Deep Within: Why I give to the Salvation Army buckets.

     I give to the Salvation Army buckets, I have heard people say everything from good things to crass things about those red buckets. Either or, here is my story.

     It was a short time before Christmas, I had been living behind a dumpster by the Minneapolis YMCA. I was 15 years old. I was still pretty new to the streets, and the women's and children's shelter had given me some room mates that I didn't like or trust who were older guys and felt that it was safer to hit the streets fully with my best bro at the time, and just go. Unfortunately a few months prior, my best bro had been gunned down, so it was just me. I had gotten rolled by a group of older kids, and was battered, bruised, scared, and cold. I had taken refuge in my 'home', one of the few places I felt safe.

     The issue, it was cold, they had taken my blankets and coat along with my backpack. So there I sat, I had gone to the 410 to hope they would let me sleep in there, but it was a no go. There was no room in the inn per-say. I had gone back to my spot, I knew that at least I would have some kind of wind block from the elements. 

     As the cold crept in I started to become panicked, then enraged, and then it came to the last part, acceptance. I came to this understanding or belief that I was going to freeze to death and that would be that. I had known another guy who had frozen a few nights before, and everyone said that it was supposed to be like going to sleep. In that I remember finding comfort and solace. I remember the cold, I don't know if I have ever been that cold since, or just the mind set that set in. 

     Then it happened. I heard some noise just on the other side of my dumpster. I panicked, I remember being terrified that the guys who had taken my stuff were back to finish the job, or just make me pay a little more. I sat there and shook both out of cold and fear. 

      Then I saw him, a great hulking figure, wearing this huge coat with a hood. There was this cavernous depth where his face seemed to just disappear into the darkness of the shadows that hid his face. The moment he saw me I'm sure he could see the abject terror in my face. He quickly held up his hands in a universal sign of 'I mean you no harm', and said, "I ain't here to hurt you kid".  His hands then darted down to a brown paper cub bag and a bundle that I suddenly noticed at his feet. He simply said, 'Here ya go kid.' and almost seemed to float back down the alley from where he had come. 

      As I rooted through the bundle, I found a warm coat and a blanket (I still have a section of fabric from the blanket) and inside the bag, a hat, some mittens, a sandwich, and one of those old lunchbox thermoses filled to the brim with hot chocolate. I ran down the alley, to try and chase down my guardian angel in disguise, as I got to the corner, I got just enough of a view of my hero hopping into a van much like the one that I and others drive for SOHO. The only good glimpse I got of him as he left, were the words sewn into the back of his jacket, which simply read , 'The Salvation Army'. So that is my story, it is what it is, but I will tell you this, I may have very well frozen to death that night if it wasn't for The Salvation Army.

Quick explanation.

     Christmas is always a hard time for many. I am no exception. I have been fighting a funk. This time of year has contained pain and tragedy for me and many others. On Christmas Eve and Day there as been, my dad left, one of my best friends was murdered in front of my home, a childhood friend was killed in a drunk driving accident and another bro took his own  life, and all too often even if the holidays are in a joyful and festive mood, there is a darkness that tells me, 'so... what's gonna happen this year, who's gonna die? who's gonna leave?' Even as I type this out I tap into emotions that stir deep within. So, with that, I'm going to write a subsection of crags and crevices called, 'Stories that need to be told.' These may be gritty, happy, sad, but they will be, well, they will be.

One more day.

   Long story short, at midnight tonight, I turn older than I ever expected to live. I remember the first time I was given a life expectancy. It was at a place called 'Project Off-Streets', with my 'worker' who I would see once, who looked at me a wet behind the ears, pretty much full on suburban kid who thought he was a lot tougher than he was, and said, 'Get tough or die kid, these streets are gonna eat you alive.' I had moved into the shelter they had put me in shortly after. I walked through the secure doors, and into the place that I would call home. I had just put my back pack into my room, and was on my way down in the elevator, I was wearing a red sweatshirt, that kept me warm, as the elevator stopped, I don't remember what floor, another kid got into the elevator. He eyed me up and down, he was dressed in blue from head to toe, before I knew what was happening, he pulled a gun from his waistband, stuck it in my eye, and said, 'you new? just so you know, red don't fly 'round here, got it?' He put the gun back in his waistband like it was just another day at the office, and stepped from the elevator.
    As I stepped from the elevator, I heard a scuffle to my right, the 410 was a shelter for women and children, and I was about to find out why there were two sets of locking doors on the way in. A large man was shoving his way through the door as a woman frantically was telling the front desk to call 911, as the man made his way through the door, I saw something in his hand, as I was trying to figure out what it was, his arm flashed forward. I quickly figured out what it was, as the glass exploded on the side of the woman's face, he had hit her with a glass bottle. I watched in stunned silence as the man proceeded to run out the door, and the people at the desk huddled around the woman, not only attempting to stop the bleeding in the gaping wound that ran from her ear to her shoulder blade, but to secure the front doors so the attacker could not return.
    As we stood there, my soon to be best friend, Josh, looked at me and said, 'welcome to the 410, if any of us make it out alive, we should consider ourselves lucky.' Josh quickly became my best friend, we spent pretty much all of our time together. He used to always say, 'we'll be lucky if we make it to 16.' He didn't, I did.
   Throughout much of the rest of my life so far, I lived fast, much of it was either feast or famine, life or death, and time and time again, I would hear, 'You won't make it past 16, 18, 19, 20, and so on and so forth. I didn't care. I figured, Live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse. That was the credo that me and most of the people I ran with adopted. Time and time again, many of them lived and died by that.
   Now here it is, my life has changed in many ways, and in that, I still had it in the back of my head, death is chasing me, it chases all of us. Yet, I had one last prediction for me, 38, and in that, I kept on seeing 38's everywhere.
   My beliefs are still what my beliefs are, and yet, I still do have some quandaries, or superstitions per say. So, I guess, yeah, few more hours, and I will pass that point... so, here's to a few more hours. :)

Life, death, and dogs. Part 2

  So, I got another dog in the house. Her name is Brandi, and she is a long haired chihuahua. I had mentioned that her owner was no longer able to take care of her. Unfortunately her owner passed away a couple of days ago. Her owner had a lot of health complications, and succumbed to them, in that, she was a single woman who left behind her mom, sister, and son. When she passed away, Brandi dutifully stood guard beside her fallen master for a couple of days until she was discovered. 
  When she was discovered, there was a mass of confusion, that ended with Brandi cowering under her master's bed as the police, coroner, and so on made their ways through her apartment. As her family arrived one by one there they grieved their loss. In that, there was a side distress, who would take Brandi. None of the family is in a situation where they could take a dog, and I heard distress in the owners sister's voice, 'she can't go to the pound... they'll kill her...'.
    To back the story up, when I first met Brandi, it was one of the first days of moving in, and in that, Brandi shot forward and bit Chop on the foreleg. Mental image moment, Chop is one of the most laid back 150 lb. American Bulldogs you will ever meet, he is very animal friendly, and is happy just wandering aimlessly through the day, much like his owner. He was very confused as to why a 5 lb long haired Chihuahua would come after him, but in that moment, he figured if she's gonna bite me, I'm going to respond. So, sufficed to say, bringing her into my home, did not seem like an option.
    Yet, after her owner's sister had said that with such distress in her voice... I had some thinking to do. As I spoke with some of the people that were the closest to the owner, I could feel this tug on my heart. I had to offer, so, I walked over to the owner's sister. Just as I was approaching her one of the officers that had arrived to help began to ask where the dog was going to go, and Tammy had started to explain that none of them had the means to take care of Brandi. Before I realized what I was doing, 'If Chop doesn't eat her, she can stay with me.' came out of my mouth. 'Really?!', she replied. 'Yeah...'. The owner's family thanked me both last night and today. 
     The point of my story, is this. I look a mess, 6'3", hoodie, tattoos, skully, 150 lb. American Bulldog named Chopper, and... 5 lb. Long Haired Chihuahua named Brandi.... yeah... when I brought her in, I half expected Chop to not be too happy about the addition, especially about who it was, and yet, I saw an act of compassion that just made me stop. Brandi instantly went on the defensive when we walked in, I half expected Chop to take one bite, and that would be it. Then it happened. 
    The best way to describe it, he sensed her fear, and then he did it. He slowly lay flat on the floor, legs folded up under himself like a big white sphinx, and then slowly dropped his head to the floor, almost as if bowing to her. He lay there and let her sniff all around her, and then he gently got up, went over to his bed, and lay down. Since, then, they have gotten along fine, my only issue is trying to walk 2 dogs with 2 adjustable leashes, that have 2 totally different minds of their own. It has made for some fun moments for the neighbors to watch I'm sure. 
    The only heart tearing moments are when Brandi turns to go into her old house, she heads towards the door, and then before the leash runs out, as if she realizes her beloved owner is gone, she slowly turns and follows us up the stairs and to her new door. 
     One of the reasons I love dogs, there is a love and a loyalty that is just there for them. They love those who are good to them, and will always be there for their owners, even in the event of death. So, I got a dog to add to the house, her name is Brandi, she is a 5 lb. long haired Chihuahua, and I hope I am as deserving of her love as her previous owner was, and I will take care of her to the best of my abilities...hey... maybe since there are crazy cat ladies... this could be the start of the daft dog dudes... yeah... let's hope not... I love each and every one of you, and God does too.

Life, death, and dogs

    One thing about my life, I have seen a lot of folks come and go, so far this week, it has been 3 people. Between my old life choices and my 'office' per say now, I see a lot of death. I know that in many ways, I have come to terms with it, and yet, I still remember my first first hand witness to it. There is the realization of the true frailty of life, how little it takes to cease to exist on this plain. I have had the experience of telling many folks that their loved one has passed on, and everything around that measure. It is life, the sad truth, when we are born, we start heading towards death. Okay, I'm not trying to sound too grim reaperish, but, it's the truth. We live and then we die, and hopefully in between we make an imprint on the world. This week three folks in my circle died, how I inherited a 5 lb. long haired Chihuahua named Brandi, which is good for a grin when both me, and my 150 lb. American Bulldog Chopper have not figured out exactly how to deal with her.... so... yeah... 3....
    Like John Wayne Garbow, or, Johnny Goodheart, Johnny the vet, or my brother John. My friend Daniel told me of his passing while we were walking around downtown St. Paul. Johnny had his ups and owns, but he would have an upbeat outlook on life. He would say, 'You know why I'm on the streets right? Cuz, not all of me came back from Vietnam... oh sure... my body came back, but my mind...but I can survive out here, most can't.' I would ask him, 'Why don't you hit the VA Johnny?' He would simply reply, 'Cuz I can survive out here, others can't.' In that, knowing Johnny's heart, the translation, other guys need more help than me, and I ain't gonna take up a bed that they need. We would sit out anywhere we found a place to sit, the circle,   rice park, the bottoms, here there and anywhere we just happened to run into each other, and I would listen to my elder.
     He always had a presence, he wore an old weather beaten trucker style hat with 'Vietnam Veteran' across the brim with his long silver hair always combed the best he could, and ponytailed underneath., a beaten jean jacket with the words 'smile, Jesus loves you' painstakingly written across the back, a slight figure, most would often look right past him. He walked with a cane, but still walked almost regally. The truth is, when you took the time to look at his face, you would see a weathered face, his grey beard was always decently well kept, and angled well on his jawline, and then you would see his eyes, it was a rarity because he always wore sunglasses, but when you saw his eyes, piercing steel blue, with this solidness to them, saying they had seen so much, way too young, and yet, there was kindness, compassion, caring, and most of all love. A love for his fellow man that few understand. Here's just one example.
    I was walking along one day, and there was Johnny, sitting alongside the road, his cane nowhere to be found, 'how ya doin Johnny?'. 'I'm doin allright Preach, how you?' Johnny replied, looking this way and that. I asked him how he was doing, and how his day was, he told me things were cool and make sure that I thanked God for the beautiful day. At this point, knowing where he lived, and knowing where he hung out, I asked him, what in the wide world of sports was he doing way out here. You see, we were out by the old salt mines in St. Paul, which is a good mile from Listening house, or 'Johnny's Pad'. 'Ya know Preach, it's one of them things, ya see, I was walking along with my cane, and it was such a beautiful day, that I figured I'd keep goin'.'  'Okay', I replied,'so where's your cane, I know you didn't limp all the way this way without it.' To which he replied, 'gave it away.', so nonchalantly that I thought he was kidding me, til he told me a story about him walking along on the beautiful day, and seeing a gentleman who was older than he walking along who seemed in desperate need of a can as he was struggling from handrail to handrail to get somewhere. So Johnny, in his time old wisdom, decided that this man needed it more than him.
    'So how long you been sittin here Johnny?' 'Three Hours.' 'Why did you hand your cane off more than a mile from home?' 'Figured God would find me some help home' 'So how's that working out for ya?' to which he removed his sun glasses and looked at me with his eyes dancing in the sunlight and replied, 'You're here, aren't ya?' I stood there in my foolishness, my brother had said hello to Captain Obvious, and I was there to witness. As we walked the mile back to his spot we laughed and spoke of the good times and bad, past Sevilles, all the way down 7th till we just crossed over Kellogg. We said our goodbyes that day, and often laughed of that day afterwards. Mutt and Jeff, ambling their way along. We will cry because you died, but we will also smile because you lived. I'm betting you handed your cane off on the way to heaven too, but this time there were angels to carry you home.

Hopes and dreams

   Many of us look to a better day, we dream of times that are easier, more peaceful, and yet our reality is turmoil, turbulence, and discouragement. We all strive for something at one point in our life, and whatever it may be, we shoot for the moon, sometimes we hit it, sometimes we come crashing down to earth in a burning wreck. That's just how it is.I think I have crashed and burned enough that I should get a stuntman's license... or is it now stunt person... idk... the method of the madness is just how it is for me. Born to run, whether it be into the fray, or away from love. Just has been how I roll. Runnin' with the devil... or runnin' from the devil... or runnin' at the devil with a battle axe in hand, hopin; that in his skull it lands. Seems like time and time again, I'm runnin' in circles. I look left, and right, day, and night. Hiding from the headlights, racin' towards the sunlight.
    Kinda like when Bubba was young, I would do MN runs, in the middle of the night. Missing my home and family, I would load him into his carseat, and away we would go. Making a '15 hour' journey in about 12 and a half. Just going, watching the broken yellow stripes pass by. Minute by minute the miles would tick away. CO, NE.... cornfield... cornfield... what the crap is that metal monstrocity(those who have driven through NE will understand)... cornfield... Omaha... which looks like a cornfield with buildings... kidding... sorta... Somewhere along the way... the darkness would fall... and for anyone who knows, NE is like upstate NY, or either of the dakotas... there ain't much out there... then there would be the fight to stay awake and just keep going. There would be that moment, usually in Iowa, when it would be right before the dawn, where I would be fighting full bore just to stay awake, usually a couple of 5 hour energy drinks in me, and a coupla cups of coffee, and yet I would still find myself just about to doze. But I knew I needed to hit that MN state line, I had to keep on going. At the speed I would travel I would usually time the sunrise about a half hour before I hit the MN state line. For any of you who haven't traveled like this, there is that moment, at the when you can see the beginning of the end, I would see that 'Minnesota Welcomes You' sign, and I would get that pulse of adrenaline. I was almost home.
   I think there are periods of life like that, where life is slowly lulling you to sleep at the wheel... flying along... your headlights cutting a swath through the inky black sky. The hum of your tires and asphalt mixing a melody that seems to almost want you to just close your eyes just for a moment on that highway of life. Yet, if you do, and your at the wheel, the ride is gonna get bumpy to say the least. Kinda like hitting the 'oh crap, i'm driving off the highway bumps,' except worse. Ending up in a wreck like out of one of those, 'caught on tape,' shows you see on late-night tv.
   One thing though, you don't have to drive, that's where I often have issues. Being the man that I am, I often pull out my man card and with a great confidence say, 'I can do it, I know the way, and of course I don't need directions.' Reality card, when distracted, I have been known to get lost in Walmart... let alone the highway of life... and when I have decided to improve my laptimes when driving, I tend to get a whole patriotic celebration in my rear view... red, white, and blue, red, white and blue... ummm... yes, i do know how fast i was going, but I am sure you will tell me if my speedometer is off... it said 93... oh, yeah... 96?... well, i will have to remember that next time... if there is one...
   In other words, I may have a good route from Mile High to South of the River, and I may be able to navigate it with little to no... ok... not much to little trouble, but in life, I gotta try and remember that I am the passenger, I just need to kick back and relax, and that back seat driving will be punished...

Mindspill 11/14

broken... spoken... mind is reeling... not sure what i'm feeling... little to the left... little to the right... go go go, fight fight fight... there is always a spinning in my head... fully alive, not yet dead... the drift, the dream, the movie screen... the light flickers as the reel ends... what is the next scene? Where is my next dream... I think of days gone by... the memories... i laugh, i cry... the soft sliver of moon lights my way through the darkest night... i walk alone... i wait for sight... a whisper, kiss, or soft caress... i wait for my love, nothing more, nothing less... i'm on the outside, i'm looking in, i can see through you... see your true colors... the song on the wind it drifts lazily through the night sky... i have looked for you... searched for you... and yet it feels like you are just out of reach... the puzzle shifts and changes... what will the future hold... ever changing... ever moving... dreams... spasms... mountaintops... chasms... life, death... suffocation, breath... my mind wanders as i meander along my way, the memories of time haunt me like great dark knights, do the look for impending doom? or are they just travelers along the path like me, hoping beyond hope that i mean them no threat as they mean me none... aren't we all just vagabonds... moving back and forth... shifting, shaking, moving, quaking... a reality that can change in the wing movement of a hummingbird... we all seek something... bullet wounds and battle scars... battle born, battle bred, and when i die i will be battle dead....

Shifting, pulling, twisting it changes
Life has no constant, other than constant rearranges
We live, we die, we laugh, we cry
And when our time is done, we pray we fly
But what is it? What do we strive to find?
Sanctuary, Solitude, or just some peace of mind
On razors edge, or facing a wall
I move back and forth, just trying not to fall
the course is set, sail by the star
the end of the world is never too far

My mind seems to be just moving, I've got about 5 different things I'm writing on, and I just cant seem to concentrate on one, in that, I feel good to be writing again. It seems as if everything seems to want to get out at once, from spiritual beliefs, to poems, songs, a book(or two, strictly fiction stuff, let's just say i have very vivid dreams and have been trying to organize them) So, in that, I am just a little all over in the thought pattern field, but it feels good to be getting it out... yup yup

jagged pieces, twisted and bent
broken, rusted, battered and spent
the wicked mass of broken glass
could i walk on heaven's grass
in the darkness i could see the light
 in that i got lost in the midst of the fight
the dreams they come from haunted past
how much longer could this nightmare last
i want to dream of fields of green
like i have seen on movie screen
the waft of lilies on the air
i hope i pray there's time to spare
my heart is heavy, my brow is wet
in that i know that battle yet
it's time to come and i shall stand
to march across the barren land
my steel shall strike with grace and speed
to what accord my heart will heed
a place of beauty, a place of peace
a place where weapons, death and war will cease
a field where children dance and play
the sun will shine and i will say
I thank you for this live I live
And all to you my soul I give
when at last i lay me down
i pray my soul is heaven bound