A dream about grassroots grant-writing (of all things)

I’m grateful for this dream. Jean and I are in the habit of lying in bed in the mornings, having coffee, talking, watching our “today show” (the sky, birds, the SF Bay, the Marin hills, and whatever else we can see from bed), and having a short meditation on what we’re grateful for.

One thing about this dream is that the two themes were so vivid and intertwined – one theme being our surroundings as we walked along and the other theme being what I was saying and thinking. My recall of the details of the dream is far greater than most dreams I can remember.

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The dream: Jean and I were walking in a warehouse district on the edge of downtown Dallas. I was telling her about the grants research and writing process I used beginning in the early 1980s. We were holding hands and walking through vacant lots and deserted buildings and…

I was telling her about the foundation directories I found at the Dallas Public Library, going through these big books page by page writing down information on foundations whose areas of interest matched my own (especially healthcare, refugee, and justice issues). I also kept information on foundations with board members I had some connection with, no matter how small. I was thinking in detail about the area of the library where the foundation books were kept.

We were walking on paths winding through dry, sun-blasted vacant lots and sometimes on concrete floors with broken glass in big empty buildings like old steel mills. There were a few people around – they seemed like about who you’d expect in that sort of environment, many broken, some might be dangerous, and I was greeting people the usual way: “Hey now” and I was talking about …

the proposal-writing area in my office – a ~3×8 plastic table divided up into labeled squares for the documents that had to accompany proposals, like 501 (c)(3) docs, annotated board member lists, budget documents, etc., etc. and telling Jean about sending proposals every few weeks, each one rewritten and better than the previous one. At the same time I was teaching and volunteering and delivering services – building a reputation and I had a reputation.

The environment we were walking in was deteriorating, becoming a little more ominous, a real desolation row. I was glad I’ve been in these sorts of places before. A mentally ill kid, a teenager walked alongside of us for awhile. We walked past a woman with eight Doberman pinschers. I was relieved to see some condos ahead, but when we got to them we realized they were public housing projects and run-down like everything else. A young woman met us as we were walking up to the buildings. She was a little weather-beaten, tanned. She was wearing a green skirt with a fringe on it; she was looking something like some of the people at the Rainbow Gathering, pretty run-down herself. She offered to take us in to one of the apartments to “see Don” – I said “No, but thank you” and she was like a classic case of a shrug and whatever.

I was telling Jean about writing proposals for Vietnam veterans services, refugee health, and drug treatment and prevention. I knew I wouldn’t get funding from my first proposals, but I didn’t care; I was learning how to do it. I started with the most obscure and least likely foundations and worked my way up the ladder to bigger and better-endowed ones.

Everything was pretty desolate and we couldn’t see downtown anymore. I jumped across a ditch and Jean took three steps to her left and got across on a level place. We were both getting tired (but there was no place to stop). I asked Jean if she needed to pee and she said no and then I awoke and got up to pee. That was the end of the dream. I wrote all this down at 0530.

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In most years when I was writing I averaged bringing in around $100,000. I also initiated other means of development as it’s essential for nonprofits to have multiple streams of income. I never saw any of the money personally, but I accomplished most of what I set out to do: a lot of people got help – from broke-down veterans to “jaded, faded junkies” to children impacted by drugs to refugees and immigrants from across the world to children who were abused to people at the end of life. I had a dream of the world as a better place, less suffering, more justice, all that.

Money for changing the world http://ckjournal.com/money-for-changing-the-world

Afternoon magic, The Dreamer, gratitude for her presence, love on the way to the toilet, what matters now, epic journeys, John Chase, years of living dangerously

David, Jean, The Dreamer in David’s office

In the afternoon, taking a short nap, then lying spooning, tangled up together for I don’t know how long – 20-30 minutes, warm, so comfortable, comfortable physically, emotionally, puppies, lovers, friends, the afternoon sun starting to come in the doors, crystals sparkling, alive, rainbows on the walls and our bodies, knowing that literally this is as good as it gets, grateful. Remembering and writing this is as close as I can come to preserving the magic.

The Dreamer photo was taken in David’s office at UC Berkeley. Jean gave him The Dreamer. When we put it up, she explained some of how and why she made it. It’s felted wool. All of the lines on the body and face were sewn in and everything was shrunk.

Another day, kind of cold, taking a nap. Under the covers I encircled your warm, soft right thigh with both hands and we fell asleep like that… and awoke 20 minutes later – like that. This too, is as good as it gets.

The Chancellor’s Garden – in the Berkeley Hills

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Going through flyers and things related to events I’ve attended (mostly psychedelic forest gatherings) I ran across this from an Each Moment Matters event:

Remember not that she died; but that she lived.

Of course it’s not one or the other; it’s both, in varying degrees. But there is movement toward more good days than bad. And now, five years later, the days are all good. I think of Leslie a number of times every day. Her presence is like an overlay to my life and I think of her more in brief moments than in endless sad ruminations; more in gratitude for her presence in the world and in David’s and my life. More in being inspired by her. Just the love. Not the awful pain.

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I told my doctor that when I was getting up four times a night to pee, it was okay, because I’m happy, including when walking in the hall (“with hangings rich of many strange design”) on the way to the bathroom. But five times is too much.

Morning has broken, like the first morning…

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We were talkingabout being with a friend with ALS – a friend who is moving inexorably toward the end of life, who is unable to speak; but who can use her eyes with a computer to spell out messages. What do you say when there is nothing left to say? This specific question emerged:

What matters to you now?

Burning Man art – at Oakland Museum (Kristina!)

And it’s a question for us all, all the time. What matters now? Jean asked her friend this question. Love was right there at the top.

We see that personal growth can be part of the process of dying; that values clarification has value until the end; that the human spirit turns toward the light – toward love.

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Jean’s sister, Ginny and brother-in-law, Jim were here for a couple of days. They had flown from Tucson to Chicago, then caught the California Zephyr (Amtrak) to Denver, through the Rockies, across Utah, through the Sierras (all of this in deep winter), and on into Oakland. From Oakland (Emeryville) they’ll take the Coast Starlight to Los Angeles and from there, the Sunset Limited to Tucson. Pretty cool!

Back gate I made for Dallas house

Years ago, Jim’s doctor in New Jersey told him he had to quit smoking or die. So he flew to the west coast and rode his bicycle back to the east coast and by the time he got to the Atlantic Ocean, he had truly quit tobacco. Epic.

I was looking at Ginny and Jim’s New Zealand cycling blog: 59 days, north to south, 30 nights in a tent, seashores, up hill and down dale. More epicness. This man understands epic journeys.

So I was thinking about epic journeys in life. It’s worth thinking about. Some of my epic journeys are 13 months of combat, the hippie years, taking care of Leslie at the end of her life, a 10 day solo trek into the Wind Rivers wilderness, and other journeys across geography and mind/heart.

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From the deck

In 1988, when I was operating community health programs out of the East Dallas Police Storefront, a police officer was murdered in downtown Dallas. John Chase was shot three times by a homeless man who had grabbed John’s pistol. John pled for his life while a crowd was urging the man to shoot: “Kill him!” they were shouting. “Kill that white mother-fucker.” I had only met John once, but the killing hit me hard because he was a nice guy and because nobody tried to stop the killer. Afterward I made a clear commitment that I would never let something like that happen in my presence, regardless of the risks. I’m older now, and not much of a badass, but here it is again: the same commitment to the memory of John Chase.

As with all other murders, John was autopsied. His partner, Gilbert was there for the entire procedure. Gilbert is a true warrior.

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Can you see how this blog functions as a kind of memoryizer (new word meaning promotes remembering)? I guess it’s a way of keeping my shit together, as we used to say.

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Sunset from the deck. NOT Photoshopped

My high school class (1962) has a Facebook page. 20-25% of the class is on that page. It’s nice. Everyone on the page is about 75 years old. There are all kinds of realities associated with that age. In a recent discussion three people noted that they are homebound. Death is near for most of us and not far for the rest. I recently posted on that FB page:

These are truly the years of living dangerously. A classmate’s recent listing of classmates who have passed (about 20% of us) was such a powerful document. And here we are, still living after all these years! We’re all kind of like people living with cancer (and some actually are) – each day, each moment, each touch, each kind or loving word… Treasures. Here’s to each one of us, here and not here.