A few lost things found

I spent part of the day with a family who met me through Skip1 last Sunday.  They asked me a number of questions, and I returned the favor -- asking questions of them.  I hope to see some of the video they shot, I'm looking forward to sharing it with you.

Some of the questions I get asked most often by people are variations of "What did you lose?  How did being homeless affect you? What do you have now that you are housed?"

If you watch InvisiblePeople.tv you'll see/hear many stories and thoughts from myriad people who find themselves homeless.  My story is no different, in fact mine is up on that venerable site.  If you listen to it, you'll hear me extemporize on how prejudicial and short-sighted it is to deny a people (in this case those of us who endure homelessness) the standard tools of society because somehow we are deficient and not-as-good-as.

I'm a philosopher.  No, I'm not trained in philosopy.  Just because I am not officially graded or judged in something, does not mean I don't have a clue.  This holds true for anyone, you or me -- just because we are not officially graded or judged in something, does not mean we do not have a clue.

The part of me that is a philosopher answers the questions I'm asked most often like this:

Homelessness, for me, was the manifestation of loss I was already feeling.  The loss of the roof over my head was the final straw in a series of losses including: awareness of self; income; the use of my hand/arm among other health issues; self-confidence; and self-efficacy.  My first episode with homelessness began when I was 17 1/2.  If I hadn't of been bent on getting my high school diploma, it would have begun at 15 1/2. 

Being homeless from August 5, 2010 to February 2, 2011 put me in touch with people vibrant enough to help me regain my voice.

Now I have the ability to *be*

While I bring my computer back online -- a slow and arduous process -- I'm also rescuing a few things from an old computer as well.  In many instances I'm re-opening wounds that were not healed; I'm finding some of the bits that were lost; and using each circumstance to live in the moment and transform.  Some things may be lost to me for the long-haul, others may resurface.

Here are some pix of my 51st birthday -- that'll be 6 years ago come mid-November, which represent one of the largest and most emotionally wrecking things I've lost -- but to explain it would take a book -- so for now I'm simply going to let the pictures share -- and if you're wondering why I'm taking the time to put this up on my blog?  It's for me, if my old computer dies -- which it's been trying to do for years; and my new computer dies yet again (which it's already done twice in less than 8 months) at least I can come back to this blog and see the pix.

Moi, telling the tale of Puff the Magic Dragon

My 51st birthday party was my favorite ever.  I planned it, paid for it, threw it, and hosted it.  At a wonderful place that no longer exists physically.  Bang-a-drum.  I was there for Bang-a-drum's birth, its many drumcircles, and watched it close.

I purchased a huge amount of handdrums and percussives over that few years.  When I became homeless 8/5/10 they were distributed among folks who share my passion for the framedrum, drumcircles and the entrancement of drums heartbeat.

This is Chris -- the *father* of Bang-a-drum facilitating my 51st birthday drum circle

Chris owned Bangadrum.  He and his wife were awesome!  He graciously accepted my request to facilitate my birthday drum circle (along with one of his employees).  The Djembes and other accoutrements always available for experimenting on in the store were inspiring.

This is my birthday twin singing Puff the Magic Dragon at my request.

Born on the same day about 12 hours apart, one on the west coast (moi) and one on the east coast (my friend) -- the woman has the voice of a lark.  As you can see by our garb, I made it quite clear to those attending that if they wanted to come in fantasy RenFaire gear or dress up in some other dream of their own, to do so.  I was honored that everyone who attended did so.

A teller of tales extraordinaire!

Some of the finest people I know are tale-tellers.  This is a woman whose Irish lilt always drives me into a tremendous desire to have it as my own -- what a wonderful voice, what a wonderful sound!  She continues to tell tales and share bountiful life.  She (and her mate in the top hat, who has since died) will always be a source of inspiration to me.


And this is me holding time with a dun-dun.

Of course, I cannot resist the pun ... that means this blogpost is dun-dun ... er done (yeah, it's not the right pronunciation for dun-dun -- but, it is my blog post so ... phlbbffsstt)!