August 18, 2011 (Build-up to the Homeless Shelter, Part 2)

Thursday, August 18, 2011


I applied for a part-time design job in the city and once I showed up, I realized it was the design firm of my favorite teacher/mentor from college. Over time, he’d added other people’s initials to the firm’s title, and it had grown to employ 15 or so people—many working part-time.

The woman interviewing me was friendly and asked if I’d mind starting on the flower press. I didn’t mind starting from the bottom and working my way up.

Online, later, I looked up the firm’s website, and I saw that my teacher/mentor had just announced (a week earlier) that he and his wife were retiring. I wondered if they were burnt out from design. I was open to trying it again, but still feared another bad experience. [“Bad experience” reference posts: The Dysfunctional Work Family, and Fired.] Plus, I considered design as “part of The Game.”

On his notice online, I saw a photo, great quality, of his home. It was a forest area, with some small clearings, deer, small stream/river, during early Spring, when snow was melting. I considered asking him if I could be his full-time gardener, to organize a food forest on his property, in exchange for housing and possibly food (or at least enough money to buy food). [Reference: There is a place in Seattle, WA, that is creating a public food forest.]

Also, my cat ran into a forest (day time) and I chased after her. She ran fast every time I approached. I eventually caught her, though. INTERPRETATION: I’m chasing a dream? Eventually will come true?


[Continued from this post: August 17, 2011 (Build-up to the Homeless Shelter, Part 1)]

I left the Town Hall, after talking to the woman. I didn’t even return to the police station. I wanted to go and try to move my car. I didn’t feel safe there, anymore—and certainly not welcome, at least not by humans (I felt welcomes by the trees and forest, though).

When I turned the corner and glanced up, I saw the neighbor’s car parked between our driveways, with a police car, too. A second cop car drove quickly past me. I didn’t feel like dealing with that, so I calmly, at my normal walking pace, walked up a different neighbor’s driveway. Something in my intuition told me: Not yet. Don’t talk to them, yet.

It annoys me to recount this story, but I want to record it. Plus, writing helps let go of feelings associated with these past events.

Once again, I considered abandoning my car and my poor cat (who was probably sleeping under a tree right then), but I at least needed to get my new work shirt (with their logo on it) and jeans, toothbrush… well, hell. I kinda needed just about everything. Shit. What to do?

I continued walking. Maybe I could come up from behind, in the old farmland. But, no, wait, the cops will probably be expecting that. I’m sure they know the territory better than I do. If not, they’re a bunch of noobs.

Luckily, someone gave me a box of yesterday’s donuts this morning, and the lady in Town Hall happened to give me an old map of the area. I was carrying these around in my bag, along with water bottles So I had food (and forest berries and mushrooms) and water. After an hour or so of walking around, I found the farm land and a couple of abandoned barns. Clumsily walking; I’m definitely no “super soldier!”


Shit—a cop car is parked right next to mine, at the end of the driveway. I could see it in the distance, now. Ok, well, where does this other, overgrown farm driveway go? To the main road? Ok. If only I could sneak my car across this grass, across the old farm path and back up to the main road… I’ll hang out in this abandoned shack for a while, hang up my sweaty red shirt to dry on this wall hook, lay down to rest. Shit. >.< Leave me alone, you Matrix clones! Inner door [to this abandoned shack/house] is locked. No escape. Fuck!


Ok, ok, ok… Remember the bumper sticker on my car: “I am the one who is responsible for myself.” Just go out there, be friendly, and maybe another miracle will happen. He called for back-up and talked to me to stall me while the 2nd cop came over. They technically arrested me for “trespassing”—both on this little house and on the forest-house property where my car was parked.

The one guy hand-cuffed me. I thought it was cute and humorous that he used the “thumb hold” during the cuffing process. ‘Awww, how cute—he’s using his training, just like a good little robot,’ I thought to myself.

I acted ditzy and excited to be trying something new [and actually, in a strange way, it was exciting and fascinating to experience something new. I’m kind of a “collector of experiences,” in some ways.]

They took me back to their base [haha… the Police Station] and uncuffed me.

I sat in a room and shared my story.

[Note: When the guy asked, “Ok, so what’s your story?” I made an annoyed, groaning noise and said, “Every time someone asks me this, I never know how to wrap it up in a nut-shell. It’s such an obnoxiously long and complex story.” So I waited a few moments, to try and organize the story line of my life in my head, and then proceeded, starting with where I’m from and trying hard to leave out the boring parts so he didn’t get bored, yet still trying to explain why things ended up the way they did. It’s like… In order to explain Z, first I need to explain Y. And in order to explain Y, first I need to explain X, and it goes all the way back to “A.” Like, how do you sum that up?]

I was honest about everything, except I withheld the info about my car’s plates being expired (which they were able to find out through their computers, anyway).

Somewhere in the process, I think they felt an emotion (pity? compassion?) and decided not to take me to jail—although, at first, I kinda wanted to go (I said, “Ok, this might sound bad but, jail has food, water, a place to sleep, a toilet, and no mosquitoes… and you’re trying to get me not to go?”). But they were trying to persuade me not to go. Really, they just wanted me to leave their town/suburb and not come back unless under legal circumstances. I actually didn’t know much about the process, so it was easy to act naive.


One of the cops called in a friend of his, from a bordering suburb. This was a woman named Jane, an ex-cop who also helps run some sort of ministry that helps people in need. (“People in need”… isn’t that the entire planet, really?) She listened to my story and ended up giving me $60 bucks (for enough gas to make it to the closest homeless shelter, and then some extra, since my first job paycheck wouldn’t arrive for at least a week or two). By the time that happened, the guys were pretty relaxed around me. One had even changed into civilian clothes, then.

I figured that it would be in my best interest to be nice and kind. And actually, that was/is my natural nature, anyway. It would run counter to the energy of my soul to be unkind.

The cops searched online for shelters and let me use their phone. I called the shelter in the main city and found out that they do not allow pets (at this moment, my cat was still by the big house in the woods, by the pond).

After I hung up the phone, I looked slyly at Jane, with a grin, and wondered aloud if I could simply keep my cat in the car, in the shelter’s parking lot, while I sleep inside. She grinned. She was older and more experienced than the two younger cops (who were 30 or younger, I guessed). Jane was able to tell that I was smarter than I let on. She didn’t say this; I could just tell, or that is what my intuition said. Years of experience told her what the other two cops had missed—I saw it in her eyes. I liked her. Under friendlier circumstances, she might have made a good mother-figure friend, to me. Perhaps, equally, she viewed me as a daughter whom she wished to help care for? I’m not sure. As a cop, she is conditioned to be guarded, objective, factual, logical. Not emotional, by a long shot.


So with the $60, I (surprisingly) made it the several miles to the nearest gas station in the nearby suburb. I filled my gas tank all the way, around 8 or 8:30 at night. Oh, and I’d gathered up my cat and all my stuff. It was raining and the sky was an odd, light-brown color. A giant rainbow arch filled the sky when I left the police station. [“Lemmie see!” I yelled, excitedly and happily, as I ran out to look. I wasn’t even hand-cuffed or anything. I briefly wondered if they thought I was trying to run away, but they weren’t making any aggressive moves at me. I also remember wondering if they were thinking that I wasn’t taking them seriously. And really, I didn’t take them too seriously—I mainly saw them as human beings, not as cops.]

I excitedly said it was a sign of good luck! I’d been rambling on and on about spiritual meaning in everything that happens. I figured that’s why they called in the “ministry woman.” I’m sure the two younger cops disregarded me (or “wrote me off”) as a “silly person who needs to be educated in the law.” Truth is, I know the law (kind of). Maybe I don’t know details, but I’m very quick to catch on. I’m not stupid. It’s just that I don’t agree with the laws and I’m done—fucking done—playing the Game of Earth. I want to move on. Not “move on in the game.” Not “move up/on in the System.” I mean: Move on, from this Earth reality. I feel “beyond it.” Like a potted plant that’s long outgrown the pot.

[Continued here…]


3 thoughts on “August 18, 2011 (Build-up to the Homeless Shelter, Part 2)

  1. Pingback: August 18, 2011 (Women’s Homeless Shelter) | The Miracle Mud Bath of Life

  2. Pingback: August 17, 2011 (Build-up to the Homeless Shelter, Part 1) | The Miracle Mud Bath of Life

  3. Pingback: August 18, 2011 (Women’s Homeless Shelter) | The Miracle Mud Bath of Life

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