Day 6 April 9, 2009: be thou my feet

Today is Maundy Thursday, so I not only had my feet washed, but I also had them massaged by the Care Through Touch Institute that provides healing touch for the poor. Yet, today was more than just a day of beautiful metaphor and calling to help and serve one another, it was also a day when my anger about the lack of safety for others turned into anger for the lack of safety for myself.

I'm not talking about physical safety (grandma, please take a sigh of relief). Rather, I'm talking about the emotional abuse and harassment women are taught to face daily and required to respond with kindness and passivity. The kind of thing that happens on a full moon. I have been noticing that the manic kindness and hostile anger that the shelter staff hurls towards the residents of the shelter are the same as an abusive parent. At least they put me in the space of being a scared five year old around my alcoholic father, hoping that if I didn't move or wasn't noticed that things would be fine.

The emotional trauma of a shelter, meant to be sanctuary, that entrenched the abusive dynamics which lead many of these women to be here in the first place, is not charity. It is not something for which they ought to be grateful. Nor is it anything anyone ought to endure for a roof over their head.

The prayers of Judith come to mind tonight. The wail of Legion, whose trauma upon trauma keep him home captive and alone, yearning for healing and companionship.

Feet that are not dirty, need not to be washed. So, bring your tired, your weary, your muddy and bloody to the water that seeks to prepare you to face the death that stalks us all.

We sing:
Be thou my feet and guide my walking
Be thou my eyes that I might see
Open my heart give me compassion
Hear my cry and answer me

Day 5: diva of God(Dess)

"I'm interested in diamonds, not this chaos," said the woman at the shelter observing two woman fighting in line for breakfast. I've begun to notice that all of the fights and drama I've witnessed at the shelter have been insighted by the inconsistancy of staff "rules." Last night a woman was removed from the shelter loudly and in the midst of the cold night because she has nightmares and eats in her sleep. The yelling caused by this incident caused several women to have nightmares and several others to yell as well.

This was counterbalanced by the evening worship service that the women had celebrating Easter. Two women and a man came to lead a service one a pastor that was recently laid off. The sermon was surprisingly touching, but my desire for a bit of hope in this space must have helped. The sermon had great messages to encourage the women to look in their hearts to see what types of behaviors and relationships they needed to let die so that they could be healthy. I confess I was surprised that I didn't hear a litany of sins they should address. Normally on street retreat I discover that the only people actually talking about faith with the homeless are much more conservative and literal than I happen to be. The creepy part of the service is that the man took the women aside in corners where they couldn't be seen for a hugging prayers that seemed a bit creepy (but possibly well intentioned).


This afternoon we also had a wonderful celebration of Carmen's 25th year as a Franciscan sister using things we found or begged for on the streets. From condom balloons to inflatable ostrich costumes it was an amazing time. It's the kind of creative celebration that is always possible, but doesn't always happen I'm such a busy world.

My feet (still on the same pair of socks) are very angry with me. They feel like the are going to crack each time I move them. Taking a shower this morning felt amazing, though it was hard to enjoy since I had to keep an eyeon my clothing so they didn't get stolen. While I'm still in the same clothes a new pair of underwear makes me feel clean. Publicly accessible bathrooms am showers are a vital health need for our communities. But this week I've learned that bathrooms aren't enough- toilet paper is also required!

One of the most needed items from our guests is bags: duffel bags, rolling bags, purses, backpacks. Carrying a bag all day and seeing the wear and tear a bag can go through helps me to see how crucial this necessity is. So got extra bags you don't need? Bring them or mail them to the Welcome Ministry (1751 Sacramento St, San Francisco CA 94109) along with adult clothing of all types.

Tonight I pray for everyone working towards recovery from addiction, affliction, health problems, failed relationships and failed thinking. God(dess) help us to let go of the past and to live in the present trusting firmly in support of the earth below us. Blessings upon blessings (Happy Passover)

Day Seven: October 24, 2008- The Lord Be With You

"The Lord be with you," he said.

Then he continued to recite the communion liturgy as he swigged his beer, and smoked a hand rolled cigarette. He said he learned everything he knew about church from Phyllis, "you know, from St. Francis.". Then it hit me, I'm his pastor. Not only because I am a missionary to the poor, but because, as he says, "I was the first homeless person to ever become a member of St. Francis."

Phylis touched his heart.

We met while waiting for dinner at UN Plaza. We heard there would be food. Soon, the manna truck arrived. We wanted food, but we also saw they had socks and toiletries we could use as well. So we thought we wait and see what happened next. A jesus rock name changed a couple of songs to have words about stomping out the devil. Them the sermon came telling us about Jesus' dominion over everything, calling us to have dominion over everything... If we believed. They also said that if we had Jesus we wouldn't have addiction and that of we got saved, we would have power.

I appreciate the hope and the comfort they were bringing to people who had little to hope for. Four participated in the altar call. But after an hour it really felt like we were being held hostage and could only get food if we let them touch us and pray over us. We got food, the most disgusting of the trip to date (note in the picture on the left that they actually gave me a partially eaten cookie!). At least I got a pair of socks out of the deal. My feet really needed it!

Services like there are one of the biggest reasons why it is important for me to talk about faith with the homeless. When the only people ever talking to them about God(dess), are only out to shame them and tell them that everything bad that has ever happened to them is because of their lack of faith. It's a spiritual abuse of power!

After the service the sharing of goods and toiletries was out of control. Some homeless people got four bags each because the kids handing out the bags never bothered to look up, so they didn't even notice. Meanwhile most people didn't get anything. Maybe that was because of their lack of faith too.

So on this, the last night I sleep on the cold hard concrete, I remember Robert who created communion with me, without bread or wine or socks. I remember Phylis and the folks at St Francis, who called me, never knowing that the seed of faith they planted would minister to me tonight on these streets.

Blessings to all of you who have been following by journies on the streets and praying for me. And all you San Franciscans, please make a fuss when the city and the Chronicle try to tell you that the shelters emain empty and the homeless won't accept help. Don't let them close more shelters this year. Let's find out why seniors and disabled individuals don't have access to the shelters. And let's solve homelessness, one person, one sidewalk and one city at a time.

Day Six- Oct 23rd: No Male Priveledge on the Streets

Today my search for a shelter bed began early. At 9 am the homeless outreach team came (see above) and told me people are not allowed to lay down in front of city hall. They promised me a shelter bed and whisked me away in a van. They told me of I waited at a drop I center until 5 pm I would get a bed. Well, first they said I could have a bed if I would accept a female bed. I said "no," and when I came back at 4:30, they said they had no beds and I should go wait at the drop in shelter that I had been waiting at for the last couple of days, waiting for 6 hours and leaving with nothing.

It was one of the most degrading experiences of my life to hear them, with such good hearts, knowing the right thing, but processing it out loud in an unfortunate way: "she has to stay in that bed," "he the doesn't want a womans bed"... "No she doesn't because she is a man, and he doesn't have to stay there" and on and on for about an hour. The person who was the wortst at keeping pronouns straight took me over to the front desk of the shelter and told them not to disrespect my gender, that my name as Ryan and they should make sure to get me a bed in the men's side.

All of that and no bed.

Hours later at the library, I desperately needed to use the bathroom. In the mens room I am confined to using a stall, and there are very few of them. After waiting more than an hour for a stall, I was pretty sure no one was coming out of them anytime soon. I gave in, and used the womans room. I was followed in by a police officer who looked me up and down before muttering "well alright."

I just want shelter. But our system is designed to protect women and children. "Male priveledge" does not exist when you are homeless. And it is still strangely true that I am read as female more often when I'm packing and binding then in my normal life and I am not.

What a strangely gendered day!

Tonight I think of the tough choices my trans kin have to make in order to survive on the streets, may they all be warm tonight!

DayFive- Oct 22: Waiting and Hoping

It's just after 10 pm and I've been waiting for a shelter bed for four hours. I had to again change my sex in the computer system, now the third time. While filling out the paper work they called me "she" and then asked if I wanted a women's shelter when I asked them to send me somewhere safe for transpeople.

It's hard to know if staying in the shelter or on the streets is safer. Last night the was almost a knife fight when a regular was upset when someone new was in his turf. Though I wasn't in real physical danger, it's east to see how the end of the month has created a higher need for support and a squeeze for shelter and sidewalk space.

Today the uncomfortableness caught up with me. I found my childhood trauma was triggered and I was remembering and connected to the feelings of the time I was homeless when I was five. Though all the details are fuzzy, I can feel vividly those feelings I felt so long ago, when my mother, brother and I fled the abuse of my father.


I'm not sure what the resolution will be to these feelings. For now I just sit with it and feel what I have felt be for- though in a situation of much less control and much less awareness of what was happening around me. Today I saw children on the streets for the first time on this trip. There were two watching as there older brother was shooting up. Hopefully they are safe tonight. They came in about an hour ago to use the bathroom. Knowing where I have come and how I am able to serve others out of some of the healthy baggage I gained in my childhood, I can only pray that they will survive the swirling chaos that surrounds them.

I'm also aware that the 83 year old women was back waiting for shelter. After four hours she stopped waiting. I hope she found a safe place to go to wait out the night.

In many ways, the binding and packing makes me no different from any other of the more than 3000 that are sleeping in San francisco shelters and the countless thousands of others who are out in the streets. I trust that the God(dess) that knows the number of hairs on our heads and thinks of us more times then there as grains of sand is moving us along the arch of justice to a time when pain and suffering will cease. Until then we are left to do what we can to lighten the load. I hope that people like you will support the Welcome Ministry, so I can spend more time demanding justice, helping the hungry feed their bellies, and take a step closer to homes, community and a health sense of self- rather than fundraising. I feel convicted by the things that I have seen, and called to be a part of the re-humanizing of this city.

It's now 10:32, and I still have no shelter. They just handed out chips, I think it is my parting gift. Guess I better think about where I'm going to sleep after they kick me out of here in twenty minutes. Back to the streets...

Day three- oct 20: justice, justice

כ צֶדֶק צֶדֶק, תִּרְדֹּף--לְמַעַן תִּחְיֶה וְיָרַשְׁתָּ אֶת-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר-יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ נֹתֵן לָךְ. {ס} 20

Justice, justice shalt thou follow, that thou mayest live, and inherit the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee. {S} (Deuteronomy 16:20)

After waiting for five hours in chairs we weren't allowed to stand up from, forty of us (including a man with no legs and and 83 year old woman) were told at 11 pm that we wouldn't be getting a room in the inn. It was freezing out, despite my three layers, a hat and a scarf. The night minister brought me another hat and a flannel.

Around midnight I finally got to rest. Tonight, I was able to avoid the constant numbness that kept waking me up to remind me of the dull ache of the sidewalk. At 6am I rose and headed off to Glide for breakfast.

After breakfast I joined a clergy gathering to encourage people to vote no on prop 8. Bishop Holmerud spoke. The rabbi who spoke reminded us all that Deuteronomy calls us to justice, justice. Stated twice so we will remember it is justice not only for ourselves but also for others.

It reminds me that part of my journey is to call you, others anld politicians to wake up to the way we are abandoning the poor and our elders, trampling the disabled and consuming our earth.

Justice, justice!

"Are you a drag queen?" I was asked as I waited for a shelter. Proof that I have indeed only taken one step on the gender scale. I am now being read as a man dressing as a woman. He invited others over to guess my gender before he finally concluded that whatever I was, he liked it. Clearly a sexual advance, I noticed that this was somehow a type of sexual harassment I had yet to experience on the streets. As a female sexual harassment was demeaning and designed to put me in a lower position as the man in the bathroom had also tried to do.

But this gave me power, sexual power. For the first time I could see how sex work could be liberating. And at the same time I continued to note how much acceptance of trans folk becomes a fetish.

I think I have much more to think about around these issues, but tonight I remember that Jesus said that the sex workers would go ahead of us in heaven. I remember, Ruth, Tamar, Deborah and all the other ferocious women of scripture. And I remember the woman who was older than my grandmother who may still be waiting for shelter.

Day Two - Oct 19:

It's amazing today how much the permission to be male has allowed me to express my feminine side. My longing for "male privilege" is less about abandoning a feminist ideal for the sake of gaining a power over others, than it is a deep desire to be seen as the self I would like to self identify as. It is a consciousness to avoid the stereotypes of gender and to be be outwardly intentional about my expression.

This is of course one of the ways that my gender queerness, my sense of being simultaneously dual gendered, departs from the experience and expression of my transsexual kin. I never grew up thinking that my body ought to look physically male, rather that I want to be seen that way "as is."

So it should be noted, that I am not working to "pass" or living "stealth" ... To the contrary, I am living on the streets these 7 days one step on the other side of gender queerness.

Before I was a masculine woman. Today I am an effeminate boy (I cleary don't bear the physical marks of male puberty.

I'm currently sitting in the waiting room to see if I will get a shelter bed. I had to change my gender in the computers twice in order to do so. Two workers were amazingly supportive. One even told me I could be any gender I want any night I want. Another worker started calling me "her" each time she talked to me.

In honesty, it is hard to know if I am getting a glimpse at the gender awareness of the San Francisco shelter system, or if this will serve more as a glimpse into the spaces of gender bias in myself that I have yet to explore. I imagine I'll find both.

I've already begun to notice that I fear physical violence from men more than women and that I expect men to be aggressive. I wonder how much of the talk about ganitalia that people are having with me is about the sexualization of trans folk or just a difference in the amount of sexualized conversations men have. Or, probably also my training that as a female born person, that men aren't allowed to have those conversations with me, despite the fact that those assumptions and negative comments are made about men all the time without comment.

I should say that I'm not trying to recreate any one trans experience. My goal is to learn more about myself, the gender spectrum and poverty in San Francisco.

So, tonight as I see my observations and wait for word of shelter to get out of the cold, I pray to the God(dess) that lives in the questions. That swirling chaos of wind that blows life into bones.