Gratitude List 809

1. Ran the 5-K Charity Trot on Saturday morning, and it was not a big deal.

2. Terry wrote to say he will be publishing Rat Race or Human Race? and A Sacrifice of the Heart in the May issue of Street Spirit.

3. Just awoke from out a two hour nap. Feeling rested and motivated.

4. Ramifications of the Thursday night reading of Eden in Babylon are only today crystallizing in my consciousness. To strike while the iron’s hot seems prudent.

5. During the reading, I noticed things about my script I’d never quite fully noticed before. Good things – things that hold promise.

6. Running the race tuned me back in to the whole running realm, how much I love it. Also learned of the Thursday night social run, the hours when the Kibbie Dome track is open freely to the public, and other aspects of the Palouse Running Club that will help me to stay on the roads.

7. Friday morning at the Center, Tim & Darrell both told me I seem more at peace with myself these days.

8. Jan and I are getting along remarkably well; and getting reacquainted is a marvelous adventure.

9. I feel that here in Moscow, I have managed to sync into a groove that seems very productive, pleasant, and fulfilling. I just really feel like I am in the right place for myself and others, at this time.

10. Also, life is much less stressful now that there is no more interference from Facebook. God is indeed Good.

The Homeless Monologue

I appreciated the answer of Adora Myers because this is a side not often seen in the homeless equation.

It is true that a person suffering from paranoid schizophrenia will often believe that s(he) is talking with those who are not actually there. It is also true that many schizophrenics, as well as people suffering from severe PTSD and other mental illnesses, are too ill to effectively access treatment, or else they lack privilege which would render treatment more accessible to them. So they wind up on the streets, more-or-less by default. This is a very sad state of affairs.

invisible However, it is also true that people who have become homeless in large urban areas, especially where there is a sizable concentration of other homeless people, will feign or play-act the known symptoms of these mental disorders in order to protect themselves by making themselves more frightening to would-be assailants and thieves.

I know this to be true, because I did it myself. When I was homeless, I walked around a city that contained over a thousand visible homeless people. As I did so, I composed music in my head. This meant playing drums on my pants legs, guitars and keyboards in the air, and singing tell-tale syllabic sounds such as “Bop Bop Bop” in a manner that conceivably could be construed to be obnoxious.

People frequently told me to “shut the f—k up” but they also had a way of keeping a distance from me. So this “act” worked in my favor.

Incidentally, I would guess that only about 30% of onlookers realized that I was actually a serious musician in the process of composing music. The other 70% shrugged and said, if they knew me by name: “That’s just Andy. He’s one of the local wingnuts.” If they did not know me by name that was reduced to: “Wingnut.”

Of the 30% who perceived I was writing music, I would say that probably 20% of them appreciated what I was doing. The other 10% frequently showed up with smartphones facing me and grim expressions on their faces, giving me the distinct idea they were out to steal my stuff.

So much for life in the Big City. Glad to be indoors — and far away from all that particular noise.

Homeless in the USA

Having lived in a community of over 1,000 homeless people for five years, and having been homeless and borderline-homeless in other areas for seven additional years, I think I might be qualified to answer this question.

There are many ways that a person can become homeless in America. Let me list four that seem most prevalent:

My experience is that, in larger urban areas, there is a greater percentage of people who became homeless as a result of socio-economic factors or circumstances beyond their control.

eviction In smaller, more rural areas, such as the small college town where I now live in Northern Idaho, it is much more difficult to become homeless without sort of “asking for it” by displaying a serious drug or alcohol problem.

I do know that in the two years that I have now successfully rented apartments in my present city – first, a studio, then a one-bedroom, I have done every thing that would have “made me homeless” in situations that arose in the San Francisco Bay Area, where rents are on the average four times as high, but where my fixed income from Social Security has not varied.

Had I not moved to this small college town in the middle of the country, I would have died a meaningless death on the Berkeley city streets. I simply would never have been able to pay the rent. And because I was largely regarded as unemployable due to my mental health condition, I found it difficult to cut through that stigma in order to find a job.

After almost two years of successfully paying my rent every month, I am living a very meaningful and happy life.

All it took was a $200 Greyhound bus ticket to a distant State, and a loan on an apartment deposit, to end twelve years of seemingly inescapable homelessness in the Bay Area. I applied for a part-time job three weeks after I arrived in Idaho, and was hired. I even managed to keep the job for ten months before aspects of my condition caused them to ask me to resign. But by that time, I was established in the community with a church and a solid support group, and I knew how to make ends meet.

I hope this information has been helpful, and of particular use to someone who may be in need.

Gratitude List 806

1. It amazes me how well Jan and I are getting along. It’s as though my best friend has come back into my life, and vice-versa, she claims, according to her. It’s uncanny, in a good way. And it feels so right.

2. It was an incredibly warm family feeling for me when we all three were here together throughout the day yesterday after church, and Echo and I were both working on our music, in different rooms, and getting things done.

3. Not to mention I really like the rug, the dining room table, the clean bathroom and kitchen, and the decent wholesale organic coffee every morning.

4. Slept well and long last night for the third night in a row, not arising till 7:30 am.

5. Nice of Norman to bring by that flat panel. Resolution and clarity while working on Finale is amazing.

6. Wiped clean Polaris and downloaded Finale on it, registered Finale on the new / old computer. I can carry this one forth, considering the Asus needs to stay at home now. Also, there is a printer now.

7. Just about done with the “Hunted” score, so all scores are done for the demo session, except for my need to rewrite six lines of Molly’s lyrics in keeping with her character and her relationship to Winston.

8. Echo so precious.

9. Weird that I wrote to Erika in the morning yesterday with those bizarre reservations toward Midnight Screams and related matters. Anyway, everything is done as soon as I do the formatting and divvy the parts accordingly via email. Then at least my colleagues will note my attempt at professionalism, even if the modern-day Internet-related standards for academic excellence never cease to intimidate me.

10. God is Love, and Love is God.

The Eye of a Needle

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Midnight Screams

White Without Privilege

Briefly, I am not certain (as someone suggested) that the question is “racist.” I believe that statistically, the homeless populace actually is over-saturated with the evidence of White people than those of other races, proportionately speaking.

My general feeling is that it relates to privilege and class distinction. In America, people of privilege are predominantly White, especially as we get into the upper middle and wealthy classes. I have found that among those of privilege, poverty (especially sudden and inexplicable poverty; i.e., such as may have resulted from an unrecognized or misdiagnosed mental health crisis) is often viewed as a sign of moral or practical failing on the part of the person who has fallen into straits.

homeless white man will work for food In such instances, there is a widespread feeling that the person can “pull himself up by his own bootstraps” and that this will “teach him” to manage money better, become more responsible, and so forth. This translates to less sympathy for the homeless on the part of the privileged classes, which are predominantly White.

In less privileged classes there is a greater saturation of people of color. Also, the “class gap” separating people in the middle and lower middle classes from those who land on the streets is not so wide. People in the lower classes are more likely to identify with the types of struggles that can lead to homelessness. Combining these factors, one will find that there is not nearly the degree of “blaming the victim” placed upon sudden victims of financial crises as there is among those who view the person in crisis as having “blown his privilege.” Therefore, there will be more compassion toward those who are struggling in the classes that are more multiracial.

I state this perception at the risk of coming across as a racist or a classist. However, I take that risk because I think it is a valid perception. It might explain in part why in a large urban area with a highly visible homeless populace, there really *does* appear to be a disproportionate number of Whites, with respect to the actual proportion of White people per capita, in that same area.

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The Missing Homeless Person

Twice, during the 12 year period when I was homeless, a person concerned about my whereabouts filed a Missing Persons Report.

The first time, I received a mysterious message from “Joe” on my Facebook that read: “Welfare Check.” The person named Joe identified himself as a Marin County detective.

I did not understand what a “welfare check” was. I told him, quite naively, that I was not on General Assistance (i.e., “welfare”) and that I received no such check.

He explained that a young woman whom I had been working with had been concerned about my whereabouts after having received an alarming email stating I was alone in Golden Gate Park in inclement weather. (This is true, because I sent the email to her and others from a cafe that was near G.G.Park.)

Once I put the twos and twos together, I was able to tell him I was fine and staying temporarily in a motel, and that I was sorry I had caused anyone any consternation.

The second time was a bit different, and actually was more of an inconvenience than anything else. I had been in a halfway house, and I left before the two week term was up. I left because I couldn’t stand being around all the strangers, and I wanted to be alone, and sleep alone outside. (This was always my preference, during the years when I was homeless.)

Again, it came back to me — through Facebook, of all places — that an MPR had been filed and that police were looking for me.

Because I felt I had left the halfway house responsibly, informing the case workers there that I was leaving, I was incensed. I called them up and said:

Everybody at the North Berkeley Senior Center who had surrounded me at the moment thought this was very amusing, but of course the social worker on the other end of the line failed to see the humor.

So – again this is only my experience. It does show that the police did care, and that part’s good. But it also shows part of the reason why I no longer use Facebook. I value my privacy. If you ever become homeless — if you haven’t been already — I suggest you value yours as well.

Tuesday Tuneup Six

Q. Do you know who I am?

A. I really wish you would stop asking me that.

Q. Why have you summoned me?

A. Because today’s the Big Day.

Q. You mean, Tuesday?

A. Well – that, too. But it’s not just any Tuesday. Barring the catastrophic, I will finally be with my daughter for the first time in two years, and with my ex-wife for the first time in 16 years. And my ex and I will be sleeping under the same roof for the first time in 28 years.

Q. How did all this come about?

A. I believe you asked me that already, two or three Tuesdays ago.

Q. Can you run it by me again, please?

A. Whew – I barely know where to start. And I disdain to unveil personal information about my family here. Let’s just say that I’m a person who was on the streets for about twelve years in the San Francisco Bay Area. I learned a lot about people during those twelve years, and a lot about life. Of course times were hard, and moments were miserable. But I was given valuable information during that period of time that I have since been compelled to share.

sacrifices I have noticed, however, that not everyone wants to hear this information. They would rather cling to old stereotypes that make them feel comfortable, because the truth would cause them to look inward, into places within themselves of which they are afraid.

Of course this has been disturbing to me. When I was homeless, I watched as old friends of mine, people with whom I had thought I would be friends forever, began to reject me one by one. They didn’t return emails or phone calls. They got all bent out of shape over relatively little things that gave me the feeling that, if any of these people had landed on the streets, they wouldn’t have lasted more than a week or two.

Before too long, I realized that most of these people were never my friends at all. In fact, there were times when I thought I had never made a friend in my life — until I had become homeless.

While people of privilege were blowing me off left and right with half-truths and transparent forms of Mainstream Doublespeak, homeless people were telling it like it is. Sure, there were scoundrels among us. Of course there were those it is best off to avoid, and yet the streets made it next-to-impossible to do so.

I was hit on the head with guns. I was pistol-whipped. I was raped. I watched all my possessions being burnt to bits before my eyes. Not one person in my former life who professed to believe that Jesus Christ died for my sins lifted a finger to help me. The only Christian who continued to believe in me, who treated me as a Christian, is a woman who knew me from the Internet, in a distant State, who never ceased to treat me as an equal, as a friend. And she is among my best friends to this day. But as far as people from the church I used to attend when I still was making money in this world?

They told me to go to counseling, to see a psychiatrist, to go into some kind of live-in program of some sort, or to merely “check in” to a shelter – as if they had any clue what bureaucracy would be involved, or what atrocities I would be subjected to in that so-called “shelter.” The shelters in my world were little more than glorified jailhouses, and I far preferred to sleep in seclusion, absolutely alone.

Did any of those Pontius Pilates actually help me? If you want to call an occasional lunch date at the price of a lecture “help,” I suppose they did. Believe me, I was grateful enough for the lunch to put up with the lecture, however irrelevant that lecture may have been.

The continual experience of condescension, dismissal, and disrespect that I received from so-called Christians was such a far cry from the acceptance, dignity, and love that I was receiving from my homeless friends, I would become infuriated at the thought that these “Christians” actually thought they were doing the will of God, when they continually treated a man who was suffering like a bag of dirt.

Even to this day, I have difficulty getting my own eyes to see the naked truth. Even in the last week, I appealed to former friends of mine, thinking surely they would express some happiness or joy over this reconciliation — when all they did was continue to raise their eyebrows and write me off as “crazy.”

But when the mother of my only daughter reappeared in my life, and I had learned that she had been through trials very similar to that which I and others endure on the streets, she didn’t write me off as crazy.

And the Lord Himself seeks such to worship Him.

Q. John? Chapter Four?

A. John. Chapter Four. The day will come when those who worship God will worship Him neither in Jerusalem nor on the mountain – but the true worshipers will worship Him in Spirit and in Truth.

The Questioner is silent.

Weep and Howl

Rat Race or Human Race?

Please say a prayer for me. I may not have any money in life (or care) – but I have so much going on in so many areas right now, I sense the ugly scepter known as Mainstream Stress beginning to rear its head. This is the form of stress known to give people heart disease, various cancers, and all the other ailments that I effectively avoided by dropping out of the so-called Mainstream in 2004.

The world, the schedules, the agendas, the being-in-a-specific-place-at-specific-time — these are all the things that I swore I would never buy into again. But today they leap out at me — yea, they lunge. Even in this small idyllic town that seemed the answer to all my prayers, there is no escape from the Mainstream.

But all of its arbitrary hierarchical structures have nothing whatever to with the Natural Hierarchy of Nature. And yet, it is that Natural Hierarchy that everybody seems to be desecrating. Look at our mad rush, replete with road rage, as we become desperate to get to all these specific places right down to the very nanosecond. What society would create an absurdity so monstrous as a Casio runner’s watch? Why do we need to place pressure on the natural pace of our genetic dispositions that was naturally put in place by the Maker in the first place? Genetically? Naturally?

hurry Why on earth should any of us ever have to present our physical bodies, especially in this Internet age, at a specific place in geographical Earth-related space-time, when all of that hurrying is only destroying us all? It robs us of our love for others. It robs us of our love for life.

Arbitrary scheduling inflicted upon the human spirit by pseudo-authorities representing a random hierarchical structure runs in direct opposition to the Natural Order of Nature. This cannot possibly be good for the Human Race or anybody in it. It has created gridlock. It has created road rage. Is it really so important for me to get there at exactly 9:01.01.003 in the morning? What about the other guy who needs to get there by 9:01.01.002 in the morning? Am I any more important than he is just because he will get chewed out by his boss a thousandth of a second sooner than I will by mine?

Does the fact that his boss is a thousandths of single second more of a hard-ass than my boss make him my inferior?

Ever since I’ve had to “rush” again, I’ve become more absent-minded. The greater the hurry, the greater the absent-mindedness, and the less likely it is that I show up on time. I lose my keys, my wallet, my phone – I lose everything.

There was a blissful long past day when I didn’t have any of those things to lose. Am I losing something more critical to my humanity than my keys, my wallet, and my cell phone?

I really hope that the Day will come when none of us, for any reason, will ever have to show up at a specific place at a specific time again. When we finally have enough faith, when we finally have enough love, we will finally trust that if the person is a few minutes late, then there was probably a good reason for it — and the rest of us will just have to learn to be patient. But this rat race, even creeping in to the most distant, far-removed country college town I could find – is not for the Human Race. It’s not even for rats – but that’s what we make of ourselves when we run around like we’re doing.

Now granted I may have a wee bit of a chip on my aging shoulder, do ya think? A certain member of my extended family doesn’t seem to have any trouble doing three things at once and racing around the Big City in her fancy car and doing all the things I used to do before my breakdown in 2004. So some people are obviously more in tune with this level of mass demoralization than others. But that extended family member makes all her decisions based on fear — not on love, or faith, or God — and these are the sorts of people who “succeed” in this world.

Me – I was never quite able to manage large super-schedules including five towns on Tuesdays even before I decided to convert all my personal shortcomings into a world vision for humanity.

So it’s not as though don’t have a subjective ax to grind, but I’m telling you — all this scheduling that we inflict upon each other’s bodies has nothing to do with the schedule of the One who scheduled the whole show before time began. So I shall divert the course of my will in deference to the One to Whom it is wise my will must yield.

In other words, in conclusion:

Where’s my quiet life? It sure isn’t in my head. My head moves me so fast from one thought to another anyway, without the entire culture giving me the message I’m supposed to be moving even faster.

I suppose this is a disease of some sort and there’s some pill I’m supposed to take for it. But we can discuss that at some further future time, when none of us is in a hurry. In the meantime, you all have a good day, and a good week ahead. And please — don’t move too fast on my account. Peace be to all, and Amen.

Winds of Time

Tuesday Tuneup Five

Q. Do you know who I am?

A. I have some pretty good ideas. But I can’t say as I’ve figured it out completely, as of yet.

Q. So why have you summoned me?

A. Because it’s Tuesday.

Q. Um — isn’t it — Thursday?

A. Darn. Must have lost a couple days there. I know – it’s unlike me. I’ve just been very distracted of late.

Q. Distracted? By what?

A. What do you think? I’ve got my daughter coming up with her mother on Saturday, I’ve offered her Mom a place to stay here, my daughter’s going to get her own apartment and apply to the University here, I haven’t even seen my daughter since I left Berkeley almost two years ago, haven’t seen my ex in over fifteen years – that right there is enough to distract a guy.

Q. How did this family reunion, so to speak, come about so quickly?

A. I don’t remember. I think it started when I began to want to help people to get out of the San Francisco Bay Area, especially if they were struggling or on the verge of homelessness, and basically nobody took me up on my offers until I made the right offer to the right person.

Q. Your ex?

A. Exactly.

Q. When was the last time you lived her with her?

A. If I counted right, I believe it was 29 years ago.

Q. Isn’t this a little bit unheard of?

A. It is indeed. That’s what I like about it. ;)

The Questioner is silent.

Neither Rich Nor Poor

Canticle of the Turning

This medley centers around an improvised bridge connecting the song “From a Distance” (Bette Midler) with an adaptation of the old English hornpipe, “Star of the County Down” AKA “Dives and Lazarus” AKA “Canticle of the Turning.” Moscow First Presbyterian Church April 4 2018: Andy Pope

Tuesday Tuneup Four

Q. Do you know who I am?

A. No.

Q. Then why have you summoned me?

A. Because I am disgusted.

Q. Disgusted? With what? With whom?

A. Disgusted with a lot of things, but mostly with myself – and with a certain Internet site that has been the number one stumbling block to my success for just about as long as I can remember.

Q. And what site is that?

A. You know what site it is! Read this!

Five minutes elapse, as the Questioner complies.

Q. But wasn’t that over three months ago?

A. Sure it was. So what?

Q. So why didn’t it solve the problem?

A. Because I was sorely mistaken. Facebook does not require one to know one’s previous password in order to change to a new one. Sadly enough, I was able to log on again by providing verification through my email address or phone number – without having to know my previous password.

Q. Well then, why did you not simply desist from logging on?

A. Because I decided I needed a personal Facebook in order to be active on a certain Facebook group, and to chat with the woman who admins the group, whom I consider to be a dear friend of mine.

Q. Why couldn’t you chat with her on G-Mail? On Skype? Or on Snapchat? Or KIK?

A. I don’t know.

Q. Can’t you just email her?

A. I’ve sent her scores of emails. But she never checks her email.

Q. What about calling her on the phone?

A. She doesn’t have a phone.

Q. Do you mean that she only communicates on Facebook?

A. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. But she sure only communicates with me on Facebook. It was different when we lived just around the corner from each other. But now we’re 900 miles apart. :(

Q. Are you saying this dear friend of yours forces you to have a Facebook, which you hate, in order to talk to her, whom you love?

A. Something like that.

Q. So how close of a friend is she?

A. That, sir, is a very good question.

The Questioner is silent.

Gratitude List 790

1. Now I remember why I always used to wake up happy — it was because I used to keep a cold cup of strong coffee at my bedside and chug it instantly upon awakening. I would immediately get into a good mood, and then immediately write down ten things I was grateful for. And then? I would go run five miles around a lake. No wonder I was always happy.

2. I also remember why I stopped doing this. It was because the doctors told me not to. The doctors told me to take some darned pill that’s supposed to help my thyroid a half hour before awakening, even though my thyroid had never bothered me. In that half hour, obviously I became unhappy, because I was denying myself my morning cup of coffee!! Thankful for the great revelation that it was the doctors who made me unhappy!

3. And I am happy now. :)

4. I had slept soundly, though only about 4 1/2 hours till 2:15 am. I noticed in myself an incorrigibly bad attitude. I prayed that God would show me how to improve my attitude. Then I went back at 7:30 and slept 2 1/2 hours till 10 am. Now I am fully refreshed, and in a good mood once again. :)

5. I might get a bicycle. Then I won’t rush from place to place so much when running late. That said, the local image of this guy in suit and tie wearing a beanie jogging through red lights to get to work in the morning does have a bit of charm to it, no?

6. I see several emails from people I like — Tim, Jan, Holly, Danielle.

7. Just because I am the Artist doesn’t mean I am not fond of the Scientist. I have also noticed that the Scientist and the Artist often have one pleasant thing in common: the Philosopher. This might explain the voice that went through my head some months ago at Shari’s Restaurant: “Let the Philosopher prevail over the Artist.”

8. Sleep is such a healer. I’m glad I’m sleeping again.

9. Stats are suddenly skyrocketing on Eden in Babylon. I must be doing something right.

10. God is not anti-Art. He’s pro-Beauty. And I love Him. And He loves me. He probably even loves doctors, despite how much money they let themselves make and those stupid fancy cars they always brag about. I betcha Dr. Matt doesn’t drive a Ferrari. Besides, he’s the only doctor who’s ever done one thing for me that I know for sure is good. He removed my dystrophic toenail the right way, with the proper anesthetic. The anesthetic I used, I have not used for almost seven months.

So I ain’t movin.’ I’m stayin’ right here, where both of those good things were able to happen. God loves this happy little town — and this happy little town loves me.

The Resurrection and the Life

This time-honored story, while not dealing directly with the Easter story, nevertheless reveals the realities of resurrection and of eternal life that have to do with the saving grace and power of Jesus Christ. I hope you all have a blessed experience of God’s undying love on this day.

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Anything Helps – God Bless!

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