I said I've been a bit under emotional weather, but continue to mend from the prostate radiation side effects, which caused me to feel for a while that I was headed to the mortician. I'm visiting one of my daughters and her older daughter who is in law school and entering a summer internship with a women's law center.
My amiga said she dreamed of me last night. I was dressed in my silver armor on my big white horse, my silver sword was sheathed on my left side. I'm left-handed. I was on Duval Street in Key West. Following behind me were about 50 domestic cats of different colors. We were marching from the Gulf to the Atlantic Ocean, on Duval Street. People on the sidewalks watched us pass.
I said silver is the female metal and cats represent the feminine, and my sword was sheathed. I write left handed, left is the female side of the body, so maybe I'm supposed to operate from the feminine today. But why was I on Duval Street last night, when I have not lived in Key West since the fall of 2018?
My amiga said she still bumps into people in Key West, mostly women, who ask where I am, they miss me. Some of them are servers at places I liked to eat and hang out. I said I miss them, too, please tell them that.
I said that I miss when we ate where they work and we cut up with them. My amiga said she misses that, too, and she misses me. I said I miss her, but God wanted me to move back to Alabama.
It has not been all that easy a move, because I miss a lot of friends in Key West and up the keys from there, and I miss simply hopping on my old one-speed Sun bicycle to get wherever I wanted or needed to go.
Need a car to get mostly places where I now live. Don't have any places to go and hang out with friends. Haven't made many new friends I want to hang out much with. A few, and one childhood friend.
The guy that was born and raised here died a long time ago. Key West suited the guy he became more than where he had started off.
Maybe if angels had not gotten me so deeply involved in Key West and Florida Keys local politics, I might have developed an entirely different relationship with that many people still call "Paradise", although developers and their lawyers and elected officials certainly have tried to make "Paradise" into their own image.
I suppose I spoke 1,000 times during citizen comments at city and county government meetings. Nearly always, I was "the minority report". Likewise, the 10 times I ran for local public office, because angels told me to run. Never came close to winning. Might have fainted dead had I been elected.
But why was I leading those cats on Duval Street toward the Atlantic Ocean in my friend's dream?
I sometimes call her "Cat Woman", because she fancies herself a cat, and domestic cats seem to take a shine to her.
She lives on the street, perhaps will live out her days there, unless God or an angel produce a miracle. It's not easy for anyone to get off the street, who has no money and whose life has gone into the dumps. Much harder for a woman in that predicament.
If I ever get my part of my father's big trust, I intend to use part of it to give her the opportunity to live inside, somewhere. How she deals with that is between her and God.
I'd rather give some of it to her, and to some other people in serious financial distress, who are important to me.
I'd rather give some of it to my daughters and their husbands, so they can more comfortably move from what they now do into the next phase of their lives.
I'd rather do that, than give it to a church, a school, a charity, or the ASPCA.
Key West built a very nice shelter for unwanted cats and dogs, far nicer than its nearby shelter for homeless people, which my amiga does not use, because she feels safer and better sleeping nights on the street.
I slept many nights in that shelter, and I had a bit to do with it being built in 2004. I preferred sleeping there, to sleeping on the street.
It was a long bicycle ride there from Duval Street. Rough trip with the wind in your face. Rough trip in the rain. But I made it until I was banned for publishing at this blog that long-term (institutionalized) homeless addicts, who would not give up their drugs of choice, would be better off dead than continuing to live like that.
My amiga was one of those homeless people.
In retrospect, perhaps I was out of line. For I was not an addict, never walked in their shoes, lived in their skin. Who was I to say what was best for them?
My amiga says she quit drinking. Good for her, if she did. If she didn't, well, who am I to judge?
I don't drink, because booze makes me feel awful. If I could drink, in her skin, I might be drunk most of the time. Given what all is going on in my life and in the world, I would drink if I could.
How I became homeless was I ran out of money and was blocked in some spirit way from making a living wage. Was blocked in that way for a long time before I ran out of money. Am still blocked in that way.
I got into work that does not pay money for services rendered. But for an inheritance in the fall of 2017, I might still be in Key West, sleeping nights on a metal bench in the city police station front lobby. Or, I might be dead.
But why was I on my horse last night leading a march of domestic cats up Duval Street?
Key West has a gay lady mayor. I know her pretty well. Sometimes gays did a rainbow parade on Duval Street from the Gulf to the Atlantic. The rainbow was a huge flag, the symbol for the city's official one human family philosophy.
I have felt for quite a while that the men had many chances to run things and look at how that turned out. I seriously doubt the women could do worse, and perhaps they might do some or a lot better.