Table of Contents

My new home

Household. My descent into homelessness was the final step to prepare me for a new home. Before I could have a home of my own I had to confront my long term lack of my own home. The best time and place to consider that was while sleeping in my car in the cold, two nights that made a cheap motel feel like heaven. I'm now in my own home for the first time since 1979. For over 40 years I was a member of someone else's household, never my own. My new home is a lot like the one I left in 1979: an apartment with wood floors and radiant heat. I was co-owner of a home from 1998 to 2009, but that was not my home, it was our home. There's a big difference. Since I left Tallahassee I've always lived in households. That was the word we used in Boulder for the group homes faithful disciples lived in. Someone who hadn't moved into one was not in a household yet. When I settled in Seattle I never considered living alone. The household habit was too deeply ingrained.


Why defeat? I love it here. Isn't this victory? The defeat of Zachariah is my theme here. I'm not going to change my name again. I like the name. It's a perfectly good name, the first one I've ever liked. I had to pretend to like Bejurin because I had become a disciple. What an awkward, graceless name. As bad as Once Upon a Tryp. I always had to say not Bjorn. I'm just tired of names. Tired of living consciously. In making progress with love I've come to a point where consciousness has to be the servant of creativity, aka love. I'm using "the defeat of Zachariah" as a figure of speech. This has little or nothing to do with my name. It's about how I hold myself and live my life. My love Leela is in charge of everything.

Maryla the mensch. I moved into my new home in February 2021 from a cheap motel that felt like heaven. It took me two days to move in. The second day it started snowing. It doesn't snow much in Seattle. This was a big one, over a foot in my new hood. When I started moving in it was just raining. I'd never seen the apartment I was moving into. I'd looked at a different apartment. That one got grabbed by someone else while my application was lost. Thank heaven. I got a much better apartment out of the deal once they found my application. I was surprised to find the place dark. I was expecting more light. As I was lugging my stuff down the hall Maryla told me there was a power outage. I was determined to bring another load from the motel. I wanted out of there. Heaven had begun to pall. When I got back with my second load there was light despite the power outage. Maryla had put candles all along both sides of the hallway for me, transforming it into a pathway of lights. It was a magic moment. I was well and truly welcome home.

Living alone is a revelation. I had no clue what I was missing, what limitations I struggled under without realizing they were there. Living alone makes progress so much more available. The spiritual quest is the organizing and guiding force for everything. I can do whatever needs to be done at exactly the right time, the right way. I don't have to stay out of my housemates' way or accommodate their schedules. My life is my own and it's all about doing the work required to make progress with love.

Enveloped. Since I left Boulder I have been afraid of being alone. I didn't feel it there, or when I lived in Salida and on The Retreat. I couldn't have. For good or ill I was enveloped in the The Community. Moments alone were precious escapes. But when I finally ditched all that I felt so alone. I'd been part of a machine, a group organism for so long I felt bereft of human contact. So I managed to stay in a relationship almost the whole time. Breaking up with my sweetheart right before the coronavirus hit has helped me get over that but I still had to go homeless momentarily to get ready for living alone.

Sleep. One aspect of my life in my new home that's been the target of much refinement is my sleep schedule. My sleep is now polyphasic with no set rhythm. My sleep is governed by surrender. I go to bed when my body tells me to and I get up when my body tells me to. I have a longer period of sleep at night, but not more than about four hours. I usually take two to four naps during the day, anywhere from fifteen minutes to a couple of hours long. It's different every day. I love my sleep schedule. I feel I've taken the violence out of sleeping by giving in to my wisdom. I especially treasure the quiet wee hours awake, writing and doing my other work while most folks around me sleep.

Deeper with living alone. I've lived alone in my new apartment now for several months. At first I was doing a lot of work on this writing, hours every day. But as I settled in I started having more difficulty with writing. Writing started causing anxiety. I know what anxiety is now, the gnawing ache edging on panic. I got to know it well during my months-long panic attack that was not really a panic attack in 2020. Besides writing, my first months here have been taken up with nothing but refinement. My sleep schedule continues to refine and evolve. Same with my diet, my solo dancing, the clothes I wear, apartment cleaning and maintenance. Every detail of my life has become an opportunity to surrender to my love Leela. What that means is that all the time, every day, I make progress with love just by living here alone. I feel anxiety when I make too much progress too fast. It's been that way ever since I made it through my cannabis induced panic attack. I have come to see anxiety as my canary. Yikes, I better back off. I can't handle any more truth right now. Nothing like panic to get my attention. So I had to cut back on writing for a while. Now writing's coming back but it's different too, subtly refined.