Restless in the Bahamas

Sitting moored in Freeport on Grand Bahamas Island, the weather is cloudy and given the last several days feels as cold as a Michigan winter … though it is in the 70s.

My son Jeremy tells me that I’ve been to Freeport though I don’t remember.

That’s funny because I’m an island guy and know intimate details about every island that I’ve ever visited which are many … Tybee Island is home of course and in the United States it is Key West, Islamorada, Cedar Key …

Further south it is … the Pineapple Festival in Eleuthra, the Rain Forest in St. Lucia, Brock Island up North, Hedonism in Jamacia, Rockefeller Beach in St. Barts, and St. Martin of course.

Nassau is ok and I had a really good time there a couple of days ago.

If I’ve been to Freeport then it is unmemorable and I have no real regrets not remembering it.

Having said that, the island does a fabulous job welcoming people from the ships, it’s friendly though quaint and … I admit it, I’m a snob … I’ve been to islands that have stolen my heart and though I visit others, I long for the ones which hold me.

It is all good though. I’m with the one I love most ... with the Carnival of Friends who have remained with me throughout the changes … both requested or unwantedly dumped upon me … in February working on my tan and back in my Temperate Zone … no shoes, no worries … no problem Mon.

I’ve had my share of problems lately.

Little sons-of bitches who want to feel tall … though they are much more like the little man in the sycamore tree … (Hello Jerry Rainy, John Tatum, Don Waters, etc.)

Loyal co-workers who know nothing about co (which stands for community … as in the Beloved Community … which Martin Luther King, Jr. lived and gave his life and they pay homage to every day … though they only give a shit about their blackness winning at all costs … fuck everything else!) … Hey Aretha, Lavanda, Terry, Letitia, Ayana, Joanie and Lauren.

Self-righteous Religious pricks who think they are the center of the Universe … speaking for God for thirty minutes every Sunday morning in their robes and self-pompous clothing … I need to tell you something … I never left you. You left me.

Friends who loved me right up until … they didn’t (like Pilates washing their hands … not giving a shit about crucifixions and such … there were golf courses to be conquered and good causes to be raped). There are too many to mention …

Elected officials who demanded everything from me but when I could no longer help them (name one … it doesn’t matter which one … or which party … they are all the same … caring about reelection more than anything else and selling their souls for it on a daily basis … the biggest whore house in the world … and if you have issues with this, just read Abraham Lincoln’s journals of when he was elected to Congress … things have just gotten worse since Abe was killed) moved on to who could help next.

I was restless in the Bahamas last night.

Tossing and turning … I pondered my future.

I’ve spent too much time sleeping with whores ... tiny Board chairmen, Pilates who run the world, those who know best because it’s all they know, religious leaders who know everything and those going to the hottest parts of hell … who run everything.

Last night I was again being raped by them and then being so angry that I wanted to rape back.

I won’t do that though.

God is a loving God.

And I love God.

Not that Son-of-A-Bitch God that the leaders love.

But the one who accepted everyone … in spite of what they had done … who they had been … or where they were going.

The God of the Poor.

Define your Poor … it can mean a lot!

Than talk to God ...

Once that’s settled …

Let’s move to the Sons-of-Bitches.

A Southern Girl Up North

Dedra stared at the chopskicks on the table in the Chinese restaurant in China town in Philadelphia.

We had given orders of fried rice and Dee was in desperate search for a fork. Or a spoon.

There was none to be found in the non-English speaking, very authentic Chinese restaurant.

"Take the spoon out of that jar of sause," she commanded. "I'll wipe it off with my napkin and use it."

The very famous Dr. Jim Withers picked up and eggroll with his chopskicks, promply dropped it, broke it in half, then used his chopskicks to pick out the insides.

Horrified, Dedra said, "I'm going to throw up."

I stood and walked to a table and grabbed one of the spoons used for Won Ton soup. They are uniquely shaped, pure white with a very deep bowl.

"What kind of sppon is that?" she said exclaiming it suspiciously.

We laughed.

We had forty-five minutes for a quick lunch. After a morning full of meetings, Jim and I were trying to prepare remarks that we were to give to kick off the International Street Medicine Symposium. We were trying to compare our notes over lunch but Dedra was diverting our concentration.

We were the only caucasions in the restaurant jammed with Asians.

"I am not an international girl," she proclaims.

The crisis is adverted when the fried rice arrives with a real American spoon on the plate.

It got better when we had dinner with twenty people at the Vietnam Palace. Dedra takes the umbrella out of her desert and sticks it in her hair. The entire table burst into laughter.

This morning she is having a yellow breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs, pineapple and a banana. She is complaing that her stomach is upset.

Everyone at the entire Symposium comes up to tell her hello. She takes a seat at my table where I've been sitting alone writing. It quickly fills up with all of Dedra's new best friends. I've become a minor character in my own life. Dedra appears to be the center of attention.

She may not be an international girl but her southern charm has commanded an audiance from around the world.

I slide under the crowded table and leave her in charge. Making my back to my room, I wish my world good morning. Then it's time to head back downstairs for another day full of meetings and to see what the southern girl will learn today as she continues to charm an entire city.

The Warm Winds of Home

It is warm in Philadelphia.

On all of these trips warm winds have blown me in and out of town. In Santa Barbara I brought flip-flops. In Anchorage I bought tee shirts because I'd packed for Antartica. Today I have the offical uniform of working on behalf of people on the streets ... black polo tee, kaki pants and loafers. Thank God I threw in the short sleeves as I packed yesterday.

The warm winds of the south have stayed with me and I am grateful. A year ago only cold winds blew, tenderness had fled, my heart was tired, worn and broken. Once you go through such things you never forget what the pain feels like. In the right circumstances, in the wrong mood, or merely because a certain song comes on ... I can instantly be transported back into the cold pain.

It's hard not to become guarded. Once you've been hurt you don't want to experience it again. So defenses quickly become the norm. We hold pieces of ourselves back ... just in case. Trust is always circumspect. Love becomes this balancing act of giving only as much as I receive.

I've never been one to hold back ... much anytime. Live to excess because it's just the one life we have and I've always been determine to make the most of it. Though it all fell apart a couple of years ago, I still still believe and the times I find myself becoming guarded, I fight it. I want to love completely and be completely loved because in the end that really is what life is supposed to be. And if the Bible is right then God is to be found somewhere in that love.

Sitting here this morning, sipping coffee I ponder these things. I feel better today. The last couple of days have been rough. I was sick but still had things to do. So I slept through most of them on Monday and spent yesterday here working late into the night. Afterwards I collpased on the hotel room bed and talked into the night. Fitfull sleep followed.

A new day now dawns. A blazing sun appears over the skyline of the city and a magnificant blue sky has been washed clean of any clouds. And ... a warm wind blows.

I have a busy day. The first meeting begins shortly and will last until lunch. Then there is a speech to give. Tonight there is another dinner to attend.

But I start with these morning prayers, asking for forgiveness for those I've let down ... strength to do the right things at the right time and to not force it ... for laughter to come my way ... for Mona Lisa smiles ... for home.

Coming Back

I am back to full time Sabbatical beginning today; meaning that I am home for the next month with no planned trips at this point. During the summer months, from July through September this is what life was for me and Goddess as I worked through the things that people work through when they are on Sabbatical.

It was just a shame that it came two-and-a-half years after it was desperately needed but a Board Chairmen who chooses to remain anonymous (God forbid someone find out who he is and the decisions he’s made) and wiser men than me knew better. So I didn’t.

Since listening to them I’ve lost a wife, relationships with many people that I trusted, loved and had long-term relationships and I left a thirty-one year career which was part of some pretty significant things.

Now I resume … gathering my thoughts as I was recently told by one of the sages.

Except tomorrow I have lots to do. First there are tons of personal things that I simply haven’t paid much attention too over the past, oh … year. I started a couple of weeks ago and the stack is getting smaller but Chelsea’s car insurance ended up in never- never land and our health insurance is suddenly at risk (which is most ironic as one of the things I’m known for is taking health care to people who had none! I’ve won national awards for it and gave a hundred thousand dollars to Union Mission to advance its efforts because of it. Yet here I sit. Exposed!)

Most full time Beach Bums don’t have health insurance; so why should I be any different. Pretty funny huh?

There is a looming Christmas that I have to get myself through.

And there is a lot of “work” things that I have to do. There are twenty-two grants to read. My Atlanta “client” is coming to see me. Rebekah has a long list of things that suddenly have time lines. There are trips to plan in January and February.

More importantly, my friend Conner called me the other night and told me that he needs me to “help with words” at the memorial service for his father who died last week. I never met Conner’s Dad but feel like I have after years of stories. Plus I would do anything for Conner and Hania.

Both of us would likely pay good money to reconstruct whatever it was we did in New Orleans last month. We’ll likely find out when we stand in front of the throne of Judgment and God leans over and says, “Really?”

I hope that Conner and I are standing beside one another when this happens as I know that we will look at one another and then we will look at God and then we will both say at the same time … “Wha?”

In honesty, the Sabbatical is over as much as I wish that it could linger. The past is dead and gone and it is never coming back again. I am proud of the things that I’ve accomplished, cherished whom I’ve loved, and only have a few regrets; though the ones that I do have haunt me from time to time.

There are pieces of the past that go with me into the future though I am surprised at how small that package is. I’m also surprised at who those friends are marching with me to what will be. And the circle of those whom I love came from … nowhere … from God and after Conner and I are done explaining New Orleans I will thank her profusely.

So I have to go to work. It is a brave new world. I am doing things that I’ve never done before. I am gambling everything that I have with the belief that it will all work out for the best. I feel good about it.

I pause and think to myself, “Wait! What is different about this? It is how I have always lived.”

I don’t feel any doubt, except for fleeting moments in the middle of the night, but I chase these thoughts away and climb out of bed with a “Kick Ass” attitude; probably pretty much the same attitude that Jesus had when they nailed him on the cross.

“Go ahead! Crucify me! I’ll be back!”

So because I love all of the people who read this I want you to be the first to know.

I’m almost back.

Count on it.