

This is not to say that it wasn’t absolutely horrible at times. So horrible, it made me wonder why people thought I was being hyperbolic whenever I compared it to being in a war zone or a concentration camp. Nobody in their right mind would think homelessness was a “piece of cake.” But just as people had no idea just how awful it could be, they also seemed to have no idea what it was that I actually liked about it, that kept deluding me for so many years into believing it was “worth the risk.”

Here are some positive aspects of my homeless experience that I have not yet been able to replace readily by living indoors:

(1) I did not have to pay any rent. I was therefore able to use my monthly disability money for things such as food, clothing, and creature comforts. If I had still lived indoors in the San Francisco Bay Area, most (if not all) of my monthly check would have been consumed in rent.

(2) I had no trouble coming up with food. Because I lived in an area where it was lawful and commonplace to sit down and fly a sign on a sidewalk, I often received food at my Spot, even when I had no money. I also lived in a city where there were 35 free community meals per week, at various churches.

(3) Being considered unemployable, I did not have to work on a job that, chances are, I would have screwed up somehow.  Therefore I had plenty of time to work on my various artistic projects, most of which were inspired by the very colorful and unusual world in which I lived.

(4) I had no trouble maintaining a healthy exercise program. My lifestyle necessitated that I walk at least ten miles a day. So I remained thin and fit, no matter how much I ate. My vital signs were always excellent: 100/65 blood pressure, 55 heart rate. Believe me, fifty pounds heavier from living inside, it is not easy to maintain physical fitness.

(5) I had no trouble with overeating. Not having a kitchen or a place of my own, there was no urge to binge-eat or gorge down food late at night out of general uneasiness and nervousness. Even when I did happen to come into, say, a box of doughnuts, I could divide them up between me and my homeys, and know that within a day or two, all of those calories would be worked out of my system.

(6) I did not suffer from the kinds of annoying “addictions” that are inherent in indoor living. For example, it was not possible for me to remain on the computer for twelve hours goofing off, because I hardly ever owned a computer. When I did, I was constantly in search of an outdoor power outlet and a quiet spot where I would go unnoticed. Usually, my computer would be stolen within a few short weeks, so Internet addiction became basically impossible.

(7) I kept my sexual desires in check. Hard to engage that stuff when you live outdoors and you might at least wind up with a “lewd conduct” charge (if not indecent exposure.)

(8) Negative ions in the air have been proven to be good for one’s physical and mental health.   The vast majority of Americans do not spend nearly enough time outdoors.  I miss the amount of time I spent outdoors, because it seemed to be good for me.

(9) I was not a softie in those days, like I sometimes fear I am becoming. I was strong, and a staunch survivor. I endured life’s vicissitudes without pampering or babying myself.  I was vigorous and ready for anything.  Now I’m lazy, slacking, undisciplined, and not ready for jack shit.

(10) In general, things that would be regarded as frequent temptations in the realm of indoor living were seen as rare opportunities in the realm of the outdoors. If somebody tossed me a doughnut, I rejoiced — I didn’t worry about my calories. If marijuana showed up, I rejoiced to smoke it, and went my way. I didn’t worry about smoking the whole bag in less than twenty-four hours because it was just so easy to keep tugging on that thing while staring at all the pretty images on my indoor computer.

In conclusion, things that I absolutely loved when I lived outdoors have become the very things I absolutely hate while I continue to try to live indoors.  The shock of the hugeness of the transition continues to be too much for me, and I am extremely surprised that I have managed to stay indoors for over a year and a half now without giving up and hitting the road.

Those are just off the top of my head. I’m sure many other benefits of homelessness will come to mind, if I really think about it. But along with those benefits came huge detriments, often suddenly and out-of-the-blue. My life was often threatened, I was subjected twice to strong armed robbery and once to arson, and many items of value were stolen from me in the night whilst I slept.

So it’s important at this stage in my journey that I resist the temptation to default back to homelessness. It’s important that I regain some of the simple disciplines that kept me trim, fit, and healthy for so many years before I ever had to be homeless. Being sedentary, after being highly active for so long, has not been a whole lot of fun.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have not gone so far as to get an automobile yet.  I still walk four to six miles a day for transportation, and I go on long runs on the weekends. But somehow, used to all that excessive exercise, I’ve still managed to gain fifty pounds. I gotta get that weight off – and if all else fails, I know one sure way to do it.

Once homeless? Always homeless. Guess it’s just in my blood.

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Tuesday Tune-Up

Q. Do you know who I am?

A. Not exactly.  But I don’t think it’s relevant.

Q. So why have you summoned me?

A. Tune-up.

Q. Squeaky wheels, eh?

A. They’re the ones that get the oil.

Q. Are they?

A. I’m honestly not sure.  I’ve tried to believe that.  I’ve read the Parable of the Unjust Judge enough times to have figured it out.   Or the Parable of the Nagging Widow, or whatever they call it, depending on the emphasis.

Q. Do you empathize with the Judge, or with the Widow?

A. I said “emphasis” not “empathize.”  I don’t empathize with either of them.

Q. Then why are you trying to act like one of them?

A. Because I’ve been led to believe that it will work.

Q. What will work?   Nagging?

gavelA. Yes — or so I’m led to believe.  You know the story.  The widow appears before the Judge with some certain request that he at first denies her.   But she just keeps appearing, and showing up in Court, and reiterating her request ad nauseum, until eventually the Judge breaks down and grants her the request, just to get her off his back.

Q. And so you figure that if you nag everybody enough, they’ll eventually break down?

A. More-or-less.  That’s what I’ve been figuring, but it obviously doesn’t work.  I am either never going to get the money to do this demo recording, or I’m going to have to go about it some other way — because no matter how many times I plead, I still see the same hundred bucks in there that I saw a long time ago.   Sure it was encouraging when it first showed up — way back when — but it’s pretty damned discouraging to keep checking the fund site, only to find that nothing has changed.  I finished the musical almost a year ago and have been trying to move onto the next stage since then! It’s frustrating!!!

People set up “go-fund-me’s” for all kinds of things these days, and get the money.  Some of the causes aren’t even worthwhile, if you ask me — yet they still manage to come up with the bucks.  Here I wrote this entire musical, I’m only trying to get basic money together for the next step in the process, and nobody will help me.   Nobody.

Q. But some people have helped you on occasion, haven’t they?

A. Yeah, but they’ve helped me — not my project.   I keep telling people; I don’t need personal help anymore; I’m meeting my own personal needs, thank you.  I’m not sleeping in a gutter anymore; I’m not panhandling – I’m not begging for change on the streets.  I’ve tried to go about this whole thing decently and honestly, but where has it gotten me?

I set up a separate fund for this thing — or rather my friend Danielle did — and we still can’t get any money together.  I’ve been as honest as I can be; and that doesn’t seem to help.   What am I supposed to do?  Turn around and start feeding people a load of bullshit in order to try to get this show on the road?   That would fly in the face of everything I stand for; everything the musical is all about.

Q. Andy, have you ever considered that maybe this isn’t the time to produce your musical?

A. Painfully, yes.  Of course I have.   I’m a  Christian, and I figure God is closing the doors until a time of His choosing, not mine. 

Q. And do you not see His many blessings in other areas of your life?

A. Sure I do!  At times, I am even grateful for them.  But that doesn’t automatically put an end to my frustration.  I spent five years trying to get this script and score finished – through seemingly insurmountable obstacles – in order for it to come to this.   It makes me feel as though I wasted my time on some pipe dream.

Q. Where is your faith?

A. That’s the $64,000 question.   And I’m only asking for 1% that amount.   So – I’ll try this one more time, but honestly, that’s about all I can take of this.   All these stupid donate buttons go against my grain.  Not to mention, they soil the picture of this blog.  I’m about the least materialistic guy on the planet, and they stick out like a sore thumb. I don’t need the gavel of an Unjust Judge to validate my mediocrity.  I’m bigger than that.  I’m better than that!   I’m an Artist!!   I’m an Artist — and I hate money.  I hate what it does to me, and I don’t like seeing what it does in others.  I’m an Artist. Somebody else manage my damn money!! I’m an Artist! I want out.

The Questioner is silent.

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Anything Helps – God Bless!