If you are going to be happy, you cannot be ashamed to dance.
I remember the day I was done letting shame stop me from doing the things I wanted to do. The Mansfield police had just taken my homeless fanny to the mental hospital for the second time. The hospital, after a 1/2 hour interview, let me go. I may have been a little manic but so what, I sure as hell wasn’t going to hurt anybody, including myself.
The hospital had seen me once before and wasn’t sure what to do with me. For one thing I refused all their medications and kept suggesting ways they could improve their services. They discharged me after less than a week. The guy who was doing the paperwork said I was the first person he had seen ever discharged who had refused meds. These people have their world view, think it is correct and are evidently used to grinding people down, until they comply. That they were not listening to their patients, or even really paying attention to them, was the driving force behind most of my complaints.
Anyway, I spent the night in a small town as I was hitching my way back to Mansfield. I was still having some pretty good panic attacks, so I would pass out once in a while from sheer exhaustion. At any rate I could feel this loving energy moving through me and embracing the chaos and fear moving up and out of my dark spots.
I would pass out convinced I was going to die. (If any of you have had sever panic attacks you know what I am talking about.) I would wake up surprised to be feeling refreshed and ready to go again. At this point I was taking a little bit better care of myself. I was still fat, bearded and grungy, but my hair was back in a ponytail, not crazily flying all over the place.
The small town, I forget the name, was having a celebration with a band in their pretty little town center. I cleaned up as best I could in a fountain, and with some angry pride motivating me, marched myself to the front of the stage and started dancing my ass off.
Did I feel some shame and embarrassment? You bet, but the joy of dancing to the classic rock music soon took care of that. I think it was a good cover of “Twist and Shout” that pushed me through the embarrassment to the joy.
It was a repressed little Christian town and nobody was dancing. They sure as hell didn’t know what to make of me. I could see a lot of folks whispering when I first got out there. But seeing my courage and fun, well . . . I like to think I inspired those folks, because when I sat down for a rest quite a few of them were shaking their tail feathers.
I am not judging anyone for taking medication, I have been on them for stretches myself, but if you are going to heal, you are going to have to put up with some discomfort, and know that God is crazy about you and that in the end his love for you is going to win out.
Hobo Metaphysic of the Day: The truth isn’t always pretty, but it is always beautiful.
John wants you to know: “I’m not for the government doing more to help these folks.
Their help tends to come with a lot of humiliation, stipulations, and rules, but I am for us finding our hearts again as a people and taking care of our own.”
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