Home-, OR, House-lessness

Greetings fellow Earthians! Gentle reader, soon you will see Planet Earth spinning at the top of this page!! I call Earth, the 3rd stone from Yellow Star, my Home. Home IS where the Heart is...and bless those Synchronicity Strokes - Heart is an anagram of Earth...neat, huh? I have never been "homeless" - I've been bereft of a clue, a roving rambler in between apartments houses, hippie camp out tents, and guest accomodations, but I have never INTERNALIZED the idea of being HOMEless. I know, unfortunately, that some folks in a destitute state of mind have ALLOWED themselves to be described - OFFICIALLY, and in the MEDIA - as homeless, but I refuse!!! To be free, we must be able to determine and define our OWN state of being. The following essay is devoted to examining the controversy surrounding Home-, versus HOUSE-less-ness, and who gets to name what whom is...I have installed a message forum so that you my gentle visitor(s) may voice YOUR choice in this matter. I remain yours, ever truly, "HONEYBEE" laughing cactus Nobody ** Special Jesse ~****~ Slokum Marijan ~*~*~*~ Kolich Healing Resources Just Started - May 19, 2000 Here's a song you may find inspiring: Golden Dawn Here's a "rap" poem I wrote back in 1989 Home is Where the Heart is I still recall the dusty dirt road I had to walk in Washington state, back in the mid spring of 1968. I and a hitch-hiking buddy had gone to a place called Tolstoi Peace Farm outside of Spokane. Things weren't working out for me there, and I determined to leave. My buddy would stay, he said. So, I asked some of the inhabitants how to get to the nearest highway west and south. A unpaved road up the side of the valley was indicated. I began to walk. Had a guitar, back pack and a sleeping bag. When I got to the high plain the valley cut through, it was covered with green wind waving wheat to the horizon! Not a cloud in the sky...hot but not oppressive. I saw a cloud of dust in the distance, beyond the "V" the road made in my eyesight. Then, the sound of the motor of an early forties "jalopy" truck coming my way. The people waved as they came near. I waved. Then...silence - except for that wind in the wheat, not a howl, but a whisper. no other sound except the tramp of shoe leather on dirt, and the THUMPAH - THUMPAH lub-dub of my heart - lustily taking that oxygen rich blood from my lungs breathing in that fresh swell air, and pumping it to every cell in me! Was I not in paradise? If I had died right there, it could have been. Was I HOMEless? No! I hadn't been thrown out of my family house, I left to pursue my own life. Was I aimless? I was heading back to a place in the Santa Cruz mountains of California where I was welcome. Did I have the money for commercial transportation? Of course not. Since when does this entire world belong to "title" holders and money managers? I dare say if no one can tell me exactly when the foregoing did happen, and that the whole world is in a limited number of pockets, then it hasn't happened yet, and may never need to happen, if it hasn't happened yet! I have pondered the preceeding episode of my life for 31 years now. I can still here that wind waving wheat. Maybe it was the same wheat field that Woodrow Wilson (Woody) Guthrie tramped through, before he wrote about them "wheat fields waving" in "This Land is Your Land." All the pondering has given me great strength to endure the penury, the empty-pockets blues I've had. Home IS where the heart IS, I can tell you, the gentle reader, this much with certainty. Whenever I have felt bereft of HOPE I take heart, and still the chattering voices in my head - the clammering, all-too-familiar crowd of resentments, braggarts, wanna-bees, and if-I-only-hads - and listen to that same HEART I heard thumping so loudly and so freely out there in that wheat field. It's in my heart that the prayers reside, not my head. Oh, my inner ear hears them soft and clear, but I've never felt like "I" thought any of the gifts of the Great Spirit or Manitou "up" - who needs claim such benificences? Share them, purely, from the whole heart. My prayers like "May the burden be lifted, May the Healing continue" have helped me learn to include All in them. I've learned I AM DIMINISHED, accordingly, BY THE ACT OF EXCLUDING ANYONE, in their OWN special ESSENCE, from my OWN SENSE OF UNIQUENESS. So, allow me to employ the first person plural in the following: Refugee camps world wide are teeming. WE are hungry, wet, cold, ailing, dispossed, torn from our families. Big cities are crowded with people in need of shelter from the storms of life. We are unhoused - unhinged, mentally - emotionally distraught, and dis-enfranchised from the "Pursuit of Happiness" - sometimes so completely that we wonder if we will ever know happiness and the simple joys of relaxed well-cared-for in clothing, housing, and feeding-moments again. Our prayer is simple: that we may know the peace that surpasses understanding. We are willing to work hard. In the Garden which this world shall become when we get those mines out of those fields where ANY army has ever left them, when all our technicians and scientists and engineers apply themselves to the task of cleaning up the mess that the wars of this past century have made of this Paradise entrusted to our stewardship, WE shall know such peace as our universal birthright. That no matter who was in any one place on the planet first, WE the remnant of all the worlds peoples will unite in the sacred task of returning to the Garden from whence we came. May we see what each of us can do in each moment we have free to assist the least of us our very own brother/sister kindred spirit. SO MOTE IT BE!

Housing As A Birthright!

Should housing be a guaranteed right? Yes No

Go to my new forum on HOUSING!
Back to where you were on the thespian page.

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