It's not easy to tell how much progression you've made in anything in life when you're right in the middle of it. I tend to have outlandishly high expectations for everything I do, so since I started the drop-in space for Roaddawgz and started doing outreach in January, I've learned a lot about patience and how to appreciate what happens instead of worrying about what I think should be happening; to not get too frustrated with my own shortcomings and mistakes. Every young person I've met through the project has deeply impressed me with their intelligence, sensitivity, and willingness to share themselves honestly. Learning how to channel the sometimes overwhelming energies they bring with them has been a challenge, one that I'm still working on. These kids come in from nights on the street where they've been beaten, robbed, insulted, and demeaned. They all just want a safe place to be themselves. It's really, really hard not to take everyone home with me, especially since I've been in that position myself. I was bringing some of my art supplies in to the drop-in and I found this piece of writing I'd scrawled in an old art book:

'I am gasping for a breath of hope - hope I feel I no longer deserve to possess since I have let all my goals, all my aspirations, all my ideals and morals and anything I held sacred be diminished by my greed for some elusive high that I never found, until there is no longer any trace that anything precious ever lived within me at all. Even the simplest of lives seems impossible to me from where I'm at now - how will I get a job or a place of my own; how will I get out of debt? How can I survive any longer, let alone begin to live my dreams, write something of meaning, do anything? All I want and all I fear is a 'normal' life, yet I am so pathetic that I am homeless and degrading myself just to get from one day to the next in a state of oblivion. I am lost and cut off from my own self, from my true feelings. I don't know who I am; I am withering my empty life away in a void which I can hope at best to try to keep numb.'

It was a huge reminder of how far, with luck, I've come in my own life. All I can hope for now is that in some way I can extend some kind of understanding or comfort or hope to someone else. Having been homeless does not make me any kind of expert on the subject - I was never any good at it; not punk enough to make a squat, not brave enough to hop a train by myself. I was just another homeless drug addict. Coming out of that has helped me to see that anything is possible, but without reminders of the fact that there really is something to live for, I'd still be just as lost. I was imagining that in doing this kind of work I'd figure out how to be homeless and make it a good thing - I envisioned myself jumping trains and making friends with all the old hobos along the way; I saw myself making the life of the gypsy valid and open to all. Who knows - maybe that will happen eventually, but what I've been experiencing is more of a representation of the battle between light and dark, hope and despair, meaning and nothingness. Every time I want to give up, someone comes to write or talk and they tell me something that makes me believe in the importance of faith. That's really, in the end, all we have to share and live by.

Things have happened, at any rate. Gary, who wrote a story about coming from Oklahoma and being homeless for the first time, had been graciously given a part-time position at The Beat Within, but had to go back home because his infant daughter was put into foster care. The General, who came in a few weeks ago after a near-death experience that occurred after he was beaten in the head, is hoping to get a room in a week (on Friday the 13th). Gail found a room in the Haight where she can stay while she tries to get a job and kick. See her most recent story - Struggling Through Drug Addictions. Sapphire has been active in attending City Hall meetings and protests around the recent homeless policies, where he's been vocalizing some of the concerns he wrote about in his article on Proposition N (S.F. Supervisor Cashes In On The Poor). He's also been printing and selling the poems he's written for the website on the street, and might have a book published soon. Last week, a group came in to the drop-in for the first time. One of them was a girl, whose name was also Maya, who had traveled from Wales on an around-the-world ticket. She ran out of money in New Zealand but decided to keep going. I talked with one of her companions about magic while she checked her emails. They didn't have time to write any stories, but it was great to see that people can still make their way through the world without bowing to the rigors of economy. I wished I could hear the story of their journey the whole way.

My 30th birthday was a few weeks ago, and one of the gifts I received was a copy of Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, by Tom Robbins. There's a quote in there that goes, "To live fully, one must be free, but to be free one must give up security. Therefore, to live, one must be ready to die...(and later)...Likewise, a stable culture, government or institution has built into it its own demise. It is open to change, open even to being overthrown. It is open, period. Gracefully open. That's stability. That's alive." Luck can change. Nothing's easy, that much I know. How can it be, when we live in such a mental, financial and spiritual regime of Old Navy and Maybelliene? How does anyone really live the way they want to live? Why are we led to believe that such a thing is intrinsically impossible? What is so wrong with people sleeping on the streets? Are people so disgusted and disturbed by it because they really want to lay down and join them? And if it's costing the government too much of its face, then for God's sake give them a decent and accessible place! I mean, what the hell?

A friend of mine, who has some pretty wild ideas of his own about "groove ranch living" and a "seven-hour work week", is taking me with him on a business trip to Denmark at the end of the month. I hope to write a story about a commune there that I visited briefly on my Europe stint in the early 90's. Basically a bunch of homeless people took over some unused buildings in the middle of downtown Copenhagen and for various reasons were hard to uproot. When I saw it, it consisted of something like 10 acres and had horses, schools, cafes, houses and people who were taken care of. It was amazing.

This is the first time in my life I've had work that actually gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Even when I can't get myself to leave the house for any other reason, I know that if I don't show up someone will face a closed door when it should be open. I know that if I am there to provide a safe space for one person I'll feel like I've done something that day. I know from agonizing experience how slow the process is of learning to write consistently and, eventually, precisely. These things take time. Every one who's come in to the drop-in space is a genius in their own right. Every one of them has survived and maintained grace in the most adverse of circumstances. If any one of them is inspired to tell their story they inspire me, and hopefully, those who read them, to do the same. That's meaning enough for me. It's interesting to see how even within the roving community of homeless youth, people come back around. One of the exceptionally amazing poets who read at the HASA Spring Fling and Roaddawgz Open Mic last weekend came into the site yesterday. She was one of the original writers for the Freedom Manual and expressed real appreciation for the fact that the project was still going on. She submitted a new story on the website ("The One-Eyed Kitten of N.Y. City", by Corinna) and is also letting me use the kick-ass poem she read at the open mic for our next zine, which should be completed in about a week and will include works by various new writers and artists. Keep an eye out for it -and let me know if you want one mailed to you - just email [email protected].

My idea for having an editorial column was intended more to address current issues and provide a written eye into the daily events that occur with this work - but I guess I just had to get this little preamble off my chest. Thanks for listening - and keep in touch.

Maya