Angels’ Haven

My first experience with angels of the heavenly kind came in 1978 or 1979, when a white body stood over me urging me to awaken and protect myself.  In 1982, the same entity gently pushed my spirit downward, guiding me to reunite with my battered body as it flew four stories into the Kansas City sky, jarred into flight on impact with a speeding car.  Two years later, a warm rush spread through my body as my unknowing mother described a white faceless creature telling her that she had a year to live. I never doubted the connection; I never questioned the messages or their source.

I have no doubt that many will tell me these are hallucinations.  I accept your doubt.  You might even be correct.  I have no need for anything other than the serenity which I feel in the presence of these beings.

In a few hours, I will arrive in Lathrop with two friends, a caravan of the possessions which I’ve decided to take with me on my next odyssey.  We will unload and stow my belongings in the completed tiny house which I’m calling Angels’ Haven.  The name seems suitable, for I’ve carried the beings which I consider angels in my heart for so long that I feel safe with them.  They wrap themselves around my shoulders, crowding any room where I sleep from hospital to home.  Of course I will take them with me on my westward journey.

The angels who remain in Kansas City have human faces, along with one sweet dog.  I’ll be back from time to time.  I’ll bring California sunshine.  I’ll soak the Midwestern magic into my skin; the friendly faces, the jazz, the passion for anything Royal and for the flaming red of hometown football.  My visits will mirror those which I’ve taken west for the last three years: Rental cars, unfamiliar beds, and blown diets.  The only difference will be that at the end of each trip, I will return to the sea.

I have no complaints about the thirty-seven years since I first came here.  I only have another seven weeks of calling this place my home.  But a piece of my heart will always remain, while the rest journeys to San Francisco and the Delta Bay.  Keep the lights on, Kansas City.  By and by, I will make my way back to your arms and the cool autumn nights of Missouri.

It’s the third day of the forty-seventh month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.



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