Down at the Wharf, 7:30am. It brings back such beautiful memories being down here, parked in the area that I frequently parked, years ago when things were different, so many years ago… Hell, I can’t even remember when that was, or what changed – not off the top of my head… but oh, the dear memories. Making a living, having a purpose – my job was to delight people, make them smile, make them laugh, amaze them – and give us both something to remember.
Why did I stop? What happened? I’m not quite sure. Perhaps I stopped because the money wasn’t there anymore, the people were less and less entertained even though I was getting better and better. The silver painted panhandlers destroyed the area, took away the wonder and magic of busking, literally at times chasing down people, swearing at them if they didn’t tip after taking a photo – and honestly, the majority of them were absolute crap. There was no skill in their performance, no love. No performance in their performance, and certainly no magic or wonder.
Perhaps as well, it was time for me to move on before it turned into something that was more for getting money than giving love. I remember the final days, where regardless of how much love and effort I put into it, it wasn’t received by those whom I needed to give it to – and there’s only so much I could do as a statue… but being down here again, the beautiful memories flood back into my mind, into my heart – especially the truly wonderful ones: Anastasia and her extraordinary niece, Ane… Keri visiting me at my van for coffee, and our first kiss; and of course, the people, the random people and their beautiful, beautiful smiles…
It’s time to get out here again. I *need* to, for the life I am living now cannot go on like it is – not without me slowly losing my mind, every day the same, every day wondering how I will survive, knowing that there is no way I can without giving something, creating, offering whatever I can. Without performing…
And there is no way I can survive without earning some extra money here and there, as the other two things that I intend to do, finding my birth mother and curing myself, once and for all, of Hep C, will take money. I’ve taken the search for my Birth Mother as far as I personally, possibly can without hiring a searcher, and the herbs and other special things I need to cure myself will cost. As it is now, I’m completely broke shortly after I get my check and pay rent and my bills, pawning and selling what little I have left just for healthy food and fuel, and each time I read on Facebook about someone who needs money, I get frustrated, as there is nothing I can do to help. Words only go so far. Intention isn’t shit without some cash to give away to someone in need of it. So many people have given to me, but with my herbs running out and almost all of my current income out-going before I even see it, changes need to be made.
Changes *need* to be made.
Down at the Wharf, 7:30am. It brings back such beautiful memories being down here, parked in the area that I frequently parked, years ago when things were different, so many years ago… Hell, I can’t even remember when that was, or what changed – not off the top of my head… but oh, the dear memories. Making a living, having a purpose – my job was to delight people, make them smile, make them laugh, amaze them – and give us both something to remember. but oh, the dear memories. Making a living, having a purpose – my job was to delight people, make them smile, make them laugh, amaze them – and give us both something to remember.
Why did I stop? What happened? I’m not quite sure. Perhaps I stopped because the money wasn’t there anymore, the people were less and less entertained even though I was getting better and better. The silver painted panhandlers destroyed the area, took away the wonder and magic of busking, literally at times chasing down people, swearing at them if they didn’t tip after taking a photo – and honestly, the majority of them were absolute crap. There was no skill in their performance, no love. No performance in their performance, and certainly no magic or wonder.
Perhaps as well, it was time for me to move on before it turned into something that was more for getting money than giving love. I remember the final days, where regardless of how much love and effort I put into it, it wasn’t received by those whom I needed to give it to – and there’s only so much I could do as a statue… but being down here again, the beautiful memories flood back into my mind, into my heart – especially the truly wonderful ones:Anastasia and her extraordinary niece, Ane…Keri visiting me at my van for coffee… our first kiss; and of course, the people, the random people and their beautiful, beautiful smiles, smiles that *I* gave to them…
It’s time to get out here again. I *need* to, for the life I am living now cannot go on like it is, not without me slowly losing my mind; every day the same, no challenges (save for figuring out if I have anything left to pawn for food), nothing to fight for, nothing to get my heart beating , no inspiration, every day the same, every day wondering how I will survive & knowing that there is no way I can without giving something back to the world, creating, offering whatever I can… putting all of my heart into something, and then giving it away. Without performing…
And there is no way I can survive without earning some extra scratch here and there. I have made a decision, given myself goals – and these goals aren’t, in any way, light or easy.
I *will* find my Birth Mother, and I *will* cure myself of Hepatitis C without the aid of western medicine – and somehow, when I accomplish these things, I will help others to do the same… but in order to do either of those, I need money, as I’ve taken the search for my Birth Mother as far as I personally, possibly can without hiring a searcher or paying the fees for records, and the herbs and other special things I need to cure myself will cost. As it is now, I’m completely broke shortly after I get my check and pay rent and my bills, pawning and selling what little I have left just for healthy food and fuel, and each time I read about someone who needs money, I get frustrated as there is nothing I can do to help. Words only go so far. Intention isn’t shit without the cash to give away to someone in need of it. So many people have given to me, and it’s time to give back – but with my herbs running out and almost all of my current in-come out-going before I even see it, changes need to be made, and need to be made soon. I need to get back to busking, and/or some other way to bring in money… actually, nix the “or”.
Changes *need* to be made.
So, I’m going to make sure that my heart keeps beating by curing myself, so it can be ripped apart again, as searching for my birth mother always does. A perfect plan!
