12 Years...

12 Years now....   

Today marks my 12th year anniversary of being homeless and having to live on the streets, in the truest sense,  and this will be my 13th holiday season coming up out here.  It doesn't get any easier, the longer you are out here, in fact, it gets much harder to face another day.  Remembering just to breathe and then wondering why I do.  This has been a very difficult year to endure on so many levels.  And yesterday I walked away from something that should have killed me when it happened.   Changed the course of everything.  It is obviously not my time to go, but wondering, time and again, why am I here?   To serve what purpose?  The questions keep piling up, yet the answers are nowhere in sight.  I have come through the worst life has to offer, and still keep coming back for more.  It's like I have become, or rather was already born, as the human waste depository and repository for all the bad crap.  You get more dumped on you, when your residence status has changed, than anything else.  How do you move forward when you have no place to go and no one to turn to?  I have fallen through all the cracks, crevices and chasms of the system and feels like I'm just being erased further with each moment that passes.

Abstract Lives....

~ Abstract Lives ~

by Renee Bowen

Articulated living... Our lives in pieces, and going around like an accordion.

On the streets, when others have homes, we have Nature.

--The Un-consented Life –

You remember what it means to “give your consent” on something, having that right that 

allows something to be done because you have given your consent,

- like a field trip for school

- or having a medical procedure done.

When your life is forced to be lived out on the brutal streets, you find you are denied 

even the very basic right of giving your consent to anything,

and your existence turns into an “Un-consented” endurance-- you didn't consent to the 

illegal actions from and by a landlord that put you out here,

you didn't consent to having your home taken from you,

or rather being taken from your home,

you didn't consent to having to live your life on the streets,

you never consented to being treated so vilely, so horribly-- but this is exactly what 

happens, whether you consent or not-- you're never given the option of giving your 

consent-- so why the shift?? why are you afforded this “right” as long as you have a 

physical home, you have consent... until you don't?

Forced “consent”, I suppose you could call it.

Regardless of Civil Rights... and citizenship, your consent for what happens to

you is stripped away--- that's why crimes and violence are so prevalent against

the homeless, and is readily accepted and condoned by society.....

thousands of deaths go by unnoticed and unreported.

Because our presence wasn't welcome to begin with and thus they figure no one will miss

 us. And unfortunately, this holds true regardless of race or nationality,

 sex or creed, or orientation.

The general census is when you are homeless, your life matters to no one

once your home has evaporated and opened into Nature---

it's at this time that you need someone to care, but what you find, instead, is the backs of

 everyone turned away from you, no longer turned toward you.

Treated like some kind of highly contagious, deadly disease they will “catch" if they do 

care and actually show it toward us.

So you turn toward nature.... listening to Her songs as the orchestra is ever-present and 

always playing-- all you have to do to hear it is take a deep breath, close your eyes and 

listen.... you're in the front row, always the best seat in the house.

But Nature also has Her mood swings...

At times, you'll find her calm, warm and serene... and other times, 

the most violent temper you'll ever encounter.

Pulling you through the gamut-- the extremes in weather from one side to the next takes 

a hard toll on your body, heart, mind and soul---

Just remembering to breathe at times is its own challenge.

 She will at once embrace you,

and then turns on you all in the same breath. The solace comes from the feathered and

 furry friends that share their space with you and you with them.

Becoming your closest friends and confidants, sometimes co-conspirators, as well.

And will always keep you entertained and a smile in your heart.   

The Courage to B R E A T H E

   ~ The Courage to Breathe ~

                                    A Life From The Streets

The emptiness filling your soul as you wake to yet another morning of being out on the streets --- Forced into circumstances you didn’t choose and couldn’t have imagined in your worst nightmare, has become my life. Every morning pasting a fake smile on my face that I really don’t feel and drudging along through another day of Hope, sprinkled heavily with despair. My heart closing tighter in my chest-- Looking forward to and dreading facing another day, another night.

The shadows displacing the echoes of fear….

The Whispers of Hope through the gentle touch of loving kindness when it is bestowed from someone who really cares-- A rarity to behold and treasure. Shown the briefest glimpse of Humanity. Being shown such vicious contempt more often than not when you no longer have the privilege or luxury those four precious walls and solid roof afford you.

The gift and blessing that gentle touch brings to your heart, your soul--- gives you the courage to breathe, the courage to make it through another night, and face another day. The courage to keep your heart open to love, the courage to face the ignorance, hate, and violence with love and not lower yourself to become someone different by acting out with the same.

The harsh cruelty you have to contend with day-in, day-out starts to harden your heart, filling the depths like wet cement; yet we’re drying out on the inside. The violent assaults, both verbally and physically simply because of a circumstance we didn’t choose but are forced to endure; Yet, we’re the ones considered CrAZy, unbalanced, unstable. Given these labels the moment your home is so abruptly taken from your life, so society unleashes their full fury toward you like a wild fire spreading through the forest. Given full clearance to show their ugliness in full, disgusting glory—Simply because we no longer have that precious commodity called a H O M E.

Being accused of stealing your own water when you go into a store to use their restroom—Demanding to see the receipt for a nearly empty bottle with no label on it, but they insist ‘they sell that brand’. Followed around like you’re a criminal because you carry a bag on your shoulder-- Yeah, I’m obviously NOT carrying enough weight and looking for even more to carry. No matter how clean and presentable you are, you’re automatically guilty of stealing what you take in with you and carry with you at all times when you walk in with a bag on your shoulder—Because we obviously came in to STEAL something, why else would we have a bag on our shoulder???

Almost compelling you not to go out of your way to be clean, to find, at last, some way to get that precious roof over your head and continue to push against the never-ending doors being slammed hard in your face-- Just succumb to the inevitable of being the human waste of society. Give up on caring, on love, ….on life, the way society wants you to, expects you to.

Discarded as a Human Being the very moment the stars in the skies become your roof and the trees and bushes become your walls. Your living room transforms into the park benches you find during the day just to rest your tired, blistered feet and swollen ankles for the briefest of time before you have to push forward and move on once more. The tread soon wearing quite thin from the endless miles being put on them---

Given the worst looks when you finally find SOME PLACE just to sit for the briefest of time, even when you are boarding and riding the bus, people make their comments about ‘your bags’, demanding to know ‘why’ you carry so much, leave it at home-- We can only dream of the day when we don’t have to carry our life, or what’s left of it around with us. People will look at you like you’re an alien if you happen to be walking around, and being out in the wind all night, haven’t had the chance to see why people are giving you such disgusted looks as you make your way to the nearest open and available restroom. Then understanding their disdain with your presentation. Your hair standing on end, looking like you kept a few wet fingers a little too close to some light sockets.

And when you add a disability to this, especially one of a physical nature, the violence escalates to an even higher degree. People going out of their way to be so very cruel, mean, and nasty toward you and to you, because society deems what is ‘Tolerated’ and what will NOT be when you have a disability and you have to move and present yourself within the narrow confines prescribed and set forth by society. Trying to ‘Prove’ that you’re ‘faking’ it—you must be, because you are not MOVING the right way, at least not in the way that society has prescribed as what is ACCEPTIBLE, PERMISABLE AND ALLOWABLE in the way you move, act, and present yourself--- They literally go tripping you up, pushing you hard into the ground, assaulting you from every angle; both in the violence, ignorance, and hate of their words, as well as by and through their violent actions and behaviors directed fully at you, making very rude, caustic remarks in passing. Laughing their asses off as you walk by—because you’re just the funniest damned thing they ever did see. Some, unconvincingly, try to cover their ignorant laughing by coughing or clearing their throats-- feels the same regardless of the method and tactic they use! All I can hope is that at some point in their lives when something happens TO them or to someone they care about, that impairs their mobility in any way that they have their own ignorance measured back to them.

Cast off from society, from life… From love… Not wanting to face another moment cast aside along the debris of the gutters and forced to contend with the ugliness of humanity. Reminding yourself to remember to breathe-- something that comes so naturally to most becomes a chore when you’re on the streets. Discouragement flows through the flood-gates from the endless rivers of disappointments coming to you from all directions and from every avenue—

Being continually denied assistance, employment, nourishment to the heart, soul as well as to the body. It takes courage to keep pushing forward, breathe and endure another day trying to find the slightest crack where a little hope may yet reside, looking for any sign that your efforts aren’t in vain. It becomes a race to not let discouragement take the reins and release your grip , allowing it to fully take over.

It takes courage to breathe in the absence of love, it takes courage to breathe when your presence is an unwelcome intruder. People only pretending to care when and how it suits them and then only when it’s comfortable for them to do so.

It takes courage to breathe when your heart is shelled out, then scraped raw like the insides of a melon-- people believing one could turn off their hearts like a faucet, turn love on and off as it suits them-- not realizing the devastation left in their wake-- pretending to love you one minute then turn into someone you no longer know as they hit you with such open hostility for opening your heart and allowing them access to the precious parts within, taking hold of it, mutilating it, then rip it from your chest, eliminating it from their lives.

By Renee Bowen

Homeless Since Sept. 1, 2000

© 2006 All Rights Reserved

Fragments...

Fragments of a Life...

Fragments of friendship, threads of existence, pieces left trailing behind. Pieces,
that's what you find yourself picking up every moment from a former life that no
longer exists, when you are put on the streets. You are picking through a
life that happened an eternity ago, picking up pieces here, tidbits there and scraps
along the way... Like a puzzle that no longer fits together. 

The edges have worn off, chewed down and no longer connect like they once did.

I'm enduring my 12th year on the streets and meeting with increased harsh
criticism for being out here. People claim I must enjoy being homeless,
because they don't “see” medoing anything to change my circumstance.

They say “ I'm not doing anything about my situation”, Telling me the weather changes

but that I never do. Wish I knew where these people were getting their faulty 
information, because they are grossly misinformed. I invite these people to come with 
me through my days, my weeks, my years and see firsthand what I have to go 
through and contend with. Then they can tell me I'm out here by choice, 
that I enjoy being homeless. But that would mean they would have to widen their 
myopic vision. It makes it easier to cast stones when people choose ignorance 
over the truth and understanding. They see others getting assistance

left and right, being paid to support their addictions and habits, chemical dependency,
so I must be doing something wrong!! 
 

Yeah, by not drinking, or becoming chemically dependent or a substance abuser,
drug addict and so forth, is what I am doing wrong.

I've had several individuals, all well-intentioned, tell me I need to start doing drugs

so the system will finally give me the assistance they have readily denied me thus far.

The raw intensity of living with Mother Nature and the brutal force of man wears on your soul.

Your mind begins to numb after a while, and your body quickly adapts to whatever

circumstance it's presented with, accepting faster than your mind will allow.

Your world becomes a void, a them in “society's movie”, where your life and all the most

intimate details become the feature presentation on the screen for everyone's viewing.

Your dignity is flushed down the public toilet. You become a shadow on the wall
with no existence... echoes filling the air with the tired souls cast aside
into a perpetual hell of a forced circumstance.

I've been so completely drained on every level during these past few months,
the harsher criticism in response to words I never wrote but stamped with my name,
making it more challenging to take care of my personal business. 
I have learned to become a chameleon and blend into my

surroundings while on the streets. Like shedding layers of skin, the
threads of your life are pulled apart and shredded until

nothing further remains and you feel yourself drying out from
the inside like cracked cement.



By Renee Bowen
Homeless since Sept. 1, 2000