Winter's Dream....2014

We all have dreams.  One of the most pressing dreams I have had for the past 14 Winters now, is that of a real home, a place where I can just BE, and B R E A T H E, and relax, no cares or worries abounding, just being for the sake of being...   a Dream that has yet to happen, as I endure my 14th Winter on the streets.  Nature and her beautiful furry and feathered friends have been my lifelines, in more ways than I could ever fully, or even partially, convey... their presence in my life has kept me afloat.  A dream that I will not likely to see come to fruition.  The "programs" in place are only geared for those who have become immediately homeless, not for ones who have been out so long to live lifetimes outside, and caught between a catch-22, in the deepest sense.  Sometimes I wonder what things would have been like if I had acquired one of the life-destroying 'habits' that so many out here have taken to, the majority of which is why they have become homeless.  It is generally not something started while out here, but rather something in place long before the direction of their lives shifted into the shiftless realm, yet, they are the ones all these programs are meant and designed for....    the ones who want to destroy themselves.  Having a place to finally be able to store and prepare foods, have regular, healthy meals every day, throughout the day...   ready access to hot showers, a luxurious dream that takes hold especially as the temperatures drop to freezing or below through the night and deep set into the morning hours before it starts warming up as the sun settles in for the brief duration of daylight; my own bed where I can finally get the much needed, yet readily deprived of, rest my body has been denied for a lifetime and beyond...  these are just a few of my Dreams.  But Dreams that are in my thoughts, whether it be day or night, they are always present.  But they are just that, Dreams.....    A Winter's Dream.

Thanksgiving 2013....

My 14th Thanksgiving and Holiday Season and winter being forced to live, breathe, and exist, in whatever capacity that may be, on the streets....   Though there are so many things I am truly grateful for, and thankful to have, to be, and so much more, being forced to live on the streets, year after endless year, takes so much away from you, in every regard.  Mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually.. the heavy, deep toll it takes on you heart, body, mind and soul....   the very essence of your being.  I still find myself longing for a home, a real home where I can fully just BE...    having a place to prepare and store foods, cooking real food and being able to eat with regularity, being able to bathe in my OWN bathroom, where all the private details of my life are not fully displayed, time and again, out on the huge screen of society; having an actual bed to sleep in, and get the much needed, yet deprived rest my body needs.   Everything I do, everywhere I go, whatever I do or have done to try changing things, have not been successful, and ends up pulling me further down into an abyss that has no end....    then being met with sharper and sharper ridicule and criticism for being out here.  Turning me more away from life, and people, than pulling me toward it.

Thanksgiving is supposed to be spent around people who care about you, and you them... yet, once again, I find myself alone, on the streets, every placed closed and no place to be, or go.  Spending another Thanksgiving in the park, reading.  Never once being invited anywhere, to join anyone in giving thanks, or the nourishing foods that will soon be enjoyed...   I often wonder what it would be like, what it would feel like to actually be included to be part of something, instead of cast to the wayside like a piece of trash.

This is not a time of year I look forward to, especially when you have no one around to share your day or thoughts with.  It brings new meaning to thanksgiving...  

Ceasing to Exist

~ Ceasing to Exist ~

Becoming more and more a fixture with nature, than with the human counterparts. 

Falling by the wayside... The very moment I was forced out on the brutal streets by 

and through the illegal actions of a despicable landlord in the City of Alameda, 

because I refused to “service him”. Not only was my life halted, but in a very real 

sense, I ceased to exist-- to society, to being a resident of everywhere, a 

citizen of nowhere.. and in a very real way, died a thousands deaths from that 

moment. And the endless lifetimes since then. I truly ceased to exist. People readily 

discarded my friendship, turn away from me-- and made it crystal clear my presence is

 nothing but a harsh nuisance in their lives, something they barely tolerate, if 

even that. You are shown the most inhospitable forms of people's true nature, what 

they are truly capable of, in their lowest form. I hate being present anymore. 

The deliberate cruelty, the ugly words, behaviors your subject to day and night, 

regardless of where you are. Nothing but complete silence from those who professed 

to care. Yet, their silence speaks volumes beyond that. Telling me no 

one gives a damn. Never really has.

I haven't stopped living, just let go... resigning myself to the facts of life. And feeling 

the reality, more and more. It has settled deep into my bones, through ever fiber from 

my being. My life came to a stop the moment I was forced out here, filling my time 

as best I could by volunteering for years on end.. only to have some bus driver 

accusing me of “stalking her”, because she would see me on various lines. She literally 

took different lines/runs just to get away from me, then gets outraged when she sees 

me along her 'new' run, where I was waiting for a different bus, not hers, and she 

pulls right in front of me, where I am waiting for my bus, demanding to know 

“why are you here, why are you here, do you have an appointment?, 

Why are you here, dammit”, then closing her doors and 

pulling further up to where her stop was.

So I have stopped volunteering, at least for the time being, and been keeping 

more and more to myself. Keeping my closest friends with me 24/7, my pen and 

notebook, then invite my other friends into my days, books of every genre, allowing 

me to travel all over the world, experience new cultures and a nice reprieve from 

this oppressive thing called life and the reality that follows. Something I no longer 

wish to be part of. When people say right next to you how they can't stand you and 

want nothing to do with you. Spreading rumors about you based on their opinions and 

not on fact, all their friends treat you the same, without ever finding out if what 

they are hearing is true, in any form. They don't care. They don't even know you, 

have never spoken to you, but perceive you as this type of person because their 

friend doesn't like you, for whatever reason. Disheartening, in the truest sense.

And the thing that really bites, this is one of the individuals claiming to “care” about me, 

and that “we were friends”. Really? This is how she treats a friend? Certainly not the 

definition that came to my mind. She would always have a look of such disgust on her 

face whenever she saw me. I once asked her about it, her response was to tell me to 

never contact her again, to get the hell out of her life, to just disappear 

indefinitely. Yeah, a true friend there.

So I know my death would be as unacknowledged as my life has been. My life-- my 

entire life has been more of an unwelcome intrusion than anything remotely 

close to being accepted or even celebrated, in any regard.

Died many times over since being forced out here, the essence of your life 

draining further and further away with each passing tick of the clock.

Other drivers following her lead, treating me like a leper instead of a human being, 

so I no longer take the bus like I had been, stopped relying on it to do what I need to. 

If I am not able to walk where I need to, or where I need to go, then I usually do not go.

I haven't given up, but merely existing, or rather subsistence, isn't life, isn't a life... 

when you have nowhere, no where to go, but not allowed where you are-- what do 

you do??? Life takes on a whole new meaning when you are forced to live 

it on the streets-- existence, survival, hunger-- in the truest, deepest sense, that 

goes much deeper and far beyond that of mere sustenance from food, 

you hunger for life, for love, for meaning-- wondering if any of it really exists, 

or if that is just another illusion life presents to you.

Never knowing if, or when or even what you'll be eating. Life takes you on such a 

harsh new reality and a completely different meaning... having to live your life 

for so long on the streets. All the textures, meaning, context-- it is all different. 

Having to live your life under the shadows of society, living on the underside 

of humanity-- How do you keep hope alive? Faith and so much more? Where does 

it come from, time and again.... where do you go, where do you look. How do you 

keep something that fades further and further into the distance, becoming more a 

part of the landscape, than anything else, disappearing 

more with each passing moment.

How is a meaningful life determined? I've never found true meaning or purpose in mine-- 

it's always felt more of a severe punishment, than anything remotely held of 

meaning and purpose. Echoes of what a meaningful life truly means, not something 

I have felt personally, in any regard. I've immersed myself in various avenues of 

meaning, for me, but not fulfilling. Writing holds meaning-- But is it merely a means 

to an end? And if so, then to what end? How do I bring full meaning to my life? 

Feel complete, whole and healed. Where do you begin, when there is really no 

where to go? And life keeps dumping more and more crap on you to deal with... 

where do you find meaning? And how? And what is the meaning of having to 

live your life on the streets? What is the purpose? And how can my being out 

here help others? Because I do believe everyone should experience what it is like-- 

even for a few days, which will immediately give them a much better understanding 

of the brutal reality that we have to endure, year after endless year.... and all the 

government and state employees should be on the receiving end of their ugly 

service when applying for any kind of service. We would be treated so much 

better if they did. We would actually be seen and treated as people-- just like them. 

That would really revamp the entire structure and finally implement services 

that are for the people, instead of more against us, than anything. And not 

placed in those confining narrow minded categories-- slapping labels on us 

that have never fit. Insisting you have to be a junkie, an alcoholic, crazy as hell, or 

just plain stupid the very moment you are put out here, regardless of how you were 

put out-- legal or not. We would finally be treated with care. Instead of the 

nightmarish hell they currently drag us through for applying for even the 

most dismal of assistance, which is nothing more than a cruel joke.

And something you do your best to avoid. Rarely do you actually get the 

service you need, even less so when you're single, have no dependents and 

have no addictions, and don't do any of that junk, 

or chemically dependent in any way..

just going through the brutality of the system will make you crazy-- just not 

their “preferred” type. And if you tell them you don't appreciate being treated 

so rudely and so horribly, that brings even more ugliness out from them. Much 

longer waits, even more attitude. Things you have been waiting to receive, 

notifications/mail-- mysteriously disappear, then magically 're-appear' after 

the due date for responding has already passed. Just to name a few.

Birthday Greetings from Myself to Myself...

Another Birthday, just another day...   

Yet another birthday spent on the streets, alone.  Just another day, another un-acknowledged presence.  Days repeating themselves, blending together where you can no longer tell where one ends and another begins.  Birthdays, holidays, or any day that holds any special meaning... really lets you know if people truly care or if their words were just that...   words.  Never having these days acknowledged, just dismissed and discarded and turned meaningless, unless you have that precious commodity called a home and are surrounded by people who actually care.   And this tells me that should I die, right here and now, no one would blink twice, much less give it a second thought.

When you are forced to live your life on the streets, all that evaporates...   your very presence, a permanent stain that society cannot wash out, not for the lack of trying, though.  Very brutally and harshly, at that.  Though the mark it leaves on your heart and soul can never be erased, starts to corrode the very essence of you.  Hope slips further away into the background as the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, then endless years tick by-- bringing you to the realization that your presence doesn't matter, has never mattered, and you are not likely to ever see or feel that so much sought after place of being in a H O M E.

September 1, 2013 marks my 13th year anniversary of being forced out onto the streets by and through the illegal actions of a crummy, despicable landlord.  The illusions of ever having a home has faded away...  I wonder why I keep pushing forward... to what end???   Since it has become quite apparent that this is where I'll spend the rest of my days--  merely existing, or rather languishing in obscurity until my existence is completely erased and extinguished out.  

I have never once experienced that love-affair of life that most do, it's never had that pull or draw to me.  Life has truly shown her dark side to me-- experiencing the worst of it.  Still waiting for the coin to flip, get a little glimpse of the other side, the top side.  I hear rumors that it exists ~

This will be my 14th Holiday Season out here.  Just remembering to breathe and wondering why I bother.  I knew life was going to pose some challenges, but to be so very disheartening and devastating every moment of it?  Being "monitored" by the cops, who in turn have set their sites on their target, ME.  Zeroed in on me, time and again.  Citing me just for being present.  Their constant harassment just for not having the luxury of a home.  Followed, like an endless nightmare that never lets go.  Making it that much more challenging to face another day, another night.   Just to face more of the same.

I often wonder what I was brought here to do, what my purpose is, or should have been.  There must be a reason I was put out here, and perhaps that was to be a value to others...   in whatever capacity that may be.  Though, I have no idea what that is.  Perhaps of my telling of my experience out here, they will be able to navigate the harsher waters of being homeless, helping them to wade through the muck and mire of it, knowing they are not the only ones to have gone through the challenges it poses, in all regards.  And be able to lead them through, somehow.  

A New Lease...

A New Lease on life....

Taking out a new lease on life-- had to, as my other lives have all been mortgaged off.  Walking away from something that should have killed me on impact, (yet again), and so much more I have come through in life, taking out more leases that I have lost count.  It's obviously not my time to go, have too much to share with others and the world, sharing my story, or rather my stories, as there have been many.  Even if they only help one other person, the journey will have been well worth the effort (of living through them and continuing to breathe), and make a difference to us both.  Perhaps that is my purpose here, in this life-- to share my journey, the experiences and multiple varied chapters.

A new chapter begins with that new lease as I begin the redecorating of my life...  redecorating every facet, changing the color schemes and wall papers of thought, discarding old, broken furniture.  Restoring the heart-values, the keep sakes that bring value to us and things we share with others-- the things that truly matter.  

At times, it's as though life itself is trying to destroy me, but I am not finished here.  The real journey has only just begun...

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


     

Makeshift Lives...

Makeshift Lives...

~Echoes of a Home~

The ugliest words in the human language are Homeless and being homeless.

 What comes to mind when the word Homeless is mentioned, in any regard? You 
immediately get an image of what you believe homeless looks like... which is 
the commercialized version, not the reality version... but have you given any 
thought to what it actually feels like, to be homeless? The stigma that automatically 
comes with the title and label... the mis-perceptions, gross judgments and 
assumptions that hold no truth. If you don't look like a walking 
trash bin and smell like a sewer, then you can't be homeless.

The stereotypes cast into roles that have never fit, trying out for a part we 
were not properly cast in. Living on the streets is challenging enough without the 
added labels and stigma attached to it, immediately cast our way even before they 
actually see us, actually set their eyes on us -- cast into roles that have never ‘fit’, 
but condemned by hear-say, not by the evidence of Truth. 
Too blind to see and too deaf to hear---

I didn’t choose to be put out here, yet I’m always being prosecuted for the 
actions of others-- it’s this response toward me that turns me ‘off’ to life-- Forcing 
myself to remember to breathe and remembering why I should bother to keep going. 
I often wonder what it is that keeps me pushing, fighting and holding on (to what..??).

Transitional Living....

When you live your life, or merely an existence of a semblance of

what once was a life, on the streets,

your life becomes mobile in the truest sense.

Everyplace and any place,

using the resources around you for your temporary housing,

becomes your residence, at least for a few minutes, perhaps a couple

days, weeks at most, before you are forced to another

destination, but not one that takes you

any place.

Carrying your 'home' with you at every moment.

And the cycle repeats. Everyday.

You become an expert at packing, as this is a daily ritual.

Camping becomes your new sport.

Walking becomes your main form of transit, no matter if your body is able

to carry you or not, you are not given the choice or the

luxury of just being for a time, allowing some healing to unfold through 
your body. Putting more miles on your feet than most people do their cars. 
People would be surprised the mileage we put on our feet when your

home is the great outdoors, they wouldn't believe the

information listed on a pedometer if we had them attached to us.

They would insist they we had somehow rigged it, as the numbers showing

could not possibly be true. Follow us then. But then anyone following us

would fall to the wayside, they could not keep up.

Beginning my mornings by meditating before the chaos of the day unfolds.

It helps prepare my mind and heart for the day to come.

My companions of the night, furry and feathered, are the most

treasured friends I have and give me reason to breathe in, and out, and try to

remember to repeat the cycle.

Life in Transit...

Not given the chance to make a home, but we have many residences.

Never knowing where you might find your self at any point of the day or night.

What city or town you will be in, not usually by choice.

How long will you be given the chance to breathe, before you are forced to move?

 How long before some home residing person calls the cops

on us just for being present?

And taking advantage of whatever resources are at your disposal at any 
given moment... a sink, I'll pull out my shampoo or toothpaste out and

get down to business. Learning to clean up in the quickest time and measuring the

time allotted, for what you will do. If I have 3-5 minutes, I can wash my hair and 
brush my teeth at the same sink, before heading out and moving on. Always having 
what I need with me, since I never know when the opportunity will 
present itself. Stayed prepared.

By Renee Bowen

Homeless since Sept. 1, 2000

© 11/2011