I remember one time as I was feeling better on the streets, I started carrying a walking stick, which, was and still is, flat out fun for me. It was also a way of drawing attention to myself; attention is what you go for when you think love is unavailable.
Anyway one day I was swinging it as I was walking through a McDonald’s parking lot; not sure if I was a Jedi warrior or just a common soldier, but I was having a good to time.
If you are a homeless fella folks will often call the cops on you just for walking around. But if you are doing something unusual like swinging a stick, well it is pretty much guaranteed the police are going to show up at some point.
Not only did they show up, they hopped out of the car with their guns drawn, and yelled in that commanding way they have, for me to lay on the ground; I did so without hesitation, reservation or doubt.
After a conversation in which I was able to prove I was not a lunatic, they let me go on my way.
Later I was walking through a field and came over a brim and saw three doves in this little grass patch.
I don’t how to explain this but there is a hunting God or two hanging out in my psyche. My mind was calculating where I thought the doves would fly, how high and how fast they would go. The stick in my hand was ready to launch at an angle and speed to take them out of the sky.
It was a very interesting moment for me. Who I thought I was, who my family and culture told me I was, seemed to be a lie or some kind of dream. My whole psyche opened up in a new direction because of a dumb little walking stick.
We are way bigger than we think, and to leave your culture behind now and again, go on an adventure that allows for expansion, that is how we touch the mystic in us.
When I was living on the streets of Portland, I called myself an urban forager. Nothing gave me more joy than rolling around town, foraging for stuff to put in my shopping cart and my stomach. So much food and merchandise gets thrown out in this beautiful country of ours. I still do this on occasion in my home town just to free up my mind now and again, it seems to encourage new ideas.
I do not pay much attention to the cultural wars, it just seems like a bunch of drama designed to keep us feuding with each other, instead of uniting as a people and completely overhauling all federal government, with the Constitution as the lead document.
Susan Payne, a conservative political activist, was on a recent conference call led by Cecilia Muñoz, assistant to the president and director of the Domestic Policy Council. The conference call was meant to inform activists for illegals about what the White House was planning with the President’s amnesty rules.
Payne says that on the conference call the President’s Domestic Policy director said that one of the plans was to rename Thanksgiving “Immigrants Day.”
Now you and I know this was a bunch of silliness designed to pander for minority votes by the Obama administration. Our country is broad and diverse, we need national markers like the American flag and Thanksgiving day to keep us tied together as a people. Freedom and Democracy make it possible for many cultures to lives side by side and in peace.
To have a cultural identity, to be proud of that identity, to celebrate it: all very good things. To fight and worry and fuss about these things, only distracts us from making sure our liberties are protected. The muckety mucks are still eroding the Constitution, and keeping us slaves to their their oil, their pills, their foods, and stealing our money to boot.
Culture is fluid and in America, where you are free, you can reinvent yourself overnight into anything else you may want to become; be it a hobo, a mountain man, an actor, a farm worker, or a senator.
Freedom of choice, is what makes America beautiful and our Constitution, the finest political and spiritual document ever created, is what allows all those beautiful choices to happen; lets stop fighting over identity and keep that thing protected.
In the meantime experiment with yourself folks: pick up a stick and go for walk, shuffle through a garbage can, never know what you might find, in the can and in your heart. The hobo life ain’t a bad life at all, and neither is yours I am guessing.
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