The Day I lost My Voice

The Trials and Tribs of Getting Through

I am one with the universe.

It can be very messy.

Feeling everything.

But as long as you can compartmentalize galaxies, I’m sure I’ll be ok. 

The world isn’t on my shoulders, it’s within me,

And within is all of existence.

Finding time to separate moments of space galaxy,

and put it back together.

I know I still need to write every day for balance,

tinctures and teas,

What is more than that, I don’t know.

Currently, I’m protecting my voice.

The day I lost my voice.

It's happened more than once.

My voice becomes too powerful even for me to bear,

my words become prayers,

and I’m caught up in freestyling my own story,

I’m manifesting just where I want to be,

shredding on the verbals,

and then it's gone.

My voice is lost, 

and I become silent,

just a mime who cries in his own care.

“Are you ok?”—my trigger phrase.

“I’m proud of you.”—always and forever.

In seeking balance, I‘m looking to delve into what it means to be human.

What it means to be me in this time of existence.

My voice is everything to my art, my purpose, and how I play,

and when I lose it, I have to work extra hard to become as? sensitive.

Not feather weight, feather fiber.

I am writing again,

but not speaking today.

My thought is swollen,

it's difficult to speak, and I‘m letting myself detox from the mold I experience.

My good friend Justine came by with all sorts of remedies and advice,

a care practice, a breathing technique, and self-massage.

That’s my pace these days, making it so easy there’s no way I can go off-path.

Recently in leaving my place in the Oakland Hills, the moods have been more turbulent.

I’ve had that place for five years, the same amount of time I’ve been stable.

A solid place to live, a “home,” where you can rest and do your own thing, is essential for balance.

The first couple of days I was roaming in my care. Plenty of places to stay, I just wasn’t quite ready to go back to Moss Beach with my folks. 

The experience reminded me of when I was living in my car. All my stuff in the trunk, just driving around looking for a place to not think.

A car as shelter is one step from being homeless, and once I gave up the car, I became more scattered. In 2016, I  hopped on a plane to LA, and stayed at a hostel in Santa Monica. Lots of cool young kids to go out with. Then I lost, or was robbed of, all my ways of paying for things and communicating. 

It usually happens this way. I had a younger friend I was rooming with from Canada, all my stuff sucked into the room, but I couldn’t get back in. He took me out a couple of times, a guy who just wanted to see LA. We danced at blues clubs, lounged on the beach, and ate sandwiches. It's through generosity that one can survive. There was an older scraggily guy who hung out in front of the hostel. He just stood on the corner mumbling. I brought him my old iPad and played him hip-hop instrumentals. He smiled. Something about hip-hop kept me going during this time. I couldn’t get back into the hostel, nor pay for another night, and my things had been stolen through carelessness. It’s not always the thief’s fault; in a state of disarray, I began to lose control of my possessions. 

Eventually, I made a phone call and ordered a credit card to be sent to the hostel, but for some reason, I didn’t think about expediting delivery. Eventually, it came, but it took 10 days. I stayed at the beach that had some concert slabs used for working out. 

When you’re homeless, the thing that is missing is sleep. You have no comfortable place to rest in peace, your entire life is hectic, out of your control, and full of stress.

Have you ever wondered what it means that “sleeping in public” is now a criminal offense? What does that mean for the people who are without a place and can’t find shelter?

This time around, with all my stuff in my car last week, I parked my car on Garrero St., SF, and strolled up to a place to sit. It was a hot day out, and I wasn’t doing a good job of protecting my head. I turned on “Like a Rolling Stone” and listened through my headphones. “I am that rolling stone,” I thought. “Once upon a time, you dressed so fine…In a bums a dime.” The lyrics cliched in my head as if Bob were talking directly to me, laughing about all those people who were hanging out, who weren’t living life or taking money seriously. They had decided not to be a family people and were now bums.

I was in front of KQED at Starbucks listening to the old guys talk about stuff from their cardboard homes. One looked right at me and said, “Life is more stable with a woman in your life.”

I know this is true. A good woman by one’s side makes the world feel safe. You feel strong. You have someone to protect and love and touch. And guys either make it, or become street players.

SF was a place where I could cruise in my car and drop in on old friends unannounced. High School homies stopped telling me where they lived or worked because they didn’t want J just stopping by. 

I had a moment this weekend when I left my place. I wanted to stop in on Mario for his birthday, just to say hi and wear something colorful. Oh no—am I just dropping by unannounced again? It's a regular part of my routine. Is an hour early too early. How about eight hours early?

“I’m outside,” reads his text, and I’m aware that the person I’m visiting has to verify my sanity before letting me in. Extremely punctual these days, is still too early. 

I went back to KQED last week, eight hours early for the meeting. I co-work there, but this time I went too far by asking to pitch something. In not in the pool of producers, just an independent hustler who can get in the door. I’ve been going there for two years like this, but this time I crossed a line. The VP gave me a talking-to before the event. I went back to my seat, I was checked hard. Was I acting erratic? Was this odd behavior of mine no longer part of my comedic routine? 

I had to ask myself if I was okay. 

This week I’ve gone back to Moss Beach and checked in with all the specialists. There is a plan from everyone. Traditional medicine, homeopathic remedies, bodywork, talk therapy. I’m fluctuating this week, right on the edge. Losing my place, experiencing mold toxicity, and just the usual. But maybe we're all fluctuating a little. 

At least I have a place to stay, a car to drive, food, medicine, friends, and family. 

There are times I cry in my parked car. I think of all the love I’ve received even as someone who’s experienced housing shortages. All the blessings I’ve received, even though emotionally this ride has had peaks and valleys. I’m connecting with you here because this format is a way to let all my loved ones know what’s up and share my journey. 

Justine Lucas has been helping with some wellness treatments,

here’s how to find her singing practice.