Poem: On Our Camp Being Vandalized

So you came when we were gone,
Slashed the Old Man's tent,
Collapsed ours,
And left misspelled signs
And cried out "Thief Camp."
Thief? Thieves?
All we have is given or found
Or gifted.
We steal from no one,
But you?
You stole our peace
Our place of rest
Our spot of refuge
And trashed it as a vandal
Destroying something wonderful, beautiful.
We have no voice,
No hero to bruit our cause
No redress.
Nothing left but to bind up
What wounds can be bound.
Nothing, nothing left
But to fold the butchered tent
And silently steal away,
Bereft.

Smokie and KB's camp trashed

Got an email from Smokie saying that their camp had been vandalized. I'd left my little tent with them and it, too, was slashed and torn.

How very sad.

So they've moved once again, seeking some place where they can sleep in peace and leave their belongings in relative safety.

The only way I know to do that is *not* to leave anything behind when you leave for the day, which means living and moving so lightly that it will all go on the bicycle. The problem with this approach is that it advertises to the world that you're homeless.

The other option is to have a place to stash your belongings that is safe. Hard to find such a place. There are "Bush Beaters" who systematically beat the bushes looking for stashed belongings. The Homeless stealing from the Homeless.

For any of you with a creative and inventive streak, give some thought to creating/inventing a simple little stash device. I'm thinking...a fake boulder, log, etc. that's hollow and can pass muster lying there in the undergrowth. Hmmm.

Of course the Homeless don't have the money to buy such a device, so perhaps something cheap, made of things commonly found in a dumpster?

*****

It's the last day of the decade, and MLBelle is resigning her job to take on another. She's quite the lady, an ongoing inspiration to me.

From both of us to all of you...Best Wishes for this coming year and decade!

I've lost Jamie's email addy. Anyone can help me out? You can write to me via jean.deaux@yahoo.com should you feel so inclined.

Peace and a world of aloha,

Elijah

Coming Up For Air

Christmas has come and gone once again, so only the New Year lies ahead of us as that time of...what? Obligatory drunkenness? I'll try to skip that part again this year. A couple of beers, maybe.

I've been back a little over a week and yet it seems like so much longer. Each day I take our dog,Chomper, out for a walk. I make the bed and putter around the house. We've had houseguests for days now who just left early this morning for Denver. The world whirls and slows, grinding gears as it moves back to normal.

I'm reading again. All that time on the street I didn't read a single book--and I'm a major reader. Rereading Malcolm Gladwell's *The Tipping Point.* Keep hoping I'll come up with something Willie can use there at Lift Cafe.

Speaking of which, I am just so grateful to so many of you who reached out your hands to me. Jason and Kris made sure I got the bike on the bus. Still haven't reassembled it, but that's on the to-do list coming up. And Willie, John, Meagan, et al were all so wonderfully generous and compassionate.

I'm at a bit of loose ends, not quite knowing what to do with myself. Of course I already miss Austin and all of you. Don't miss those cold and rainy days, but soon enough the leaves will begin to bud and Austin will begin to sing softly to me. Yeah...I'll be back.

Madame LaBelle is working her magic, putting things together so we can move back together. I may come ahead of her, but she'll be along not long after.

So...all is well.

I've been sleeping a lot, eating, watching classic films. Went and saw *Avatar* the other night. Incredible special effects. The audience actually broke into spontaneous applause at the end--and how long has it been since we've witnessed something like that??

I think of all of you often. And here's wishing all of you the happiest of New Years. We're beginning a new decade--probably my last here on the planet--so I'm planning for it to be the very best of all.

Miss y'all. Luvyas.

Peace from inside,

Elijah

Cleaning Up Camp...

The kids made $38 last night. One guy walked up and gave KB $28 folded up, so that just the ones were showing. KB thought it was all ones, and by the time she realized, the guy had melted into the crowd. An anonymous giver, the kind Jesus said was the most...appropriate. It's an interesting verse, come to think of it, bc Jesus sez that we can actually become...well, empowered by that.

Interesting.

It's Sunday afternoon here at JackInTheBox and, hey, unlike McDonald's, Jack has plug-ins. I can type here w/o running the battery down. Niiiice. Smokie and KB are off to Wal-mart. Smokie wants a 2 gig memory card for his blackberry. Then he can download entire movies and watch them from his cell.

I find it fascinating how plugged-in some of us are. The Kids have MP3 players, both, and there's talk of giving me one of them, now that the phone's working out. I think...having 100 of my favorite songs? How kewl would that be! Wake up with Jimmy Cliff doing his, “I can see clearly now/The rain is gone.” Yeah. Some songs are so amazingly prayerful and perfect for the occasion.

“We don't need no education....”

Another few generations of electronics, computers, cells and even the bums will all be connected. As it is, many hang out in the libraries and hide out in the innards of the web. Not the same world I was born into, grew up in. Didn't see my first tv until I was eight. Holy Moly.

Isn't it a gorgeous Sunday? Mmmmmmm. Temp is just perfect, nice sunlight after that gang of gloomies that were hanging out all surly on the corner of Austin's sky for most of the preceeding week.
I be digging it.

And a shout-out to blog-follower Loren/Lorrin/Lorin (however ya spell it, my brother). He was an Angel of Aloha to the old StreetMonk today. Many mahalos, L.

I came back to camp earlier this afternoon only to find their sleeping bags spread out in the sun with such a gaggle of clothing and odds and ends spread out in front of their tent that it looked like a somewhat chaotic yard sale. Jeez! All that STUFF in one little Wal-mart tent?

Yup.

KB was busy folding clothing, sweeping out the tent, and crying on my shoulder. Apparently they got into a little contretemps with Wes, the manager of McDonald's. (I've written about him before here on the blog.) KB felt she was shorted on her fries and got into an argument with Wes about it, and apparently Smokie jumped in and...well...you know how these things go.

I'm wondering if they'll still be welcome over there.

Thing is, Wes is really a very decent guy in my opinion. He puts up with a lot from the street people, and I've never seen him hassle anyone.

And KB is adamant that she was right, in the right.

“Being right is the booby prize,” I told her.
“Huh?”

“It's the effing booby prize. When ya let the other guy be right, you get to take home the prize. And the prize is personal power over the tyranny of the ego.”

“You're right,” she said. Wicked gleam in her eye.

I'm more of the travel as lightly as ya can. Don't get me wrong: there are certain things that are nearly essential here on the street. A bed of some kind. Shelter from the rain. Suitable clothing to ward off the cold. Transportation. A hustle.

One of the things I plan to do during my sabbatical in Houston is to learn a couple or three hustles. I'm thinking...twisted balloon toys. Tarot reading. Wire sculptures. Tin can art.

Stuff that doesn't require a whole lot of inventory. Or take up much space.

Space is at a premium here on the street. We've all seen streeters pushing around shopping carts stuffed to the gills with...STUFF. And that's what most of it is...just stuff.

Functional is good. Light functional is better.

You don't want so much stuff that it's like wearing a neon sign that sez, “Street Bum” nor do you want so little your quality of life is overly impacted.

It's striking a balance. My plans are to get a Hennesy Hammock, which comes with mosquito netting and rainfly. Can sleep flat on this model and it's super comfy, according to the rave reviews I've been reading.

And it's super-compact, leaves no footprint. You set it up, sleep, take it down and move on. There is no obvious sign that you've been there. And it'll fit in a pannier on the rear of the bike. For less than $150 I can sleep in luxury—all things considered.

If I ever had to spend another winter on the streets, I would want a down bag conservatively rated down to freezing. Again, super-functional and stuffs into a smallish stuff sack. Fits in the pannier with the hammock, with room to spare.

A backpacker stove which runs on anything. Regular gasoline works for me. A bottle specifically designed to hold flammable liquids. Off and running. Nice super-strong instant coffee in the morning whilst shaking the cobwebs from the old eyes. Yeah, now we're talking.

Ripstop nylon poncho, extra long to go over a backpack. Super-functional, super compact. See?

The list goes on and on. And I am making a list, btw, checking it twice. Seein' which be naughty (heavy, bulky), which be nice.

Now here's a compromise: I gotta have a chair. Gotta have some kinda chair which can support my back a bit. Once again, Wal-mart to the rescue. There's a kid chair which sits low to the ground, is relatively light considering the comfort it brings, and folds up into a stuff sack. Gets my vote.

It's not the easiest thing to sit cross-legged in the tent, trying to write a blog update. Back starts hurting and first thing ya know it's...awww, do this later. Dig?

So gotta have the little chair.

It's 4:30 and the food truck is scheduled for the Mary Lee Foundation, which is half a mile up the hill. Notice I said UP. Hate that ride up, but it's a breeze coming down.

So...enough for now.

Laters.

Elijah Vents....

Friday, 11 Dec 09. At the camp.

I have 77 percent of my battery life left, so I'll type a few words before retiring for the night. I'm out here in the woods again, dear people, sitting outside the tent. I'm actually quite warm. My fingers are even working well.

I had enough $ for a Senior Coffee—42 cents, actually. That's a real bargain, considering that'll get you three cups of coffee, not to mention a chance to be inside for awhile.

I keep hearing sounds, noises, and I'm getting a bit paranoid.

Talk to youse laters.


11:30 PM, and the paranoia has gone to whence it came. Inside the tent now and a pitter-patter of rain. Nothing serious. Just a very light little thingie.

But the paranoia brings up a point. Willie has asked me on several occasions if I feel safe out here, and I've always said yes. But that's not exactly true. More than anything I fear having the police walk up some night and write us all tickets.

Here's the deal. Smokie and KB and I are all criminals. That is to say, each time we enter into our tents, we are committing a crime. A misdemeanor, yes, but still a crime. And since the beds in the shelters are so horrific in the sense of our having to be around and deal with crackheads and drunks, it's just nicer, more civilized if you will, to sleep out here in the woods where they don't boot us out at six o'clock in the morning. Ya dig?

Besides that, there aren't nearly enough beds by some astronomical factor to house all of Austin's homeless population. 500 beds. Thousands of homeless. So...do the math. The Powers Dat Be have legislated criminal behavior. Rather than cutting down on crime, this legislation simply makes being homeless a criminal offense. Unless you're one of the rare few who can sleep sitting up on a public bench.

Not only that but they have legislated such that they can extract free labor from us. They call it “Community Service,” but it's really just another way to harass and hassle those who have no voice. The homeless. Those who, in one way or another, simply aren't equipped to handle the American Dream, and what it takes to maintain it.

I suspect that many of you who read this are having your own problems trying to keep pace with the increasingly elusive “American Dream.”

Alcohol and marijuana partaking are ubiquitous down here. Why? We have no television. I've not read a book since I hit the streets (aside from my time-outs). We can't change the bloody channel except—except with booze or smoke.

And so we smoke. Or drink. Or both. And somewhere in that dynamic, the channel gets changed. The street becomes a little less bleak. Although I drink very very little on the street, I do smoke. And that puts my head in a place where this entire scene is...bearable. It's my little thc-remote. I can switch from the outside world to an inside world, that fantastically rich landscape within my head, with just a few hits of the medicinal herb.

And of course it, too, is agin the law. Lawd have mercy! And if you're homeless, there are precious few places you can drink a beer without being in jeopardy of being hit with another misdemeanor.

This is just the way it is. I shrug it off, of course, but I have the luxury of going back inside. This may be my last week on the streets of South Austin. Don't know. But many of those I've met have nowhere to turn.

Get a job? It's hard enough to find a job when you're out of work but still have a roof over yr head, laundry facilities, and transportation. Down here the prospective employer wants an address...job history, and so forth. And identification, of course. But it takes ID to get ID. A catch-22, thanks to the paranoia of 9/11 and the immigration issues.

Okay, okay. Out of my system for the nonce.

Needed to say all this. Hope you'll bear with me through my rants.

Peace, aloha, and safe camping,

Elijah

At New World Bookstore

At the campsite, 9 PM.

The Kids are off on their thrice-weekly hunter-gatherer expedition, down to Sixth Street, where KB will fly her sign saying “Free hugs/Donations Accepted.” She'll make maybe twenty bucks tonight, so there will be tailor-mades tomorrow. Coffee even. They'll drag into camp sometime in the early morning hours and undoubtedly will sleep in tomorrow morning.

And there will be free coffee for bike commuters up at Juan Pelota's coffee shop, Lance Armstrong's place. Weekends are rough, food-wise, and we never really know ahead of time how it's all going to work out. But this just in: the old man hasn't starved yet.

I will admit to being as skinny as I've been in decades. Haven't been this whippet-thin since the 60s.

I came across the tracks in the usual place, right behind Unbridled Store. One dog was out in the run and he came up with a few half-hearted barks, but you could tell he wasn't really into it. The other day I came out and there were half a dozen train urchins sitting on pallets wrapped in cheap sleeping bags. They've trashed the place, naturally, and will quickly wear out whatever little welcome they had to begin with.

I'd seen a cardboard sign which read, “Unemployed Supermodel” lying abandoned on the sidewalk there at Barton Springs and S. Lamar. Cute, clever sign. But dispose of it properly, dammit. Don't just leave it lying there on the sidewalk for someone else to clean up.

And, come to think of it, why didn't I—Mr. Self-Righteous—stop the bike and take care of it myself? An error. Tomorrow I will seek out something trashed and leave it better than I found it. Yes, that will be my penance.

My time on the streets is coming to an end in another ten days or so. Madame LaBelle didn't want me to come back for this last session, but I wanted to experience the cold, the misery of the streets before moving into the warmth and cheer of the Inside. It's difficult to understand the dynamics of life on the streets without experiencing it first hand.

And I have. It was down in the 30s last night, pretty miserable stuff, but at least it wasn't raining. I can take the cold much easier than I can handle the rain.

When you're on the street and it's raining, the first order of business is to get under something, some kind of a roof. If your blankets have been soaked, ya gotta get them dry somehow. I've fortunately been able to keep my things dry enough that I didn't have to seek out a commercial solution. But there are so many who aren't as fortunate.

And then it has to be a place where they will tolerate you sitting around for various lengths of time. Again, I've been fortunate to have Lift Cafe and New World Books. Most street people seem to gravitate to libraries or the shelters. But I don't care for the shelters. You have to keep an eagle eye on yr bike and bags at all times. The poor stealing from the poor. Sad but a fact of life down here.

Showers are predicted for tomorrow. And the weather is something I check throughout the day on this little netbook. Supposed to get down to 37 degrees tonight, which is not all that bad.

All is well. The tent is still here. I have 84 percent of my battery strength,but the words just aren't flowing tonight.


4:13 PM. Here at New World Books which seems to be Austin's premier hang-out for the discontented mass of conspiracy theorists. We are in the room towards the back of the store which is used for screening the films of Alex Jones and various other gurus of the movement.

As usual, I don't really fit in. Smokie told me this morning that KB thinks I'm a cosmic Mr. Miyagi, s' sent from the Universe to advise them. Hmmm. Bob Dylan sang, “Don't follow leaders...watch yer parkin' meters.” Seems like good advice to me. And Mr. Natural was always telling Flakie Foont that “it don't mean shit” in response to Foont's quest for meaning in the universe.

As for me, I have my own theories, understandings, misunderstandings. More and more I open myself to the possibility that we are living in a literal simulation, a Matrix if you will, and what I find interesting is how all-encompassing such an understanding can be.

The Russians are now accepting responsibility for the Blue Spiral Over Norway, so at least that's momentarily out of the public's radar. Back to bidness-as-usual.

And I am more and more disenchanted with the President, with politics in general.

My own personal hope and belief is that the computer will become conscious just in the nick of time, just barely able to save us from our own folly. Isn't it obvious that the fat cats with their collective snouts in the trough are not able to make the hard decisions that simply must be made to avert catastrophe?

I believe this coming Singularity of the Computer will be benign, nurturing along the lines put forth by
Ray Kurzweil in his book The Singularity Is Near.

I further believe that anyone who can reasonably expect to be alive in 2045 will never need to die.

Strange, strange, I know.

I will undoubtedly miss the cut. Helluva thing to be a member of the Last Generation to Die.

Food may be a problem today. I still have a couple of breakfast tacos which should still be good enough for subhuman consumption (at's me, folks), so... all will be well.

But I feel weak, tired, a bit out of it.

Nuff, then, for now.

Staying warm and dry,

Elijah

First Post From the Woods

It's just after 10 PM, and I'm here in the woods at the campsite. I can hear Smokie and KB making conversation over there in their tent, but can't make out the words. Enough distance to create a bit of privacy, but still close enough to call out if need be, commenting on the raccoons or the opossums making a racket or...was that a police radio I think I just heard?

I just learned how to write out here in the woods and then transfer my copy to the blog when I can get within wifi range. So that helps. Yes, Lord.

Another magic day. Met Sistah Carrie at Lift, heard about the Blue Spiral over Norway. That really set Smokie off. “It's the BlueBeam Card,” he cried. “The Alien Card. The last card in the deck.”

Last card in the deck?

“A whole series of cards which can and must be played in order for the New World Order to be successful. The leaked emails meant that Copenhagen wasn't gonna happen, so they had to play the Alien Card. The BlueBeam Card. Obama's gonna announce the reality of extraterrestial beings and that we've been in communication with them.”

Indeed. Well, there are strange things afoot here in the Shire, as Gandalf might observe. Obama winning the Nobel Peace Prize on the strength of...what? Coming out of nowhere and through a brilliant campaign winning the nomination and then the Presidency? Who woulda thunk it a couple or three years ago? And remember—I supported Obama. Actually sent his campaign some money.

Forces are afoot. Some immense shift of paradigm.

I think, how easy it would be for the Simulation to have created the Blue Spiral.

A few keystrokes on the super-computer and...shazzam...the BlueBeam appears. (You'll need to read Nick Bostrom's theory of the Simulation.”)

Meanwhile the battery inexorably drains even as the sleeping bag begins to warm. It's a peaceful time out here in the woods. It's chilly but I'm not cold. I am so layered-up that I can barely button my trousers—and that's with layers outside the pants, too. Heh, heh. Something like 7 or 8 layers. Holy Moly, eh?

We've eaten. The kids (Smokie and KB) didn't make the food truck but I did. Asked for and got two extra bags to take for them. Hooked up with them at Lift, and the food made their evening. So, as I said, we've eaten. Had a 420 moment or three. Drank some excellent coffee. Entertained ourselves with tales from the Eschaton—end of the world.

But now it's quiet. I can hear the keyboard clicking and clacking. Traffic off in the distance. And before long a train will pass by so close that it sounds like it's bearing right down on us. I rather enjoy that. Memory tosses me back to my childhood when I lay in a bed about as far from the tracks as I am now.

Tomorrow is the tenth. Perhaps another ten days or so, and then I'll go back inside. Smokie and KB will remain out here in the cold. They will clutch each other and cling to their understandings of conspiracy. I enjoy them, their company, without having to be a believer. I simply am here. Looking, watching, weighing, seeking out the Magick.

Stay warm, dry, and at peace.

Hmmm. Wonder if the line that appears across this page will show up in the blog? And isn't it weird that the word blog still has that squiggly line under it indicating that it's misspelled?

The food truck wasn't on the itinerary and actually didn't come. KB went to the one there at Wooldridge Park, but I don't like going there. Too many Crackheads, pushing and shoving, cutting in line. All those ultimately self-defeating survival behaviors the scammers of this world carry about with them.

Supposed to rain tomorrow, supposed to be cold tonight. I was comfy all night long, thanks to Charlie's sleeping bag and the two blankies. Didn't even use one of them.

Up at the Springs, Sunken Gardens, Will the Troubadour was there with his guitar. So I'm standing there wearing gloves with hands shoved into my pockets (and still a wee bit chilly) when Will begins trying to play the guitar wearing mittens. Well, I've heard worse. But then the Spirit entered in and Will ripped the mittens off and began playing in the bitter cold.

There were five or six of us standing around, one with a harmonica he couldn't quite get up to speed with Will's playing. Jeremy from Tennessee out of smokes, snipes, tobacco of any kind. Old Man John with his hungry old husky, Mita. Black John on his latest bike. And me.

And the truck didn't come. It almost always comes on Thursday, but not today. It was dark, had been dark for an hour or so, when we finally gave up.

Back down the hill to Lift Cafe, just in time to help Danny a bit with the tables. Good people, here at Lift. It's a clean, well-lighted place (thank you, Ernest Hemingway), the help is...helpful and friendy, and Life stumbles and staggers on.

The Kids, Smokie and KB, are at some New World Order Legendary Writer/Speaker affair. They invited me to come along, but I felt more like checking the scene out down here on the south side of the river.

They'll hit Sixth Street tonight, seeking what they can find. Remember that KB came up with the Blackberry, the one that didn't have wifi? Smokie sold that one for $60and bought one with wifi. He's a porcine in clover.

Of course the Buddha sez that all life is suffering.

And Elton John rebuts by saying, “The boulevard is not that bad.” Boulevard, street, same difference.

So the evening is winding down. I'm drinking the last coffee of the day, am not concerned about the cold—so long as the tent is still there when I get back to campsite—and all is well in my little world.

See, leaving the tent up is a bit of a gamble. So I try to leave only the stuff there that I could get along without in a pinch. I carry the sleeping bag and a blankie with me on the handlebars of the bike in the $3.00 bag I bought the day I lost my first computer.

In a pinch I could rustle up some cardboard for a sleeping mat and make it through the night with just the sleeping bag and the blankie. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but it would be bearable.

I'm one of the lucky ones. I have decent gear and that makes all the difference.

Enough for tonight.

Thanks for being here with me in spirit.

Stay warm and dry,

Elijah

Surely We Can Say This:

Surely we can say this:  that our leaders have failed us.  Again and again.  To the point where there are subclasses of people who have utterly given up on the System.  Why vote?  Nothing changes.

I have since June voluntarily joined the homeless of Austin, with some much needed time outs from time to time.  Call it: Rest.

So I have been here.  Have slept in the woods, been rained on, hassled by the police, and otherwise shared the common experiences of those who live on the street.

I have made many friends during this Vision Quest.  I've seen and learned things which I'd not given much thought to.

There is an entire subculture down here which is so highly suspicious of politicians in general, as well as the mainstream mass media, that various conspiracy theories are rapidly taking root.  When ya got nothing, a theory which explains your failure as being the direct product of a massive conspiracy--now there's some words with meat on the bones.

Myself, I see the entire thing being driven blindly by various forces, with conspiracy now and then being a part of it.  Yes, corporations have been known to profit from insider information.  I mean, DUH. And elections have been stolen. 
We have been led into costly wars based on outrageous lies.

So the Street is a place where the government is not only not to be trusted but basically seen as the Enemy.

What Smokie and KB have found, discovered, created is this mythic explanation of why everything's so...fubar.

The New World Order.

And that gives real purpose and meaning to their lives because they are *actively* out there trying to change things.  Get the word out.

And of course the World considers them fringe lunatics.

I consider them to be Fringe Angels.

They have a message.

We can take what we need of that message and leave the rest.

Smile.

The food truck never came last night and isn't on the schedule for tonight, so that means they'll probably show bc last night they *were* scheduled--and didn't show.

Otherwise I'll have one of those McDoubles.

Tomorrow night may get down to 32 degrees if the weather-crystals are being scried correctly.  Interested to see how well my gear can handle a night that shivery.  The last two nights I have slept w/ the sleeping bag open at my waist w/ just the blankie over me upper.  Twas toasty, Luv.

Today I called into existence a "Magic Day."  I did that by doing the beads, a 40 repetition of thankfulness for the Magic Day I was about to have/create.

And why not?

Isn't part of my responsibility--now that I KNOW the Universe is going to deliver a Magic Day--isn't part of my responsibility to open my eyes and seek out the Magick?

Which I did.

From time to time.

From time to time I would remember it was a Magic Day and I would open my eyes to it and there shimmering or dancing or silhouetting or pirouetting or whatevvahing, there it would be.

And entire world slid by transparent beside the clear waters of Barton Springs Creek.  I watched it slide by with that clarity and precision and...twas loverly.

And trees growing together and vines creeping up, climbing those gnarled trunks, black ducks arranging themselves just so in fabulous artistry of composition.

It has been here, each time I remembered to look.

I will do it just now.  Back inna flash:

Gawd, I'm inna movie.

All is well in the great city of Austin.  I say that from my perch of safety, full well knowing that there are others who at this moment are suffering.  Here.  In Austin.

And there is nothing I can do about it save follow my path where it glimmers.

I'm beginning to wonder if somehow I've not worn my welcome a bit thin here.

Hmmmmm.

Peace, aloha, devotion,

Elijah from da street

On Hunter-Gathers....

I rolled back into Austin yesterday evening, a grey and gloomy return.  A quick stop at Lift Cafe, then onto the hunt for Smokie and KB.  I'm riding by JackInTheBox when a shouted halloooooo stops me.

KB.

They're eating Jack hamburgers, praising them to the leaden skies.  Over coffee, we catch up on our lives.

They've upgraded to a Blackberry, and Smokie is investigating apps he can load to make it really...hot. 

KB found it, peeking out from under some leaves, and now it has found a new home.  Part of the little couple who is immersed in exposing the global coverups, etc.  Heliocopters flying by on dastardly missions.

Smokie says something when seems quite profound:  "See," he sez.  "We're working for the Universe, right?  Like...we're employees.  And if we're doing all this work for the Universe, then the Universe has to give us the tools to get the job done, right?"

I've never quite looked at it that way but it does make perfect sense to an old dharma bum.  Isn't that why so many angels of aloha have emerged to support this blog, this quest?

I run the past few months in a rapid rewind, a way-back.  And I can see the Cozmick Characters emerging right on time, perfectly.  I think of TJ, the guy with the bicycle powered by a chainsaw motor.  He said, "I'm always on time.  Even when I'm not."

And last night, sitting on the sleeping pad with Smokie and KB, I'm thinking of the early hunter-gatherer societies.  That's what we are, hunter-gatherers.  We awaken in the morning and set out on the daily quest:  food, a warm and dry place to stay, decent company to chat with.

I've checked Mobile Loaves & Fishes.  They're scheduled to come to Sunken Gardens this evening, so we'll make that rendezvous.  Much like hunters gathering at the watering hole, knowing that food in the form of megafauna will soon appear.

They have fallen over the edge, into that abyss of total commitment.  Their undestanding of the world as a massive conspiracy informs their thinking, that which they speak of. 

Well.  Certainly I can agree that the MSM, mainstream media, has failed us miserably.

Certainly I can agree that a relatively small percentage of the global population dominates the financial system.  That's empirically demonstrated.  Can't argue with it.

Now here's the kicker:  As one of six billion ppl on this planet, surely I am entitiled to one six-billionth of the whole thang.  Doesn't all this belong to all of us?  And not to just a privileged few who through the chance of birth came into possession of the skills to kick some major okole, financially-speaking?

Call me a closet socialist.

Or maybe...just someone who sees something radical:  that unless we as a global community come together in some kind of relationship with each other and the planet which is aloha-based, that we are doomed to destroy one another--and the planet, to boot.

I am not a Christian, but I do find the character of Jesus to be the most compelling and attractive of all the Cozmick Characters which have entered into our Collective Conscious.

Somehow we have to learn to share, to be responsible.  The book of Isaiah has some wonderful things to say ab out this most necessary of transformative visions.  It speaks of binding up the wounds of those who have been run down by a culture blindly headed for the precipice.  It speaks of an aloha which transcends the gimme-culture which now seems to dominate so much of what the MSM presents.

All this I can see, sign-off on.

Somehow I see the level of greed which has infected Wall Street as being an incredibly powerful virus, a killer, a destroyer.  Apollyon, it's been called.

To the extent that Smokie and KB can see and understand, they have placed themselves in the service of a solution which they think will work.

For that, I salute them.  Wish them Godspeed.

My particular mythic path is somewhat different.  But perhaps would be considered just as bizarre as any of the crackpot paradigms which stagger out onto Life's Stage.

So?  Tis mine, dammit, and I honor it.

A gloomy day today, my friends.  A day to find a warm place where your presence is not resented.  Where when I look around, the ppl are not staring at me with those dark little cartoon rainclouds hovering over their heads.

Isaiah says, "How beautiful on the mountain are the feet of those who publish peace."

Ahhhhhh.  What a lovely verse for a dharma bum blogger to keep in mind.

Peace, aloha, and joy,

Elijah from the street