A Sweaty Guy - Homeless in Hawaii

April 2005


11.

Perspiration is the bane of my existence. I am a sweaty guy. I’m sitting in the back of a blue and white police car on Kalakaua Avenue. I’m done yelling. Some of the officers talk with each other while one interviews Jessica. Beads of sweat roll down my nose while I wait to be taken to jail.

Jessica looks frightened. I can't hear what she’s saying to the officer who’s taking notes. Tourists had watched the spectacle of my take down and arrest, but they’re beginning to disperse. I rub my sore ribs while I scan the scene for the woman who'd had her video camera rolling as the officer and security guard threw me down onto a lava rock wall. I don't see her.

While they were trying to put me in handcuffs, I had been screaming frantically to the crowd, particularly the tourist with the camera, about corruption and abuse perpetrated by the Honolulu Police Department. With one wrist cuffed, the cop, who’d been first to arrive to assist the security guard, viciously yanked my other arm back.

"Stop resisting! Stop resisting!" The officer repeats over and over as my arm feels it’s about to be pulled from its socket and my ribs are pressed into jagged rock.

"I'm not resisting; just stop yanking so hard, I'm trying to cooperate!"

Some of the members of the gathered crowd are sympathetic. I hear someone shout, "He's not resisting; you're hurting him."

It's twilight in front of the International Marketplace, on the main drag through Waikiki. DXM co-mingles with adrenaline in my system. This is not how I'd planned to spend the night.

How could this have happened. I was sure that I was on the right path. I had read all the signs. I’d been directed by God hadn’t I? Over the past six months I’d experienced revelations, new insights granted only a chosen few. Wasn’t I the chosen one for my age? Wasn’t I the next in a line of spiritual leaders, extending back into prehistory?

Abraham, Moses, David, Jesus, and Muhammed to name a few, these were my spiritual forebears. Of course, Divine Nature is not limited to Western Abrahamic traditions. From shamans to the Buddha, Divine truth has been shared with select individuals through the ages and throughout different cultures.

Had I misread the signs? Could I be mistaken about my own Divine nature. Are they all right? My dad, Julia, Jessica; they’ve all told me in one way or another that I’m delusional, that I need to seek help. If that’s the case, if I’m crazy, then I’ve really fucked up.

The thought is too much to bear and my mind switches gears. My thoughts are so fluid...It’s obvious to me now; all great Spiritual Leaders must suffer and many are persecuted before their Greatness is recognized.

I lean back in hard the molded plastic seat of the squad car and relax, resigned to whatever suffering may lie ahead.