The cough had rattled my chest for two months. I’d been working part-time at a family homeless shelter, interacting with struggling single mothers and two parent families with runny nosed kids in tow. Meth, crack and alcohol habits were common, bad luck was universal, it’d have to be to end up on the floor, on a pad, in a cold, tiled church gym.
My shift was four in the afternoon until ten at night. I’d call volunteers to make sure that we’d have a hot meal for that night’s guests. I’d call volunteers who would come and play with and supervise the children while their parents rested. The adults needed to unwind from a hard day of walking, panhandling, or just staying warm on the streets. I’d call volunteers to make sure we had two overnight monitors who would sleep in the gym with the shelter guests. When we didn’t have, couldn’t find a monitor, I would spend the night.
The winter of 2004-05 was tough; the numerous sub-freezing nights, with ice storms and late night departures for tardy public transportation did me in. I was constantly working on or getting over a raging cold or fever. And then, it really hit me. The gentle sound of maracas fluttering in my lungs when I would hack and cough refused to go away. One month turned into two then three. Finally, I went to the doctor. Bronchitis. Meds. Late night, sheet soaking sweats and insomnia. I was terrified I had something else, something fatal.
The other backdrop to that winter was finances. Portland had always been stingy for me when it came to work. Too few jobs and too much competition spelled hard financial times. As my body shuddered and crumbled that winter, so did my spirits.
A friend of mine mentioned a few months before this particular day, that she did public relations work for some guy she thought I should meet, thought I had something in common with. He was an author and a public speaker. So what? Okay, fine, maybe I should meet him one day, but one day wasn’t soon enough for me. And it was the farthest thing from my mind in late January/early February of 2005. I was broke. I was a train wreck. I couldn’t pay the rent and I thought I was dying. Little did I know, I was.
I woke up one morning dead. I was done. On fire, the last blaze before the complete flame out. Rage, at my lot in life and at God poured out of me like kerosene. I began speaking to God like I would a cab driver who had run me back up on the curb, cursing, defaming, demanding that God show me a sign. SHOW ME A SIGN. NOW!!! This was at nine in the morning.
At noon, my phone rang. It was my friend, Nikki. “Do you remember that guy I was telling you about, Kevin? Well, he needs a personal assistant…” The rest of the call was a blur. God answers fast, I thought.
I met the Katalyst a week or two later, as his travel schedule kept him very busy. We began our work together, first mundane tasks like shipping out “dream bands” to people who’d seen him speak. Later, because he’d remembered my interest in video, he granted me the opportunity of a lifetime: to travel with him, to Philly and San Francisco, later, to Cape Town, Johannesburg, Tokyo and Paris, observing, shooting and editing video, experiencing the life of a Katalyst. Experiencing the finest kind of life, a life that I wanted.
There’s a great line that I read somewhere: “once you’ve lived in Paris, you’re unable to live anywhere else, including Paris…” I think there’s a lot of truth in that about Paris and about working with Kevin as well. How can you ever get used to the life mundane, the nine-to-five, after you’ve been transported to another dimension?
Dreaming helps. Actually, dreaming is essential and perhaps that is why it can be difficult to maintain in circumstances that actually deliver what you are looking for: they require LOTS of dreaming and faith and nurturing and dreaming and faith and…
If there’s one thing that I can take to the bank from my time with Kevin, its that dreaming - outrageously, outlandishly - can create reality. All you have to do is continue to bring your attention to your desire - with great discipline, dedication, responsibility and motivation. And whose life sums that bit of insight up better?!
Thanks KC and all the best to you & the Fam in ‘09!!
Lubangakene aka Julian J.
What’s your Red Rubber Ball?!
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