Going Homeless to Find Home

"This is a therapy issue" were the first words out of my fathers mouth. "If you need help in paying for it, I am happy to help."  It was meant to be supportive, I think. I had told him I had the overwhelming urge to leave my job, my man, and my home to live as a homeless person. It wasn't something that just happened over night. It had been gnawing at me for months. Six months, eight months, maybe even a year I tried to think of ways to do it with out loosing everything I had built and enjoyed. Maybe he was right, maybe I was crazy, but the thought didn't leave my soul. He even talked to family friends about it, and had them call me to convince me not to do it. Nothing worked. I'm not even sure that I wanted to do it, to be honest. I just knew it was something I had to do, and I didn't even really know why. So I left my job, left my man, and found a friend to rent my house for four months. I bought a HD camera and started on my way with a oversized back pack. The first couple months were completely depressing. I felt both lost and confused. Who am I? What am I doing ? I spent much of my time in homeless shelters, sleeping in camps, sometimes a couch of someone I knew, and most often monasteries. I cried a lot. I thought why would I leave Hollywood  at 26 when I was working in a company that was deemed the future of the industry, living in a castle in the Hollywood Hills, and had a boyfriend that would have supported almost anything I did. And yet,  I wanted something more. I kept joking before I was going to close friends that I think it was supposed to be a honeymoon with god, but I didn't really know what that meant, and when I was starting the journey I didn't feel particularly in love, or happy. I was depressed, sad, and confused. I didn't know what was happening at the time, but I can see now quite clearly that I was letting go of a false self. A self that is based on situational identity. This is my family, this is where I grew up, this is my education, this is my job, my friends, my home, my money. Blah blah blah. But, I gave it up, so who am I now? Often we can not find our true self until we have completely lifted from our attachments to the false selves. Then the pain started to lift, a fog of ego fears that were running circles around my soul didn't have much of a place anymore. It was somewhere in the middle when I ended up in northern california in Mount Shasta. I remember sleeping hidden in a bush in my super sleeping bag, feeling a bit cold, and waking up with snow on me. The mountain peaked in the early morning glory, as had I. My new self was emerging. It was a clearer self, a self that knew no boundaries, but had a foundation. A self that loved parents but wasn't dictated by them. Appreciated money, but wasn't defined by it. Enjoyed life, but wasn't attached to the exact way it should progress. This self was more solidified almost a month later while staying in a Buddhist monastery in Mount Shasta. We meditated three times a day, much of my time I was just starring at a wall. But, one day something happened that confirmed all I needed. You could call it a glimpse of enlightenment, a taste of nirvana, a kensho, or just a  groovy state of mind. But, all I really remember is feeling completely at one with the moment in a state of a bliss and peace so deep I have never experienced it before. And, I knew in that moment beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was home. That was what I had been looking for the entire time, and yet I didn't know it until that moment. I had indeed needed to go homeless to find my true and everlasting home.    

Butterscotch Candy

It was seven thirty at night, late to be visiting Grandma Joan. I'm not sure what the usual bedtime is for a woman in her late eighties, but I wouldn't gather it would go past eight. I wanted to check on her though, even if she was asleep, as my folks were out of town and she wasn't getting her usual daily visits. I walk in and they tell me they have her already tucked in bed, but I can still go see her anyway, no problem. I go upstairs and find her as they said, Pajamas, check. Water by bed, check. Comforters tucked in at every corner, check check. Grandma Joan wide awake and ready for a Friday night party triple check. What? "Who's that?" she says as I slip in the room. "It's Simone, Grandma Joan." "Oooh Simone!!" She says. "Did I catch you at an ok time? I don't wanna keep you up." " Oh goodness"  she says " No, perfect timing I was just looking for some company, what should we do?" And, for a moment I feel caught, should I go down and get her secret stash of wine? Or, maybe I can get the nail polish out  and we can do  her nails? Or, maybe I can find something fun on the T.V.? The list flashed quickly through my mind. "Well, that's up to you Grandma Joan, I'm just here to spend some time with you. Would you like something to drink?" "Yes" she says, and before I can think of grabbing the wine from the basement she says. "Hand me that cup of water by my bed please will you?" So, I do, and then realize she is lying completely flat and I am not exactly sure how this drinking process is going to work. I envision trying to pour a fountain of water down her throat, nope, not going to work. Definitely not going to work." So, Grandma Joan, do you want me to..." and then I see the bed is slightly lifted in the back already. Oh, it's one of those beds, I think to myself, those magical moving beds. Now if I could only figure out how to move it. "Down there" she says and points towards her feet, where I see a fancy bed remote. Oh no, I have visions of Grandma Joan being turning into a human pretzel as I can't figure out to stop the bed from lifting her feet over her head. But, it worked out, she eventually got her water. And, as she was happily drinking she turned to me and said " You know what we need up here are some straws." Brilliant, I thought to myself, she has it, the woman still has it. 

We get into discussions that I say I haven't have been able to have with her for at least over a year, as her dementia has been progressing in it's presence. She asked me about my father, and told me how wonderful he was, and when she first met him she said to her daughter. "This is it for you, you either marry this man or it's off to the convent for you because your nuts!" I comment that she seems to have a knack for picking good men, as she did with her husband of over sixty years. "Oh goodness" she says to me. "Oh Bill, I love him so much, I think about him all the time, I even dream about him." I mention that my folks are at a wedding for one of her older grandchildren and she fondly remembers a toe ring I had given to her at her last grandchild's wedding. The ring was actually on my toe, but she liked it so much I gave it to her. She rocked that toe ring as anyone could. I mention to her that the summer is coming and she says "Oh yes, I'll have to get a new dress for that, and then put on the toe ring." We laughed, we laughed a lot. I can't even remember what all about, but you know you've had a good time when Grandma Joan is laughing. She has one of those special laughs where her jaw actually drops to her chest, and if you're lucky you'll get a hand through the her hair and a slap on the knee all at the same time.  I kept worrying that I was keeping her up, and when I would mention it she would say "If you were keeping me up, I would tell you." And, it was true. One thing about Grandma Joan is you always know where you stand with her. So the night continued. I re-filled her water cup about three times, and mine as well. We were two hydrated partiers. Over two hours later she finally acknowledged she was a little sleepy and it was time for me to go. I got her all set up and hovered close for my goodbye. "You know Grandma Joan" I say "you look beautiful", and she did, white hair, serene face, glimmer in the eye, and she looks right back and me and says "Goodness, I was just about to tell you the same thing," and then she flat out giggled "If someone were watching us, they would think we were in love." I laughed really hard at that one. "Tell your folks what a nice time we had tonight, will you?" she says, and I nod. And, then she pauses for a moment and looks at me with love, but a very serious expression "But, next time, bring candy." And, I tried not to bust out in an eruption of laughter. "Oh yeah, candy? like chocolates?". " No" she says "Not, chocolate, that's not good for you. Bring those hard candies, like the ones you can suck on." "Berry flavored?" I ask, my knowledge of candy being limited. "No", she says Butterscotch, butterscotch candies."  It's good to know even in a world of dementia and an ailing body, that we can get these magical moments, these great evenings that are so full of joy and wonder that the only thing that might possibly make them any better is a small butterscotch candy. Sweet, with a lot of bite, that's her alright.        

Sanely Insane

Some months ago someone was asking me a little bit about myself, and what I like to do, and how I live, and I mentioned a few things, and they said.."No offense, but that sounds a little crazy..."
Something I have heard many many times in my life..."No offense, but that sounds a little crazy."

And, the truth is that I am not offended in the slightest, but I have often come to question what it is that we have come to deem as normal. What scares me is the things that we don't even look at or question anymore, as so many of our thoughts are choices have been automatically conditioned by society.
I sit down on a park bench with a homeless guy, and try to hear his story, and people think I'm nuts. Meanwhile I think it's amazing how we can walk by these people, and don't even see them anymore, like they don't even exist. They might as well be park benches themselves. I moved into a new place about six months ago, and didn't buy a bed. I still haven't bought a bed. I have been sleeping so great on the floor. People that have come to know about it laugh at me daily. What's wrong with sleeping on the floor? We slept out in caves for years, many people today still sleep on the ground in impoverished countries, and don't even have a nice carpet and plush blankets as I have. We are in a privileged position to be thinking that sleeping in a nice fluffy bed is the norm. I am not making a plea for everyone to talk to homeless people, and to sleep on the floor. I am making a plea to open your eyes and look at the world and try to make fresh decisions out of the conditioning of society. We have been so conditioned that our life should follow certain tracks just because those are set before us.

It becomes more dangerous for larger choices such as war and slavery. Slavery was seen as normal before someone took a risk to stand out against it, and then others followed. Women were allowed to vote later then black men, and today the thought is women not being able to vote just seems unbelievable. Sleeping on the floor and hanging out with homeless people are relatively mundane tasks, and think if I get that much flack for those things, think about the silent pressures to conform over larger and more important matters. Group think is a very thick and transparent poison that can be toxic. Take a stand to think for yourself, what seems insane actually might be much more sane then you first realize. And, the ultimate litmus can only be the voice deep inside your self.

I wanna hold your hand

When you work with small children there is a magic moment you feel the first time a new child holds your hand. I never realized exactly what it was before, an acceptance, a connection, a moment of truth...a pivotal bridge when they realize grabbing your hand is in fact better then walking alone.

 There are many children I've worked with and spent time with and seen this phenomena over and over, and the beauty of it is that it is universal. Africa, Brazil, Europe, in the prisons, younger people and older...most of us like to touch hands. In the united states we shake hands for greeting, a high five for a good job, in Asia we put our hands together and acknowledge others with a small bow.

The other day a small five year old boy that is quite rambuncious and un-affectionate in many ways walked up beside me as I was ushering a group of twenty or so children to our next destination and out of what felt to me like no where grabbed my hand. He is a rough and tumble child, and for him to hold still, let alone grab my hand a hold it quite fiercely for the duration of a lengthy walk was something. I found myself not wanting to move to quickly or to slowing to not loose his stride, not wanting to talk to much or to little to disturb the contact. He didn't say that much in the walk, except I knew that our connection had been made and it had some how cemented in that moment. Towards the end of our walk another young boy came up to him and started yelping and hitting him in the back, and he said "Hey, you should hold Simones' hand, it feels good...and you should get it before someone else does, she only has two." It made me laugh but try to stifle my out burst as the other little boy grabbed my hand. We walked in silence, they were calm, I looked down at my hands and thought...you know quite often a small gesture is much more powerful then words. Use your hands, after all, you only have two.

Birthday Suit

The difficult thing about spending time with kids in prison is that you have to remind yourself as much as you love them, when they are released you will probably never see them again. There was a young man that I had become quite close to, primarily because he scared me, and I love a challenge. He was the biggest kid on facility, absolutely fierce for a 16 year old and had the energy of a wild tiger pacing in the cage at the zoo...ready to pounce from over boredom and rage that had been bottled up inside of him for years. He was veracious and always asked me about traveling and the places I had been and told me where he wanted to go.

On his birthday, he was being particularly difficult as many of them are, fits of rage, throwing things, cursing people out, and he went into seclusion not talking to anyone. When I found out what was happening, I asked if I could talk to him. We sat on the stoop in silence, he didn't yell at me, but he also didn't talk. Then, after what seemed like forever he lifted his head, staring straight ahead, still not looking at me and said "I was locked up last year for my birthday, and I promised myself it wouldn't happen again." I tried not to move, not to break the flow of his speaking, and despite my stillness I could feel the tears start to well up in my eyes. I thought about my own birthdays, full of family, friends, travel, loves, and how even in that fullness there could still be a sadness of being a year older and reflecting on my life and the choices I have made both for good and for hard. I can only image the pain of having none of that, being in a cell and reflecting on what got you there. He said "I want to travel, I want to get out of here a see the world, I'm gonna join the army and I'm going to see the world." "And, I looked at him and said, "You will, you will do all of that." "I'm going to go inside now" he said, and then he got up turned around and looked at me and said "Thanks Simone, I feel better." A few months later he left the facility, and I never heard a world of him.

I got a call a few weeks ago from a friend of mine who teaches drum classes in prisons, and he said "You're never going to believe who I ran into over at this other facility, I ran into your boy. He's in my drumming class." This was almost a year later, and I was in a combination of both joy to hear of his where abouts and also shock that he was locked up again at a higher security facility for a graver crime. So we made a plan for me to come visit, and surprise him.

 I was standing inside a large pen of barb wire, my heart pounding, I could hear it in my ears, I was nervous, I didn't know why but I was. Then I heard it, "Is that Simone? Oh my god it's Simone!" he was walking slowly towards me in his signature limp swagger with a pearly grin and he slowly leaned in to give me a hug and cupped my back with his big hands. I stepped back to look at him, he was older, he had become a man...stiller, more purposeful. Another few other guys came up and surround me and said "oh that's Simone, I heard about you." He smiled, looked away, and seemed embarrassed maybe both that he had spoke of me, and also that there I was seeing him locked up again.

The other boys left, and then he said softly"You remembered", and I thought for a moment and said "what?" And he said, "You remembered....it's my birthday, you came for my birthday again." I paused, I hadn't remembered, of course, but there I was a year later by pure grace, loving this boy on his birthday and telling him the world needs him. When I left he hugged me and said "One day I am going to travel with you, when I get out of here" and then held my gaze while our car drove away. I'm not sure what will happen to him, he's 18 now, no longer a child in the eyes of the government, a convicted felon. But, all I know is that somethings are meant to be, and when I went home I sent him a package with every map I had and a note saying "Go see the world, it needs you."

Love is patient, love is kind, and love don't take no shit.

I hadn't seen my prison boys for several weeks, and when I got there I was actually picked up, and moved like a football as many yards as I would physically withstand. The love that they share is more then I could ever express or deserve but I'll take it. There is something pure about the love that I share with them and that is why I crave it so much. With life threatening circumstances and trauma around the corner it is hard to get too far off track in pettiness.

But, what I really want to talk about in all this is how we heal. The process of healing, the process of loving which I have come to understand on a much deeper level then I ever thought I would. Love is patient, love is kind, and love don't take no shit. At times in my life I think I was afraid to hit the nail on the head because I didn't want to hurt people, or have them be mad at me, and there is something to be said for picking your battles, but in the long run you are not helping people by allowing them to spin webs of untruth. I am not afraid to have you (or your ego) hate me because if I continue to let you get away with this it is not good for you. Lying, cheating, stealing, you name it - in the long run it doesn't hurt me, but it would hurt them, and I had to call it out....and sometimes I was hated for it. Shedding light in sore places is never easy, and most the time people will want to tell you to shut the f*ck up, attack you, blame you, which sucks - but if you are doing it for the right reasons I say progress. I say push on...and there was never one time that I did that that it didn't come back to bless me, even if it was months or years later. You are never doing someone a favor by enabling them to do things that hurt them self and others in the long run, only to feel more at ease in the moment. Put your ego aside, and speak the truth for others and for yourself, for that is real love and how we all become better people.

Real Men do Time.

"Do you have a boyfriend?", one of several questions I get almost everyday at the facility, along with "How do you make your money?" and "do you give private yoga lessons where you put your leg behind your head?" To all of which I reply I can't answer that question. It's a challenge, a real challenge to keep your personal life separate with these guys for many reasons but the first is that they put them self out there. They share so much of them self,  which helps them heal, and it almost seems unfair to not be able to show them the same courtesy, but I have to maintain those boundaries.

The other day one kid said to me "I bet you used to date rich and famous guys, and now you're into gangsters, huh?" I laughed and shook my head, but realized in that moment he wasn't too far off. I thought about my real hero's Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela, Gandhi, and I realized they all have done time...and I see that many of these young men posses those same qualities. Fearless to face the unknown and to put themselves on the line for a truth that is bigger then the confines of society. Not doing everything in order to maintain looking good, or avoid looking bad to other people. Really battling their demons (and we all have them) be it addictions, angers, or fears. And, an emergence of a honest and real self that is not built on a lifestyle or network cushion, but a soul that can't be beat.

I wanted to thank you, for you to be the first one that I thank. I don't want to say that I couldn't have done it without you, this whole becoming a better person thing, but I couldn't have done it without you.