Generous Dealings

Generosity can take many forms but I believe that it rarely becomes tangible. It sometimes appears as if, in my socioeconomic world, there are more calamities and thorns then miracles and roses. Being given anything for free, can at times feel perverse, because everything has a price. Admittedly, I also believe the Universe does reward persons of genuine heart and culture for their efforts, especially in furthering positive thoughts.

This is why I have always been a chaser of experiences and knowledge, rather then a planner. I step forth into the unknown hoping for the best and often stub my toe in cruel fashion. I have learned and developed coping mechanisms rather than crawl through life feeling and inching blindly for the next step. But it has been an arduous process, naturally I've become a pessimistic optimist and now hurl myself into the unknown. In all of my crashes the result has always been painful, except for one time. This time is still fresh, and like my crashes before, will be singed into my mind for the rest of my existence.

I received an act of generosity so great that I sobbed for hours but in turn, laughed for weeks. My day to day life is plagued with dangers and bills alike, but lately I smile in a frowning way rather then frown a smile. Battered and bruised, I simply remind myself of the effort that caused such a generous act— the gift that was given to me. The gift is tangible and can be lost, but the act itself lives in me forever. I hold this Generosity to my chest against the waving storm and perils to come. When doom feels impending, I dream with the Generosity on my mind and foresee things in those dreams, things that lead to new desires and wants. When I'm lucky my wants and desires give me energy to move on. That's how powerful this act of generosity is, but it is only mine. I wish everyone felt something like this, maybe the world would be better if we all felt some Generosity.

The generous act I received fills me with good dreams to move on with, but it was a nightmare that led me to it.

I had been struggling like always and became homeless again. I sought help, but like all good hearted drifters I know when to leave a couch and found myself peacoat wearing and Army bag in hand. I rolled like tumbleweed across the country till hit the Big Apple. I was walking through the docks looking for a bed, when out of nowhere, another homeless person ranting and raving in third person, flashed by me. I heard them say something about a ten o'clock curfew and quickly raced after them. They were in a jet sprint, pushing a supermarket shopping cart, and wearing a shiny neon green bubble coat. I should have easily caught up to the stranger but the cart swerved off the sidewalk and took a downslope on the black tar pavement. When I reached the edge of the slope, the stranger had lifted their feet off the ground and rode the cart like a box car.

I decided to follow the slope down; daydreaming about nights under a roof, I trailed some city blocks behind the stranger. I caught up in time to see the stranger lock the cart on a bike-rack, grab some bags and head up some cathedral like stairs. Upon climbing and entering, I smelled roses and lavender then saw a marbled-walled admittance lobby. I was three steps in when a female police officer pushed me back five steps, saying, “the guys are next door!”

The next door building looked like an old red-brick and gray-mortar school, but it had prison bars painted baby blue. All the lights were on in the building and upon further inspection, I noticed all the people traffic around me looked gritty, tuff, lost and partly broken. I followed this diverse stream of homeless men, which funneled into the building through metal detectors before receiving a bag check and a body search. I was directed to the “intake area,” which housed more foul smells in one area than a third-world meat market. An hour or two after waiting, I was given a bag lunch. Despite my growling stomach, I stored it for later. I knew I was hungry, but the atmosphere was too tense and too stank. The bag lunch wasn't exactly made with love either, but I was greatful. My first night in this NYC shelter was one of chance and appreciation, and at least I wasn't out in the cold.

Once one has alleviated a primary concern, your perspective will make the second, first. After shelter came food and then there was water. I learned that a meal, bland and small as it may be, can still can bring good to the spirit, but clean and satisfying water is not something you can compromise. Your mind and body reflect the quality and availability of the basic human rights around you. Thankfully the NYC tap water was acceptable. But the water fountains and sinks at the shelter were iffy—almost like rolling dice with a pair of shit nuggets. I had hit rock bottom, again.

A week had passed and I developed a routine.

Wake up and count my blessings and remind myself to get clean with style, grace and pride even though I'm at the “bottom.” I also add, to stay smart and tuff in adversity. Shelter life is dangerous, with the perils taking diverse forms but don't be surprised if a savior appears. Be humble but be cautious—remember too much or too little can be your undoing. At some point during the day, gather your resources and wit, and find good quality nourishment. Envision, plan and execute, with attention to detail, all your dreams or schemes. With these little “sayings” in mind, I began to climb back up.

A mountain climber might have a route, but he never really knows how long the climb will take. He plans and hopes for that best outcome with full acknowledgment of the worst scenarios. I did this at the shelter day in and out. Months had passed and I felt stagnant, like I was trapped in a bad nightmare or time lapse. I began praying for change but only got attention. Staff members noticed my persistence and hustle, and they refused to let me fail, swearing that I had what it took to rise above the rest. They laid opportunity in front of me, but I had obstacles I could not see. Like all persons, my anxiety and depression is almost like a demon possessing me that lashes out when things are looking up.

I couldn't get my head or hands around my fears, they kept tying me down. I was scared to get food stamps, scared to apply for housing, scared to see a doctor, scared to fight or flight and scared for the next step after things go right. One day, filled with anxiety, I noticed a new man at the shelter. He was my height and build, but white and blue eyed. He had no fear, didn't care about ridicule and was lightning quick. I was quick too but not like this man; I was quick to blow up or turn away but not to stay still in observance and react with some degree of intelligence.

I admired him but didn't approach. After observing with keen interest for a few weeks, I found his secret. He was using yoga and active sport in combination. He had a yoga mat and handball gloves. I knew those things but I wasn't into them, I researched them deeply and dove in. Days later as if a miracle, he noticed me and invited me to grab my mat and join him. We talked for ours and even played handball together on several occasions. He was a military veteran and he had fallen, just like me. The difference between us was that he was fighting a bigger demon in the form of addiction.

He said, “for powerful demons, use powerful tools.”

That is why he used meditation, yoga and handball. I admitted to him that I had stolen his technique and he admitted he stole it too. He and I became friends, we practiced yoga and played handball for several weeks continuously. One day he appeared unusually sad, I asked what was going on and he said, “an old friend came back into my life, she knows I can't be with her but it feels so good.” I thought he was talking about a women so I laughed and didn't bother to dig deeper. A week later he died after overdosing on laced heroine. The men in the shelter said it was a sure death either way.

Confused, I had to soul search and give myself permission to succeed. Permission to grab or snatch opportunities put in front of me. I began periodically practicing yoga and playing handball but meditation was difficult.

Every time I began meditation I would receive visions, images and day dreams that I could not explain so I remained unsatisfied. One day after going to a job interview, getting the job and losing it due to criminal history—I gave up. I couldn't understand why life could be so hard. I decided to try that girl my friend liked so much.

I found a liquor store and a dealer that night.

My newfound healthy lifestyle slipped my mind and I overdosed. In a confusing yet exhilarating rush, I awoke in a hospital mid-revival from a terrible dream.

I dreamt I was surrounded by horrible people of all kinds with only a torch in my hand to keep them away. As I fought back, I fell in exhaustion and my finger was cut off when it neared the light of the fire. It was the light—not the fire! The light was keeping them at bay so I planted the torch handle in the ground beneath my feet and began meditating while I waited for eternity to pass. When an eternity had passed, I was levitated to sun and something spoke to me, telling me to keep my new heart light and my old mind bright. I woke up connected to machines and recovered, anxious to test my new heart out.

When I returned to the shelter, I was greeted well by staff and homeless men alike. The many concerns poured in but gently faded, in a few days I was alone to face the world again. But with a renewed sense of courage, I faced my demons head on.

One morning while sitting up on my bed, I reminisced about my deceased friend and fell right into a relaxing breathing rhythm. It felt trance like and scary but I let go, there I was meditating past the fear point.

Meditation became my new way to cope. Two or three times a week at first, then four and six. 5 minutes, then 20 and sometimes an hour. I kept progressing in silence till one day, after a long session atop my mat, I got a new kind of vision.

I was in the desert on a tatami mat with a huge umbrella over me, I focused there sitting on a milk-crate for what seemed forever when an old friend came out of the silvery heatwave. When the old friend approached I could see she was pregnant and before I could speak she poked my forehead and I woke up. I called that old friend and we spoke of many things but she started by telling me she was married and bearing a child. She went on to say her husband was selling land for a living. After discussing things for a while, and with no confidence at all, I bought 2 acres without saying I was homeless. I agreed to pay 100 dollars a month for 8 years or until I paid in full. All I had was 300 dollars.

My vision was right, she was pregnant; yet, I was not expecting to buy anything.

With three months of payments in hand and a dream, I began to hustle for an extra 100 dollars a month. I gathered plastic bottles when I was unemployed, sold single cigarettes and any other low risk hustle I could safely get my hands in. But I didn't foresee the COVID-19 pandemic. For 3 years prior, I had lived in the shelter with a dream on my mind and now I was losing it all.

Everything had stopped and the uncertainty was overwhelming. The streets were empty and homeless men were dropping like flies. I would walk the empty city with tears and sobs for our tomorrow but I wasn't scared for myself. I decided to continue my habits which were now my lifestyle. I stayed positive and helped others when I could, but there was no work and the risk of illness was high. I expressed my concerns to the landowner who stated that he would work fairly with me. I hung in there and just when the virus was at its worst, an opportunity came.

Work! Finally something sustainable for me, telecommunications. Manning the telephones came naturally and I wasn't scared to talk. I was going on my third year at a homeless shelter so talking and asking for opportunities had turned easy. I applied to a call for essential employee's amidst the pandemic. It was a huge risk but I had my mind, body, soul and spirit aimed at owning at least some land. My job consisted of answering local directory calls during the pandemic’s wee hours. I learned that most people just want someone to talk to and will settle for the telephone operators.

For 7 months, I manned the phones with pride and consistency. After almost a year my employers contract was over and I was unemployed, yet again.

Now it had been almost three years into paying off my little bit of land, and my dream was slipping through my fingers. I was just but five years away from having a little bit of land to camp on during hard times or maybe even build a cabin. I had saved a bit of money but not enough and I failed to double-up payments, I felt like a misfit. I buckled and called the land owner to forfeit my moneys I paid into the land. I didn't want to miss a payment and the pandemic seemed like the end of the world. I also felt like those extra $100 a month were going to save me during the chaotic times.

The Black Lives Matters movement that followed had an important impact too but the violence was unfortunate. Living in a shelter is violent and the protest left me uneasy. I wanted to be prepared for anything and my anxieties were getting in the way of the reality around me. I was quickly reverting.

My rebound was good, but here I was collapsing again. I called my old friend’s husband and explained. He sounded sad to hear it and admitted that I had always paid on time and my enthusiasm for the future was unmatched. He sent some paperwork for me to sign online and I was free on any more financial obligations. Although, my investment was lost.

I felt shamed and self-loathing, but I remembered my deceased friend and imagined what it would have been like to show him my progress... all up until the pandemic. I struggled, pleading with myself not to call my old dealer, but the line rang in my ear. An hour or so later, I found myself in a dirty bathroom staring at a needle with the dirtiest and cheapest stuff I could get. Taking a few deep breaths, trying to ease my racing heart—and bang! Holy crap if it didn't happen—right before shooting up, I was enlightened.

I dropped the needle, the hit was lost, and I was suddenly on cloud nine. Racing out of the bathroom, I felt new energy all over my body. I grabbed my backpack and hopped on a train to Coney Island Beach. Minutes after arriving, I could see the crowd of masked men, women and children walking towards the boardwalk. I headed straight to the handball courts and was picked up for a game immediately. Winning two games in a row, I decided to walk off. I got a beer and sat on the sand admiring the sights. I began my deep breathing and there I was again, off in trance during my meditations. It's something the gurus train their whole lives to achieve, and I had this generous gift through mere pain and perseverance. I felt like I was literally surfing on a wave of positive energy under my feet. One moment seemed to flow into the next. I felt the ancestral plain, and I knew my deceased friend’s spirit was with me.

I thought it would go away when I woke up, but the Wave lingered for days before subsiding. I returned to regular meditation but nothing was like that day. I wasn't sure now what happened, was I delusional? I went over the events and recreated it but there was nothing. And I wasted a needle and hit.

I thought it was gone, but that same night it happened again while I was taking a dry shit. I was fasting,and I didn't know it! Days before actually doing drugs, one goes through forethoughts and anxieties that take their appetite away. I hadn't noticed!

My deceased friend had given me the ultimate and most generous gift of all, a new lease on life. A new perspective, new tools, new desires and a higher level of satisfaction. I kept repeating it over and over; yoga, meditation, fasting and handball, periodically I reached the same feeling of enlightenment.

After two weeks, I was convinced something special had happened to me and then I got a call from my old lady friend. She greeted me and said her husband had something he wanted to talk about. She passed the phone and he spoke:

“Now, I'm a true Texan and don't care much for the city people. Frankly, I dislike city people, but I never had a person do so much to pay me. Then do so much to not look bad when he can't. When you asked my wife about the land, I wanted to be honest and let you know I don't usually sell anything smaller than five acres of premium real estate. But I decided to test my own intuition and your word. We, my wife and I, have been impressed with your perseverance and timely payments. We have decided to deed you the land anyway. The land is part of my family's own, But I have always wanted to bring someone new into my land I could trust. You will receive the deed in the mail. I hope your dreams of building on it come true.”

Shortly after getting off the phone, I began sobbing. I don't know why I cried so long, but I sure know why I laughed.

I now wake up everyday with the same principles, I meditate, do yoga, play handball and occasionally, fast. All while I dream of cabin on my own land one day.

Three unlikely people were generous to me and I carry that Generosity with me for life for life.