As I sat through last night's city commission meeting listening to one agenda item after another being discussed, and voted on if it was an action item, I saw elected officials struggling to make what they felt were best decisions given all circumstances, and I saw myself feeling disconnected.
A local attorney I know pretty well, said out in the hall that it was like watching Niagara Falls.
Turned out he was there to represent the local Christian Science church's objection to a new alcoholic beverages outlet being built near the church. A city ordinance prohibits that within so many feet of a church, unless there is a compelling reason to allow it. No compelling reason to allow it was presented by the proponents (the proposed owner of the new business and city staff.) The proposed owner of the new business had bought the property knowing of the city ordinance. I figured the "variance" would be allowed because of how compelling booze is to the city's economy. I figured right.
I dunno, each day, I feel more disconnected from Key West, even as plenty still happens here. Maybe it's a phase of the moon. Maybe it's the summer solstice, the coming of the dark, which began yesterday. Maybe I'm going to be living somewhere else? I haven't a clue what lies ahead.
I had no clue what wishing my older daughter happy birthday on Facebook two days ago would spawn. You can read about the beginning of that in yesterday's post at this website:
Sancho Panza reacted to my older daughter's and my part of yesterday's post:
Wow, you are either a big lying sack of merda or your family is really, really too weird!!!! Your daughter had to be told on Facebook that you are homeless? Give me a break!
A true lover of wisdom has hands too busy to hold on to anything! He learns by doing and every pebble in the path becomes her teacher! Oink
I have not talked with my family about my living situation. I don't ask them for help. Both of my daughters and their mother are Facebook friends and get Facebook notices of my daily posts which they can open and read. Their mother knows of my situation from having read some of what I publish. My daughter Nelle opened the door by saying she hoped I am doing well. So, I told her how I'm doing. The weird thing for me was her reply suggesting I get psychiatric treatment. How would that get me off the street? The pills might ensure my becoming psychotic or/and dead. I needed to see her response. She needed to see my situation and my response to her, which continued after I published today, when I addressed her question about shelters here, which I overlooked doing the first time around.
Way I see it. I'm her father. As such, I have responsibility to speak to her, at times, as her father. Even if it is beyond her comfort zone. It was my doing that in 2000, with her younger sister, that caused both of them to shut me out of their lives until about 2 years ago.
My older daughter has had a long struggle in recovery. She's been sober a long time. She has some sense of God. Or, Higher Power. I don't sense that with her younger sister or their mother, so I don't speak with them in the same way.
Back in 2004, their mother told me my father and his 2nd wife sent her every letter I sent my father, for her opinion on my state of mind. She has a PhD in Psychology. Doesn't work in that field, though.
You should know by now, old friend, that I don't B.S., unless I'm being sarcastic and making a joke to make a point, or using a metaphor for same purpose.
In fact, the birth of my oldest daughter's first child was stalled until it got squared away on my side. I knew that incoming soul was at risk to spirit attack because of what I was involved in. The spiritual warfare in the dream was real. Perhaps shown to me artistically, metaphorically. But it was real. That new soul needed that help for that child to be born.
I don't suppose any of that is conducive to me ever being close to my daughters again in this life. I don't expect ever to have a relationship with their husbands and children.
My daughters have blue plate educations. Bryn Mawr graduates. My younger daughter is a eye surgeon, specializing in children. Her husband is an eye surgeon. Her first husband was a medical doctor. My older daughter's husband is a college graduate.
Not uneducated people. Gobs of friends. I'm a spaceman, at best, in their social/business/religious circles.
Sorry, Sloan, I don't relate or cannot relate to all that... my wife has a brother living in the DR who is diabetic, blind, living off his SS disability pension, not that much more than what you get... she talks with him all the time and he keeps in touch with all family members so that he knows everything that's happening here, sometimes before she knows about it. I am not impressed with your daughters... they should know what's happening to you and be able to help you by providing a way for you to live off the streets, maybe a bribe-donation to a local shelter in KW or an old RV and vouchers for food... something other than "advice". It's sad that you have all become such strangers to each other......
I replied today:
Well, yes, it's strange, yet strange is my life in most ways, as you know, and as you also know, few people who know me, or know of me, relate to most of what I experience. Even my spellcasting witch friend, who has been hearing from other realms all of her life, is confounded for much the same reasons you are about my daughter's response to me.
Let's see. You see a homeless man lying in the street after being knocked down in a pedestrian crossing trying to get to the other side with his bicycle. You say to him, if you were seeing a psychiatrist and were on meds, then this would not have happened to you. If you had a job washing dishes for $10 an hour, this would not have happened to you. If you were saved by Jesus, this would not have happened to you. If you had maintained communication with your family, this would not have happened to you.
Real poetry here. My daughter suggests I get up off the pavement and see a psychiatrist. Judith Haney, after suing me for reporting how she dealt with me, offered to settle if I would see a psychiatrist - on my dime, if a free one was not around.
God works in mysterious ways. The angels changed me so much that I no longer think like I once did. What bugs other people tends not to bug me. What bugs me tends not to bug other people.
But for me and Archangel Michael, my daughter's first daughter might have been born seriously impaired. Or dead. Who knows what other help the two of them received because they are my blood kin, and they will never connect those dots, unless they are woken up, which is not in my hands.
All I can do is love them, wish them well, worry what the karma might end up being. I suppose my granddaughters will be spared karma for what I imagine they know nothing. Yet, if I were their age, I might wonder about my mother's father, who is he really?
Right now, they have no clue. Nor does their mother. Nor does my younger daughter and her children.
My father's father used shunning to try to control his blood descendants. The parents of my daughters' mother were not like that.
In 2004, when I stayed about 2 months with a friend in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, where I had gone to law school, where my first wife had moved back to live with our daughters, my first wife twice sicced lawyers on me because she was terrified I was going to harm her. I had never threatened her. She was nuts. With a PhD in psychology. That was when she told me my father and stepmother were using her to advise her about me.
The fellow I was staying with was a lawyer. He knew my daughters. My first wife told me she knew everyone in Tuscaloosa and she had never heard of him. He was the chief assistant public defender. Wrong side of the tracks, perhaps. Both of the lawyers sicced on me called him to ask about me, since they knew from their client, my first wife, that I was staying with him.
The first lawyer ended up apologizing to my friend for calling him.
The second lawyer was the sister-in-law of my first wife, the sister of my oldest daughter's husband.
The second lawyer's husband and law partner apologized to my lawyer friend, said he had told his law partner wife to stay out of it, my first wife had many problems.
I wrote his law partner wife a letter, offering to come to her law office so she could size me up. She did not respond.
I wrote my first wife a letter reporting all of that, because she needed to know what she was not being told by her lawyers. I asked her where she got being like that? She did not get it from her parents, I said.
During that time, awful boils came up in my nose and one ear. The poison in that situation I was addressing for all concerned.
Today I have a cordial but "hands off" relationship with all three of them (mother and daughters). From 2000 to 2015, there was nothing.
My close friends kept beating me up about not trying to repair that. They meant well, but had no clue what was really in play.
C'est sera c'est sera
Here again is what my oldest daughter wrote to me:
Dad - I'm so sorry to learn that you are homeless again. This worries me. I understand that you are frustrated with the family estate, but this appears to be something that cannot be changed. Can we review the resources that are available to you? Social security, medicare - local shelters? Are you willing to seek psychiatric care? I know that this is something that you have not wanted to consider for a long time. I have tried to respect your feelings on that for many years, but it is my hope that you will reconsider that now.
Here is what I wrote to her yesterday about "local shelters", after I published yesterday post at this website:
As for shelters here, the city built its shelter in 2004, because it knew I would put the city into federal court in Key West, if the city kept having its police harass and even arrest homeless people for sleeping outside at night. I'm banned from that shelter for life because of what I published about it and the people running it when I stayed many nights there in 2015 and early 2016. They said the reason for the ban was I had threatened on my blog to kill homeless people. I thought they should see psychiatrists, or priests, because what I published was many homeless people here would be better off dead than continuing living as they were living, drinking and otherwise drugging themselves into oblivion.
I have heard quite a few reports from homeless people who were told by their physicians to stay away from the city's homeless shelter, because it's a good place to get really bad sick. One homeless man told me the doctor who ran the free medical clinic told him that he didn't know why the county health department had not closed the city's shelter. I reported all of that at my websites, and stuff about the stuff the people running it, which they ought not to have done.
Besides medical danger at the shelter, probably 90 percent of the clients are active heavy users of alcohol. Perhaps 1/3 of those used spice, or something else, say marijuana, cocaine, crack, meth, etc. They are not chemically screened to get into the shelter. Unless they are knee-walking, they are allowed in for the night. Most of the users load up before entering the gate, hoping what they have in them will carry them through the night. They help that by loading up on coffee with lots of sugar, soft drinks, donuts, cigarettes, etc.. Probably half of the clients are mentally ill, have diagnosis; but few are on meds, it seems, given their loud talk, often aggressive; and sometimes aggressive physical behavior. I suppose you can try to imagine what it's like for a recovering, clean addict, or someone who does not drink or use, that's me, to go into the shelter say about 7 p.m., early enough to be assured of getting a sleeping space, and hang out there until light's out, with all of that den going on. The TV is turned up all the way, and still it's hard over the crowd talk to hear the TV - actually, movies run through the TV. The sleeping areas after lights out, at 11 p.m., are a lot quieter, but you never know when a client is going to start talking loud, or hollering in his sleep, or light up a cigarette in the sleeping dorm, which is not allowed. Or just talking with another client, to hell with it being lights out and quiet time.
The FEMA trailer which contains the combined shower/toilet stalls is falling apart; the floors and toilets are filthy most of the evening; there is no place in there to hang fresh clothes while stripping down to shower; the hot water runs out quickly. It's a regular club med. The soup kitchen now serves there, and if you don't stay there at night, you cannot be there to eat what the kitchen delivers. If you are banned from the shelter, you are banned from the soup kitchen. I ate meals most days at the soup kitchen, good food mostly. Now everything I eat is in restaurants of some kind, because I have no place to prepare grocery store bought food. I perhaps have forgotten what it's like to sleep on a mattress.
I have a place where I can take cold showers daily, for free; that's fine now, but a challenge during the winter.
There is a non-profit which provides half-way house program for recovering addicts. You have to get paying work and pay rent. I have stayed there in the past, but it's tough being around dry addicts, and dry house monitor addicts, who are not nearly as well adjusted as the non-profit's glossy brochure indicates. They don't do the work I do as work. If they lived in my skin and felt the work I do, they would pray to die. Instead, they mock me. Think I should let a psychiatrist have at me and turn me into a zombie again. That's what I was on the pills. A zombie. The terror was, I knew I was a zombie. I knew the pills were half of it; I knew angels were the other half. I knew they had done something that felt like my soul had nearly died. When they decided that was enough, they brought me out of it, and got me away from psychiatry.
I gave up years ago making money with what I write. I tried that many times, and it never worked. I was not making money practicing law, and it was killing me, which is why I quit. I doubt going back to that would make any difference, and I'd have to live in Alabama do try to go back to it, because there I can get my law license reactivated pretty easily. I'd have to the the Florida Bar and pass it, and before that, pass a strenuous background check, to practice law in Florida. I know a number of lawyers down here pretty well, and i can't see them wanting me working in their offices even as a law clerk.
I have washed dishes in a restaurant. I know how to do it. But I cannot physically stand up to it. Even if I could, $8 or so an hour does not pay the rent here. I'd still be homelessIn the sense that I don't depend on homeless people to pay the bills, which the shelters do, I am the resident homeless expert here. I just call it what it is. I don't worry about losing a grant, because I don't have a grant. I don't worry about getting fired, because I don't get paid by a shelter. Don't get paid by my Employer, either. That would be my Higher Power. It's really funny, in a bizarre way.
Nelle, I don't look for, or expect a reply. You asked about shelters, the answer is not simple, there are several "departments" in that topic. The city has to let me sleep nights in the police station front lobby, because the city will not let me stay in its shelter. Or rather, the city will not make the non-profit running the shelter let me stay there at night. It's closed during the day.
I have told the city many times that it needs two facilities to house homeless people at night. One for homeless people who are chemical free. One for the rest, which is a about 90 percent of them. I have told the city that it is cruel and unusual punishment to house clean homeless people with wasted homeless people. A county commissioner who is a clinical psychologist and once ran the main rehab program down here, for profit, for mainstream and homeless people, agrees with me that you don't mix clean homeless people with homeless who are using, if trying to turn around homeless people is the goal. If that's not the goal, then ... The city's "backup" shelter is the county jail, in which city police put homeless people for offenses only enforced against homeless people. Drinking in public. Sleeping in public. Trespassing. Etc.
Jesus with leper
Moving laterally ...
As I was putting that above together, I got to thinking about all the money my daughters will inherit from my father, if I die before I get it. Or they will get from me, if I live long enough to get it.
Then, I got to thinking about my father's widow (2nd wife) and his law firm and trustees not wanting to help me out with an early modest partial distribution of a my share of that loot. I got to thinking about my father's trusted stewards being church people, saved by Jesus.
I got to thinking about this in Matthew:
"Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone?
And in Luke:
"Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a snake?
I got to think about Jesus being homeless during his ministry and of this in Matthew 25:
I got to thinking those passages need to be sent to the church people my father entrusted with his worldly affairs.