Rated: PG-13 for language

For the next few days I continued cleaning up around Santa Monica, enjoying the sunshine and trying to relax back into monk mode.

My well-rounded three course meal:

appetizer---dry Raisin Bran or Cheerios
main course---dry rye bread
dessert---dry Frosted Flakes or Captain Crunch

And copious amounts of water

Repeat for lunch and dinner.

After a few days of this sumptuous fare, I found a big bag of sweetened popcorn (ooh, a third choice for dessert!) and an orange left by the beach. And then I hit the jackpot when I went by the Ocean Park Community Center (OPCC) and came across several big bags of green bananas left out for the homeless. None of the homeless people congregating there seemed very interested in the fruit, so I took a bunch of four to help round out my grains-heavy diet. Every day of this practice I am reminded to appreciate the "little things" that I used to take for granted. Amazing how much delight a "simple" banana can bring.

As for food donations to my begging bowl, a friendly homeless fellow named Ron gave me three granola bars. And Dave and Mark, two Christian homeless guys, gave me half a loaf of bread and a muffin, just in case I didn't have enough grains already. Kidding aside, the food is much appreciated and it is always so uplifting and inspiring to witness pure generosity. Especially when I'm hungry. And the irony is not lost on me that homeless people are giving me food. But they tend to carry around more food than the non-homeless. After all, they are often carrying their whole lives around with them too. And so far, they tend to be a bit more comfortable approaching me, perhaps recognizing me as one of their brethren, albeit a somewhat special case.

Since my citation for sleeping in the park, I've taken to roaming the alleys in search of nooks and crannies to sleep in. It makes for late nights and early mornings as I bed down after most people are asleep and get up before they wake up so that I won't be discovered.

One night I found a great hidden spot between a car dealership and an apartment building, but a midnight rain chased me back to the 3rd Street Promenade. Exhausted, I crashed out in the first entryway I came to at the Levi's store. I woke up at 6am to find that the rain had snuck in along an overhead drip line, soaking the lower part of my sleeping bag.

So yes, these first couple of weeks have definitely been a test of my resolve. I've been tired and cold and wet and lonely and hungry (except for grains), but my spirits are actually doing pretty well because I've also had at least as many moments of peace and hilarity and camaraderie and even satiation (especially grains).

So a test of my resolve, yes, but not a test of my faith. After all, my faith is that things will be exactly as they will be. You can't go wrong with that. It's easy to "Trust" (my latest mantra) when I'm trusting that reality will unfold exactly as it's supposed to----light and dark and everything in between. The Universe will do its merry dance, and the more I can align myself with it, the more graceful my dance will go, and the freer and happier I will be. At least, that's the theory. The difficult part comes in trying to embrace the moments when reality decides to kick my butt.

But I'm not talking passivity here. Too many people think that Eastern philosophies represent a passive approach to life. On the contrary, the more I align myself with reality, the more I am able to affect and effect it. The paradox kicks in: the more I let go of my cravings and embrace my fears (i.e., the more I open directly to things as they are in the here and now), the more freedom I have to create and manifest without constricting attachments to outcomes.

In fact, by aligning with What Is*, there seems to be an uncanny reciprocity on the part of the Universe, as if it's willing to meet me half way. (This is where things get a little uncomfortably new-agey for me, but what the hell.) Actually, it's kinda the opposite of the Law of Attraction (what little I know of it). It's more like the Law of Subtraction: the more I let go of what I want, the more of it I get. And the more I give of what I want, the more it rains back down on me. ("You only get what you give"---great song by the New Radicals.)

Okay, I'm sermonizing again.

One night I discovered an inadvertantly unlocked gate that led down to a great sleeping spot in a stairwell behind a church. But the next morning I got up too late (again, no watch, so no alarm!) and the caretaker saw me. I hustled out of there before he could call the cops-----wouldn't do to get another trespassing citation! I thought it was kinda funny that a monk should be fleeing from a church.

As I fled, I couldn't help but laugh since I'm trying to realize that the whole world is my church (like the Waterboys' "Church Not Made With Hands"). In this church, the pews of sand and asphalt are filled with devout trees and penitent buildings, praying to their multifarious Gods as the organ bellows a harmonious cacophany of wind and car horns and birdsong. And every day is a Sunday out of football season. And the sermon is sung in vibrant colors across the sky. Here, I am the altar, and communion is both a lifelong endeavor as well as an everyday event. For I have glimpsed the baptismal basin.....and the water is already wine.

But still I struggle to behold the true aspect of the Great Architect, for I'd like to suggest that she add more public restrooms.

 

"When you learn to hear chaos as the voice of God, you will begin to see the face of God."
---from an audio cassette by Caroline Myss, spiritual teacher

"I wish I could serve God. He's the only fucking God I've got. But you know what? The Devil's the only one who's been kind to me lately."
---"Little Bit", a small homeless woman

 

"When you argue with what is, you lose---but only 100% of the time."
---Byron Katie 

*Byron Katie has an amazing book called Loving What Is, a radically challenging and transformative approach to life.

 

And the rains came down.

I met some nice homeless guys in Palisades Park and they convinced me to go with them to the homeless shelter to have a warm meal and a dry place to sleep. That all sounded great to me, so we walked over to the Ocean Park Community Center (OPCC) to wait in the drizzle with dozens of other homeless people. A yellow school bus came and we all piled in and were taken to the Army Armory in West LA.

Eventually, about 150 of us were packed into one big hall, sleeping cheek to jowl on army cots. Women were in one corner, about one quarter of the space, and us men were in the other three quarters of the hall. My belly was very thankful for the hot meal---pasta with chicken and some bread. And of course it was nice to sleep in a warm dry place as the rains did their best to wash this big city clean.

At times, the chorus of snoring was so loud that I had to laugh, but I had no trouble falling asleep since I was pretty exhausted. In the morning the staff woke us up at 5:30am and we were soon on buses back to the OPCC in Santa Monica where we were given sack lunches of a bologna sandwich and an apple. Bologna never tasted so good.

Besides swelling the ranks of the homeless heading to the shelter, the rain seems to aggravate tempers beyond their already volatile tipping points. Over the week, several fights broke out at the shelter and even on the bus as macho posturing and confrontation are the primary means of conflict resolution. Adding to this tension was the fact that someone stole the shelter manager's cellphone. His petulant response was to have all of our bags searched each night we came to the shelter. With that many people, it was often a two hour wait just to get in the door, sometimes in the pouring rain. That doesn't even count the 30 minutes or an hour spent lined up waiting at the OPCC for the bus to come, again, often in the rain.

During the week or so of the storms, I got to know some of the guys as we repeated the shelter routine each night and morning.

Friendly Hans is brainstorming ideas for a business involving vacation celebrations with a Christian service theme. Something like Habitat for Humanity crossed with a vacation package. It still needs a lot of clarification, but he's working on it.

John is a writer of speculative fiction and he often entertains me with summaries of some of the stories he's written or is in the process of writing. He also told me about a "homeless bus" that he sometimes rides at night. Apparently, there is a nighttime bus from downtown Los Angeles to Long Beach that a lot of homeless people sleep on. The journey takes one and a half hours, and upon arriving in Long Beach they all have to disembark for fifteen minutes, then they get back on for the return trip back to downtown LA. Then they repeat the whole trip again. Seems kinda surreal to think of this bus driving sleeping homeless people around and around LA. Rent is expensive, but a bus pass is affordable.

Lee is an alcoholic Vietnam War veteran, but he remains sharp, cracking jokes in a non-stop patter. He says he was even a stand-up comic at one time. Though he usually doesn't like to talk about his experiences during the war, one evening he told me about some of the harrowing hand-to-hand combat with the Viet Cong in underground tunnels.

Andre is a poet and an artist. The first time I met him, he recited some of his poetry for me. He started constructing a small wire mesh sculpture of a "nature goddess". She grew day by day and he delighted in sharing her progress. Then one day he accidentally smushed her in one of his bags. Such are the risks of creating art in an itinerant lifestyle, and such are often the dreams of the homeless-----most are crushed before they are barely started. But just a couple of days ago he proudly showed me a new wire sculpture of a face that he was working on.

Though smallest in stature, "Dolphin" is perhaps the biggest character of them (us?) all. He's been the kindest to me, looking out for me and showing me the ropes of life in the shelter. Ethnically Indonesian, he's an energetic dynamo and is constantly regailing me with stories of his exploits. Some of them sound so outrageous that I'm not sure I believe them. Apparently he used to own a restaurant, but when he went away on an extended vacation to visit relatives, his business partners stole all of the money and ruined the business. Then he was hit by a truck and his life really spiraled down into alcoholism and homelessness. Before the restaurant, he says he was an investigator for a law firm, ran an escort service and an import/export business, was a bounty hunter until one of his friends was killed in a job gone wrong, and has partied with Charlie Sheen, Sean Penn, Daryl Strawberry, and even done a road trip to Vegas with Al Pacino. Adding to my incredulity is the fact that his shelter ID card lists him at 5'4", though I'm sure that even on his best days Dolphin is not even five feet tall.

Andrew is a young Hispanic Palestinian Mormon. Seriously. He was a senior studying biology at the University of Texas at San Antonio when he felt called by God to come out to California. Mormons, of course, do a lot of missionary work, but he's not sure what he's been called here for yet. Until he figures it out, he's gotten a job at Jack-in-the-Box and sleeps in the shelter at night. He tends to see the world in the rather narrow terms of Catholic vs. Mormon, so I'm hoping his vision will broaden a bit out here on the West Coast. After all, there are a heckuva lot more religions that would like to kill eachother off too.


"You're bilingual? That's okay, the shelter will take in gays, lesbians, and bilinguals too."
---Lee, joking with some Hispanic guys

Other anonymous comments overheard at the shelter:

"The insanity of wax fruit is that it's wax! Wax ain't edible, man!"

"I've trained with all of the ascended masters. My aura is pure white. I'm a human light bulb to the world."

"It's all downhill for you from now on. You are fighting a losing battle against gravity. You've got nothing but Viagra in your future, Mister!"

One night at the shelter the guy next to me decided to start singing loudly while all the rest of us were trying to sleep. Now he's quite an imposing fellow---black sunglasses (even indoors...at night...with the lights out...and sleeping), a bandanna tied pirate style on his head, and quite burly to boot. And on top of all that, he believes that he is God. I'm not talking about the pantheistic notion that we are all a part of God-----he thinks that he is THE God. You know, the wrathful inflicter of judgments and merciful bestower of blessings. And while he might ultimately be right, he was still annoying the heck out of everybody.

Well, he just kept on singing, very loudly and very off key. At another time (and in tune) it might have actually been uplifting, cuz it was something about Beauty, but at the moment he was keeping everybody up and driving us crazy. Finally, at the risk of incurring the wrath of God and suffering eternal fiery damnation (or at least a good beating), I decided to try some "engaged Buddhism". I put my hands together in a wai (prayer gesture), bowed a bit, and in my humblest tone let him know that we were all trying to get some sleep.

Evidently unimpressed by my display of subservience, he threatened to kill me instead. Luckily for me, his follow through was not quite Biblical as he apparently had a change of heart and decided to let me live. But he did shut up, and we did get to sleep. And in the morning, he turned out to indeed be a forgiving God as he accepted my apology for disturbing his singing.


"Who dares challenge the King?! I shall slaughter them!"
---God, the wrathful

"I'm not trippin'."
---God, the merciful

One night as I slept on the beach, the rain came again and chased me under the Santa Monica pier. I set my sleeping bag up in one of the few dry areas near a couple of other homeless guys and went to sleep. In the middle of the night we were startled awake by some deranged guy screaming at us: "I will kill you all in your sleep and I will get away with it!" He then stomped off, shouting unintelligibly and banging around some trash cans and cardboard boxes.

Now this all set off one of the other guys near me who apparently wasn't so well-balanced either. He got up and began marching around and around in circles---sometimes right past where I was lying---while panting heavily and gesticulating strangely with his arms in all directions.

This all continued for at least ten minutes before I realized what I was doing. I was lying there, nervously watching and listening to these guys, waiting to see what would happen while calculating how fast I could get out of my sleeping bag. I was so caught up reacting to the tension and focused on them that I wasn't really aware of my own mind state. When I finally realized what I was doing, I took a deep breath, assessed the situation and made a decision.

I learned a great lesson while riding on a lot of buses in the Third World. The buses and roads are often in terrible condition and breakdowns are quite common. I remember one bus in India that we all had to get out and push to get it started again every time we stopped. The roads in Cambodia were so bad that my head would suddenly bang into the side window of the bus (a truck really) as it lurched through the bomb craters left over from the Vietnam War.

And the drivers are often not in such great shape either. Many are over-worked and exhausted. During one trip in southern Mexico, all of us passengers would shout at the driver whenever he would start to nod off. And too many of them throw caution to the wind, speeding and driving recklessly to stay on schedule or weave through traffic. I've seen too many drivers pass other vehicles (or ox-carts or cows) on blind corners and I've seen too many demolished buses at the bottom of gorges in places like Nepal and Guatemala. I remember reading somewhere that India has one-tenth the number of vehicles as the United States, but twenty times as many road fatalities.

And while my first lesson was not to sit at the front of the bus until I was calm enough to handle it---otherwise the whole trip could be spent in sheer terror---the long-term lesson I learned was to assess the situation, make a decision, and then let go. If I feel like the trip has become too dangerous, then obvously it's time to get off the bus. Otherwise, once I've made the choice to stay on the bus, there is absolutely no point in worrying anymore because it doesn't serve any purpose whatsoever, except to make the journey that much more miserable.

So that night under the pier I thought about the circumstances and decided to stay on the bus. I rolled over, went to sleep, and, despite all the hullaballoo, didn't wake up again until morning. Mainly, I figured that the guy who threatened us was all bark and no bite. After all, most axe murderers don't tend to notify their victims ahead of time. And besides, I also figured that the first crazy would have to deal with the second crazy before he got to me.

"There's no need to worry. Either the problem has a solution, so no need to worry, or the problem cannot be solved, so again, no need to worry."
---a swami (I can't remember his name) quoted in the "Times of India" newspaper

"Worry is a waste of imagination."
---a sign I saw on someone's front lawn

"That rain will get into you and soak you and freeze you. One time I got so cold the Devil came for me. He told me to just give up and die. And I almost did. But I called up my last bit of strength and said to him, 'I'm going to Norm's!' [a coffee shop in Santa Monica] I went in the bathroom and ran the hot water on my hands, and when they banged on the door, I wouldn't let anyone in!"
---Derrick, a homeless guy

With the return of the prodigal sun, I decided to explore Venice, which lies just to the south of Santa Monica. On a gorgeous day I wandered down to Venice's famous Bohemian beachfront boardwalk. There are many little shops lining the boardwalk selling beachwear and kitschy souvenirs. There are also numerous snack stands and even quite a few tattoo parlors to spice things up, but the real flavor comes from the street vendors on the other side of the boardwalk and the street performers scattered throughout.

Among the vendors are artists displaying works of widely varying skill, people selling even more schlocky stuff, psychics, and outright beggars with entertaining signs to cajole handouts. The street performers include musicians, dancers, acrobats, and, of course, the ever-present turban-wearing, rollerblading, guitar-strumming Harry Perry. Added to this mix are the "Muscle Beach" weight training facility, "public art walls" where artistic graffiti is encouraged, a skate park, paddle tennis courts, and basketball courts. Also scattered throughout the Venice beachfront are numerous murals reflecting the town's Bohemian vibe, many by Rip Cronk, including his famous "Venice on the Half Shell". And then there's that giant clown ballerina sculpture above a Longs drugstore...

Away from the beach, I love strolling along the secret narrow lanes that are too small for vehicles to negotiate. And of course there are Venice's beautiful canals---not so impressive as the one's in the town's famous Italian namesake---but charming nonetheless. Ducks, cormorants, egrets, and even pelicans can be found fishing in the narrow channels. A few bold ginger cats let me pet them and scratch them behind the ears, reminding me of the feral cats that thronged the canals when I visited Venice, Italy as a teenager. The canals and cats of that magical city so enchanted me that I wrote a couple of short stories about them in high school.

I got mixed responses from the street people here when I asked them about places to sleep. Understandably, many homeless folks are very secretive about where they sleep, not wanting to reveal their choice hidden spots. Some guys refused to even give me general ideas about where it's legal to sleep and one young woman even cut her friend off when he started to tell me that there are certain parts of the canals where people sleep. But there were some helpful folks who let me know that the beaches and parks are off limits, but the alleys are generally okay.

So I spent my first night in Venice in a semi-hidden little niche in an alley. I eventually ran across a bunch of other homeless people camped out in a parking lot near the public library, many with actual tents. So I've been sleeping in the parking lot too whenever I'm down in Venice. We share the place with a bunch of ducks and it's not uncommon to be woken up at dawn by them quacking, honking, and laughing at me.

A friendly guy named Jerry took me to a nearby church where they gave me a blanket and a sack lunch of juice, two packets of snack crackers, and a small can of Libby's Vienna Sausages, which are something like the bastard offspring of Spam and a rubber eraser. The sack lunch is always the same, so I've been eating these sausages off and on for two weeks now. Sometimes it's a bit challenging to get them down, and yet, of course, I am ever thankful for the blessing that they are. After all, the little beasties are keeping me alive, and "beggars can't be choosers". And they are still eminently preferable to eggplant.

"Please donate to marijuana research."
---an enterprising young man's sign on the boardwalk

"It's every man for himself out here on the streets."
---an unhelpful homeless fellow

"What a blessing! Best thing that's ever happened to me! Did you see the sunset? It brought tears to my eyes!"
---sweet Richard, who lost his job as a key grip because of the writer's strike, then lost his house to foreclosure two days before I met him

On Valentine's Day at 5am in the morning five police cars, a paddy wagon, and a truck pulled into the parking lot where we were all sleeping. The police began rousting us all up and arresting everyone. At first I was slow to react, but luckily for me I was off in a darker corner by myself, so I was able to grab all my stuff and escape by jumping over a low wall.

I stashed my gear and came back to watch from a distance, feeling a little guilty for running away, but mainly relieved. After all, my court date is only a few days away. They handcuffed all of the others (about twelve or fifteen in total) and loaded them into the paddy wagon and a couple of police cars. Each person was allowed to claim a bag or two of their stuff and then they were all hauled off to jail. The police loaded as much of the rest of the stuff that could fit into the truck for disposal and then they left.

It was a bit surreal walking back through the quiet parking lot after all of the commotion of the arrests. It was like a homeless ghost town-----tents, shopping carts, bikes, chairs, luggage, and blankets were all strewn about. And then seagulls descended like vultures, picking through all the detritus. A little while later, more city trucks came and workers hauled away all of the remaining stuff. With nothing left to scavenge, the seagulls flew away, leaving only me and a bunch of ducks to ponder the eerie emptiness of the parking lot.

I notified the social workers at a Venice homeless services center, but I still haven't seen or heard of those arrested, so I assume they are still in jail. I, of course, have been sleeping elsewhere since then. (I was tempted to call this entry "Valentine's Day Massacre", but it sounded too hyperbolic, even for me. And yet here I am sneaking it in anyway.)


"How does it feel to take a man's last pair of socks?"
---homeless man to the police

"I woke up in the middle of the night and something told me to leave this place."
---another homeless guy who avoided arrest, but still lost all of his belongings

As in New York City, I've been practicing with several different meditation groups. On Sunday mornings, I attend services at the Santa Monica Zen Center. The schedule is fairly typical of zen, including chanting, meditation (sitting, then walking), and a dharma discourse by a teacher. On my first day, the teacher displayed a Japanese painting of a carp as a metaphor describing zen practice as a fish swimming against the stream. This form of personal transformation moves against the current of our biological and social conditioning, seeking to free us from our usual thoughts and habits which limit us and our perceptions of reality. Falling short of liberation or enlightenment, I at least walk away with a piece of fruit, and once they even had brownies! (Talk about habitual craving!)

I've also been going to regular meetings of the Dharma Punx, the same organization that I was attending back in Brooklyn. Noah Levine, the group's founder, teaches in a fairly irreverent style that is a very down-to-earth and accessible form of Western Buddhism. And yet the teachings are firmly rooted in the more orthodox Theravada tradition that I was also trained in. Unorthodox orthodoxy. And similar to the attendees on the East Coast, this group and their affiliated "Against the Stream" organization tend to be fairly young with more than their fair share of tattoos.

I even attended a Soka Gakkai International orientation. This group is apparently the fastest growing Buddhist sect in the world, and yet the reason for this is what makes them somewhat controversial in Buddhist circles. SGI actively proselytizes, promising converts that chanting in a particular way will grant them whatever wishes they desire---a new partner, job, car, whatever. Even if this is somehow true, the practice flies in the face of most Buddhist philosophy, which seeks to free us from our habitual craving (see "brownies" above). After all, the 2nd Noble Truth in Buddhism is that craving causes suffering.

When I asked the woman giving the orientation about this, she told me that practitioners also have a mala (rosary) representing the "108 earthly desires" that they wish to free themselves from, but she couldn't really reconcile the apparent contradiction between practice and philosophy. But I'm trying to maintain an open mind cuz mystical traditions are full of all sorts of fun paradoxes, so I really shouldn't be too quick to judge. Maybe SGI disciples reach an end to craving if all of their desires are magically satisfied! Or perhaps they eventually learn to transcend their individual craving by desiring things for others or for the greater good of humanity and the planet. SGI does indeed have a strong emphasis on promoting world peace.

I also occasionally attend meditations at 6am on the beach. I bundle up as best I can and sit with the Insight Meditation group as the waves crash and the sun rises behind us. My usual mantra: "Don't think of an omelette!"

After one of these sessions, I was wondering what to do next when it struck me as obvious that I should clean the beach. It's quite sad how much garbage we throw into Ma Ocean, some of which she disgorges back on the beach. After a couple hours of cleaning, I was treated to a pod of 40 or 50 dolphins touring up the coast, and a lone seal fishing just beyond the waves. At times like these, I don't feel like I'm swimming against the stream at all.


"We are learning not to take life so personally."
---Dan, zen teacher

"We are in the business of utterly annihilating who you think you are."
---Yoshin Sensei

"To transcend our primal fears, to be free of the fear that drives us to accumulate more money, more stuff, is to declare that we are complete and whole, that we have survived. Now give up your entitlement to your fear."
---Yoshin Sensei

"Not all of the homeless are losers, just some of us."
---me to Yoshin Sensei after he referred to a "homeless loser" (repeating it three times for emphasis) who touched his daughter (He was exhorting women at the center to take a Bukido self-defense class.)

"When you say 'I believe this', then you build up a wall against that."
---homeless woman, explaining the benefits of maintaining an open mind (Shunryu Suzuki's "beginner's mind")

"Confucius say: 'A man may remain quiet and be considered a fool, or he may speak and still be considered a fool.' I am a fool. That's it. End of story."
---manic homeless fellow who sometimes talks incoherently

"I think we should all be open to the possibility that some things in Buddhism might be bullshit. Find out for yourself."
---Noah Levine

"So after he became enlightened, Sid* eventually decided that he would try to teach his old ascetic homies back in the woods."
---Noah Levine

*"Siddhartha", the original name of the prince who became the Buddha

Rated: PG-13 for strong language

Based on my limited experiences in the two biggest cities in the U.S., there seems to be a significantly higher percentage of mental illness among the homeless people here in Los Angeles than in New York City. While there are definitely some unfortunately unhinged folks living on the streets of the Big Apple, the preponderance of mentally unbalanced homeless people here in L.A. can feel overwhelming at times.

The most visible (and audible) symptoms of mental disorders are the high number of people carrying on conversations with imaginary people. Often these dialogues are quite antagonistic, involving shouting, cursing, or even shrieking. Others withdraw into their own worlds, exhibiting almost autistic behavior. There's even one guy with a big white and pink grinning teddy bear strapped to the top of his head.

And others seem quite "normal", can even be very helpful, until you scratch beneath the surface to see the psychoses within. I met a friendly  and intelligent fellow named "Dash" in Reed Park who showed me his nice postcard art, gave me some handy advice for surviving on the streets, and told me that he is writing a script for a movie on the homeless. Then he told me that he is suing the Pentagon to change "Washington, D.C." to "Washington, D.A." ("District Americanus") and that every day is Halloween because he is a medium between the dead and the living. I came back another day to find him barking and roaring at the cloudy sky.

I'm not sure why L.A. seems to have more mentally ill homeless people than NYC. Perhaps New York has better policies to house the mentally ill, especially since the winters are so much colder. Of course, it could just be that the population of California in general---homeless and otherwise---is a bit loopier than the rest of the country to begin with. My Alaskan friend Mike used to say that it's as if someone picked up the East Coast and all the loose nuts and bolts slid down into California. I guess that makes me a homegrown nut.

Whatever the causes, the big picture cannot be fully appreciated without understanding the role that Ronald Reagan played in exacerbating the plight (and numbers) of the homeless here in the U.S. During his administration, Reagan slashed funding for HUD's (Housing and Urban Development) low-income housing programs. He also cut funding for residential programs in mental hospitals, forcing many mentally ill patients out into the streets.

Under Reagan, the homeless population exploded. Those of us old enough to remember a time before the 1980s can recall that there weren't very many homeless people. Now, homelessness is so prevalent that there are millions living in the shadows of our big cities. And now we take it as a given. Someone once said that the true measure of a society is how well it treats its weakest members. By this standard, our culture has a lot of growing up to do.

Lately, I've been catching myself talking to myself. In the past, I've been known to do this when I've been alone for a while, but out here on the streets it takes on a new significance and it was beginning to worry me. (My comments on "worrying" in a recent entry notwithstanding!) I can get especially squirrelly when I'm really tired, sometimes carrying on two-way conversations with myself that I only really become aware of after the fact. I can see how some of these other folks could start talking to themselves in this lonely lifestyle and then just go over the edge after a while.

That very first night in the park here in Santa Monica, I heard a guy ranting by himself down in the parking lot below the cliff. (entry "One Step Away") I immediately thought that I might try it myself some night. I thought it could be cathartic, even liberating. But now, after weeks of mumbling, complaining, cajoling, and laughing by myself, I think I'll put it on the back burner. I'm not ready to explore that cliff edge just yet.

(Though I just remembered an incident during a meandering drive-about I did through California, Nevada, Arizona, and Texas back during a break in college. I was driving through Tucson when I saw a guy standing on a corner, shouting at all the traffic flowing through the intersection. I pulled over to listen, but he just seemed to be ranting incoherently. Since it apparently didn't require any expertise, I decided to give it a try myself. I planted myself on the corner diagonally across the intersection from the other fellow and began shouting my opinion on who would win a fight between the Fantastic Four and the X-Men. (Okay, so I wasn't mature enough to contrast Marx and Hegel yet.) The only real effects I can verify are that I seemed to have confused the poor drivers even more----"Hey, what are the chances of two crazies at the same intersection?!"----and that I eventually scared the other guy away.)

I'm starting to look pretty haggard. I'm usually pretty grizzled and my eyes are often red from lack of sleep. It's only been a little over a month this time out, but the lines in my face already seem deeper, perhaps partly because I am getting nicely roasted by the sun in this new lifestyle outside. I look older. Yet another opportunity to let go of attachment to self-image. I sometimes sigh and wonder at the freedom I would feel if I really didn't care what I looked like.

Many people are intimidated by my appearance, especially at night. My backpack labels me as a homeless person and I am often wearing a knit cap which makes me look more like a thug. And then there are my broom and long-handled dust pan which look like some kind of strange weapon in the dark. Though I haven't seen "No Country for Old Men", I sometimes imagine that I look a little like menacing Anton Chigurh with his notorious cattle gun....

....or a homeless kung-fu janitor.


"Are you a professional janitor?" (I explained I was a monk.) "Then will you pray for me?"
---strung-out Susie (I promised that I would meditate for her happiness)

"You see that? That's a monk. I bet he's like that TV kung-fu dude."
---homeless guy

"There was a guy lurking around the alley. I was gonna call you to warn you of a predator."
---two women conversing ten feet from where I was sleeping

"It's hard for me to see you like this."
---Dolphin, regarding my haggard look

"It's cold here!"
"Cold?! Try going up north where it's really cold!"
"But it's cold right here in Southern California."
"Aww, you whiney pussy! I'm tired of you whining all the time! You need a beating"
"I'll give you a beating!"
---"Leprechaun", arguing with himself

"Why? Why? Why do I keep asking myself 'Why?'"
---distraught homeless man

"I'm a Born-Again Christian, but I still don't give a fuck! If that tree comes over and messes with me, I'm gonna fuck it up!"
---J.D., homeless man

"Try not, do."
---Yoda's* response to my question of "Am I crazy?"

*Burger King Star Wars Yoda action figure that works similarly to a Magic 8-Ball

My food status improved dramatically when some homeless guys clued me in to a free meal that some kind Christian folks dish up in Palisades Park every Sunday afternoon, rain or shine. Pastor Paul preaches a 30-45 minute sermon and then they serve us a huge meal and load us up with extras to keep us going for a while. The meal is usually the same: some kind of pasta dish, salad, a slice of pizza, potato chips, a fruit drink, and sometimes yogurt, fruit, or crackers. Then in addition to all this, we get to select up to four muffins and four donuts! Woohoo! They call it the "Church of the Open Air", which is so very similar to my "Church Not Made with Hands" entry.....except I'm pretty sure they would still think that I'm going to Hell. Ahh, us pantheists get it from all sides.

I went to St. Joseph's homeless services center in Venice to speak with a social worker about my upcoming court date for my trespassing citation. He gave me some bus tokens so that I could get to the court. (It's down by LAX airport, about seven miles from where I got the ticket.) He also wrote me a nice letter to the court, requesting that I get community service rather than a fine or jail.

St. Joseph's offers a lot of services for the homeless, including showers, laundry, clothes giveaways, phone calls, therapy groups, and myriad individual case management services. I've done my laundry there a few times, but taken only one shower----after the first few people, the hot water runs out. So not only was I taking a cold shower, but then the power went out and I had to finish up in the dark. I've since been taking my showers at the OPCC in Santa Monica. It's a bit crowded and chaotic, but at least the water stays hot.

One of the best programs that St. Joseph's offers is the amazing Bread and Roses Cafe located a few blocks away. This weekday meal program resembles a restaurant and is based on the philosophy of serving the homeless as respectfully as possible. Us homeless people are seated at tables as staff and volunteers act as waiters and waitresses, serving up coffee, juice, milk, a bowl of fruit, sometimes a pastry, and then the main meal, which varies every day and usually includes a main entree, some nice vegetables, and bread. And it is always delicious, because they have a professional chef who is in charge of the preparations. (The place doubles as a culinary school for the homeless too.) The menus have featured lasagne, fajitas, spaghetti, barbequed chicken, shrimp on noodles, and even jambalaya.

The cafe seats 40 people, so they run three meal shifts through the morning, serving 120 people each day. It is especially heartwarming that the volunteers are often children, respectfully and cheerfully serving us our food and drinks. Some future day I want to bring my niece to Bread and Roses so that we can volunteer together and develop our sense of service and humility.
 
Some years ago, the cafe was going to close for lack of funds, but the actor Martin Sheen stepped in and began supporting it out of his own pocket. Apparently there are now a number of other Hollywood stars who funnel support for the cafe through him.
 
The concept of "Bread and Roses" goes back to an old labor union theme that wages should not only provide workers with livelihood ("bread"), but should provide for quality of life issues ("roses") as well. Quantity and quality. There's a great movie called "Bread and Roses" starring Adrien Brody about the plight of low-paid immigrant workers. That might not sound very exciting, but it is actually quite gripping and entertaining, as well as educational.
 
One of the best aspects of the cafe is that the ambience stimulates healthy group socializing over a relaxed meal. I've had some great conversations, some of which have been quite educational. I've learned about body-building, aircraft carriers, racial tensions in Hawaii, The Venice music scene, and even the real reason President Kennedy was assassinated.
 
One fellow who calls himself "the Messiah" (not to be confused with the God I found at the homeless shelter) let me know that there are five planets in our atmosphere looking after the Earth. He then showed me "birth marks" on his body that supposedly matched all the constellations. (Luckily, he didn't try to show the ones that weren't readily accessible.) But he was a pretty freckly Savior, so he could have connected the dots in the likenesses of the Spice Girls too, or the Flying Spaghetti Monster for that matter. And I must admit, while he was pointing out all of the celestial symbols on his body, I had to repress a very juvenile part of me that wanted to ask him, "Where's Uranus?"

If he is the Second Coming, I could be in trouble.
 

"The government killed JFK because he let the Russians put missiles in Cuba."
---Charles

"I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of nuclear reactors on aircraft carriers."
---Barry, ex-navy, taking the official line

"We aren't descended from monkeys. Aliens from the planet Xanadu came here 10,000 years ago and seeded the planet with humans."
---the Messiah

"I didn't want to mess with you cuz you look like you know some shit."
---OPCC worker who asked me to move to another area when I was meditating
(My response: "The only shit I know is meditation.....and I don't even know that very well.")

"How about personal liberation then? Cuz I think enlightenment is a bit beyond me."
---me, responding to a social worker's insistence that I need to have goals to receive services (He was not impressed by my goal to be free of goals.)

"If you don't have unconditional love, what are you doing on the planet?"
---Keetoowah, a homeless Native American and self-described "Chief" of the Venice beach people, speaking rhetorically