day 28: rattle

It's almost as if everyone who has any sort of psychic/alternative plane/serious juju ability all have come to live in this one place. I've never before had conversations like the ones I'm having now, the ways people engage in the world, the vibrating energy levels. Everything here can be solved by a salve or a potion or a ritual or a tea or a touch or a shell or..

I find myself strangely open to all of this, these women I am meeting and their elder wisdom that comes from plants and animals and the moon. I notice myself bumbling around everywhere, at breakfast yesterday I was with two psychics who performed a rather elaborate ancestoral ritual before they would eat their food, something I noticed only moments after I started stuffing food in my mouth and then felt rather boring, not feeding anyone except myself. Or after, when I drove three miles down a dirt road and 1/4 mile on a track to stop at a light pole and walk down the stone steps into the jungle across a rickety footbridge with missing slats to climb back up a hill to a woman and her luscious veranda, only to have her throw her snow white hair back and laugh because she saw angels sliding off my fingers. I mused that perhaps I should be holding onto them instead of letting them go and she laughs again and reminds me it's free will, that one thing we all share. We sat on her veranda and then she gave me a massage, the sounds of the jungle all around us and more angels with sparkles this time flowing out of my head.

I don't know what to make of all of it but I notice my own awareness, the subtle shifts of consciousness when something feels good or something does not. The knowing who is on your porch before you see them with your eyes. The sense you must do that one thing and once you do you realize why. This place, I swear. This place is freaking me out and making me fall in love all at once. this place is hard and soft and dirty and alive and scary and safe. This place.

Oh, and I almost forgot. We got a puppy. Holy shit. She's magic too but also a pain in the ass. More about her later.

PS. Thank you everyone who asked for my address or asked me to email them. I've just had an offer today from someone to be the US receptacle of items so everyone won't have to ship things all the way down on their own and as soon as I know a bit more I'll let you know, this will save money on shipping and saving money matters, I know.

finders and keepers

I happen to be out front when folks are checking in. I hear staff talking and I hear them say we are full. There's still a line and it's already starting to rain. I weigh the bureaucracy and the rules against the humanity and tell one of the guys to let everybody in. He looks at me and his eyes light up for a second. He nods once and turns back. Good news everybody, we've just found some extra room. It'll be tight but we'll make it work. The line shuffles forward, a few folks clap. Everybody's coming inside.

He's wearing fatigues. His hair is shaved close to his head so close I can see his scalp. He smiles and opens the door as I walk past. Ma'am he says and smiles. I stop for a minute because it's not that often I get ma'amed. I haven't seen you here before and he says he just got back from 10 months in Iraq. 10 months and he's sleeping with us tonight. Thank you for your service to our country. I'm just sorry this is the best we can do to show you our appreciation. He smiles for a minute and tells me it's better here than where he's been and sadly enough I believe him and I wonder once again what the hell is going on.

He's sitting in the lobby with his kid on his lap, the little boy looks about the same age as M. He's leaning against his daddy and his face is dirty. I smile at them and lean down. Are you hungry buddy? He nods and turns his face into his father's neck. We've got some crackers and I hand them over. His dad looks at me and he looks tired. I don't know their situation but it can't be good.

It's finally time to go and as I'm leaving he's walking in. He's got his caseworker with him and he's agitated. Every time I see this guy he's agitated, sometimes wildly so. His mental state is off the charts, his hair is wild and his eyes are too. You better get me my money bitch he says to me as he walks past. I glance over at his worker who looks at me and shrugs. He used to be a pimp and the irony of it all makes me smile. God knows what kind of life this dude lived once but he's sure as hell paying for it now.

We are our brothers keepers. We are our sisters keepers. This hope and change business better happen soon because for folks on the street the gap is as wide as ever and words don't fill their bellies and keep everyone warm.

Let's do this thing and after we are done making history, let's get to work putting it into action. There is so much to do and we've lost eight years now screwing around.

See you at the polls, friends.

god in the house

I stopped by the front desk yesterday on my way out and noticed a big stack of magazines from a religious group. Titles like “who is God” and “what happens when I die” While forcing myself not to pick up the latter I asked the folks at the front why they were there. Some people drop them off regularly one of them said. It’s the eternal confluence of church and state, folks from faith based organizations help us a lot, but the sometimes covert and often overt tension is ever present. Without the support of local churches and religious organizations we would suffer, they offer donations and groups of folks to help with food and supplies. Their service is invaluable and yet I’ve never been able to reconcile the underlying mission of saving souls. Raised on the bible, I know the call for witness but I also know the deeper example of compassion and service to the poor and I wish the latter didn’t always mean the former had to crowd its way into the room.

So I said I’d prefer they were moved, that this information shouldn’t be the first thing folks see when coming to us for help because we are not a faith based organization and if we were representing one faith I’d prefer to represent them all. We have generous folks from Buddhist communities, from synagogues, a very large group of supporters who follow a guru rather than a deity but there is a subtle difference, their service is the highlight, service based on the strength of their convictions with virtually no proslethysing, a standard that settles better into this heathen’s soul. So one of the guys grabbed the stack and tossed them into the trash while another gasped out loud. Some folks want to read that, she said. It gives them comfort.

And I thought he’d acted hastily, I didn’t ask him to toss them, (at the very least I’d insist on recycling) and the divergence of beliefs settles itself right there at the counter, all eyes waiting to see how we'll be splitting this baby. So I asked them to place them in the back where other referrals are kept, so at least they’d be part of a larger representation even if none of the other information is religious. He looks at me and shrugs and digs them out and walks off.

I rail against knowing our place in the fight to save souls, if we stand merely as a staging ground for salvation or if we should simply chalk all of it up to free will and make sure our soup is always hot. We need these groups to keep the wheels turning and yet I know I don’t want the people we serve feeling that they have to subscribe to a belief system and I don’t particularly want volunteers acting as crusaders, offering to drive folks to their church with the promise of a Sunday meal means some might go just for the food and will have to tolerate your message in order to fill their bellies and others will feel full from both.

The ironic thing is that after a lifetime of church I see more faith and hope inside these walls than any service I'd ever been in. Folks who give thanks to their God for giving them the most humble of mercies, people who give the shirt of their back for their brother and will do without instead. Folks who accept their poverty with thankfulness and find ways to do good amidst the relentless struggle of being ostracized in a society who'd rather walk around them than look them in the eye.

It's not lost on me that this compassion is exactly what these volunteers offer, the kindness of their actions means more than I can say and yet I still feel protective of the folks who congregate in this house. And my own struggles with what I believe will forever press me, the fire and brimstone have shaped me in ways I sometimes wish it hadn’t and will forever keep me pulling my own hands away from the heat that others find comforting and to some, the very calling of their lives.

close encounters

As I walk in he says I've been waiting for you for at least an hour and looks at his wrist at a watch that isn't there. I don't know this guy so I say is that so, what for? He smiles. I've got dinner ready, anything you want. Anything? He nods. I stop for a minute playing along. Fried chicken, I say. I want some fried chicken. He says Popeye's or KFC? I laugh. You mean you aren't cooking it yourself? Let me in that kitchen girl, I'll cook you some right now. I'm late but I'm grinning. It feels good here tonight.

My meeting runs over and it's getting dark. I'm not usually here this late and I leave the room and find five or ten dudes crashed out in the hall. It's busy tonight and we've run out of beds so now all we've got is the floor. I step gingerly over a sleeping man and look at another, staring off into space, he's wearing a robe, a red one and it looks soft. A guy comes around the corner, an old timer, he's grizzly and he says I'm home. I've had a long day and I missed dinner. I'm hungry. Can I get dinner? And I don't want a sandwich neither. I'm not sure of the drill so I ask around and figure out where to find the plates we hold back for folks who show up late. I track one down and hand it to him. Heat it up a little more for me, will you? Hot as you can. I trek back to the microwave and find him sitting pretty on a chair. I hand him his plate and he smiles. Thanks little lady, this is all an old man needs at the end of day, food and a place to rest my legs.

It's even later now and I need to go home. I'm heading to my car and I see one of the original joes, a guy I've known on and off for 10 years and haven't seen in awhile. Where the hell have you been I say smiling and grab his arm. He gives me a look and the look says jail. Ah, and now you are back and starting over again. He smiles. Yeah, but this time it's gonna be different.

I've been busy this week and not visiting as much as I like. I miss you guys. And it's not too late to send me your Just Posts, you have until Saturday to email me at girlplustwo(at)yahoo(dot)com. The roundtable will be alive and kicking come Tuesday.

hear me roar

i'm done being courteous, i say, lips smacking on Saturday night. we are sitting on the couch watching an old Al Pacino movie while M looks at some books. done how?, J says. i'm done worrying if everyone is okay. if i want to take a nap, i'm doing it. if i want to go shopping, i'm doing it. i'm a new woman, dude. a woman who does what she wants.

how is that different from now, he replies. you are kidding me, right? i kill myself with this courtesy shit. up, down, up, down. mommy this, mommy that. i'm done.

you go, girl. he says. it's not like anyone was stopping you besides you, reaching over to tickle me and i bat him away.

what's mommy talking about? M says, looking up. she's just telling us stuff we already knew but she's still figuring out. besides, if the mama isn't happy, nobody's happy. J replies. oh. she says. good mommy, you want a star?

it's starting now, people i say, feeling spry. M, go get your pajamas and put them on. she looks at me in horror. whaaaaatt? talk to your old man, little girl, there's a new sheriff in town and off they go. and the next day I slept in and went shopping alone. without a watch. i am woman.

In cleaner parts, I had the pleasure of reviewing a pretty cool organic soap this month for ParentBloggers. the scrub a dub's over in my other crib.

coming up next: jen's taking a little road trip.

chasing waterfalls

We took M to a place full of gardens and flowers and kid friendly natureish things yesterday. There was a gigantic manmade (although very natural looking) waterfall with a path that went around and behind the waterfall and during one section it allowed for much wetness. M and I went along the path and when we got to that part we ran through it quickly with heads down to avoid the water hitting us directly in our faces. As I looked back I noticed everyone else running through that part too, heads down. I turned to M and said you know, that's the part when we should be looking up instead of down because I bet the view is amazing. M agreed and so we went back around and when we got to the brink of the falls I picked her up and said ok, now look up into the water. i bet everyone misses this part. And we stood in the middle of the downpour with people running around us in a hurry to move through and we looked through the falls into the sky with water crashing down on our faces and M laughing hysterically. She loved it so much we did it two more times and were completely soaked.

And it struck me then that I spend a lot of time looking down when I should be looking up and I wonder how many waterfalls I am missing. And while it was a very small thing it made me want to try harder with M in those moments, to show her the other way around. It's easier to avoid the wet parts out of a desire to stay neat and clean and dry and I've decided I've missed so much beauty. And if it's taken me 37 years to unlearn this then I have to get my shit together now so M can learn to be free.