The Return of the Bluff Lady

Sad to see the homeless Bluff lady back at the Lone Sailor. Much outreach has taken place to no lasting avail. Can we sleep while she - and so many more - are out there? On my walk this morning a LB Fire Engine crew stopped to ensure a Bluff Park "camper" was alive and well. She wasn't too appreciative at being awakened, and moved on.

A terrace and a row of bushes house a constant stream of tenants. Many are there by choice, but some no longer have the ability to choose to leave the street. What is our response as a community? Perhaps when we rebuild the Bluff we can add Bluff-side lofts and formalize the present situation, keeping them – and the cats – out of sight.

When it builds up in me I call or e-mail the city-powers-that-be and ask that something be done to (both) get them off the street – sometimes forcibly – as well as to protect the fragile Bluff vegetation that keeps erosion to a minimum. I feel I'm looking out for the quality of life for the homeless person AND the community.

When asked by some, “then where will they go” I answer to the Rescue Mission and the city’s Multi-Service Center where help can be obtained. Then some ask “what if they want to live like that” . . . that, my friend, is a choice – and as I said earlier, some have lost the capacity to make that decision; so the community must make it for them – the court’s past rulings about personal rights notwithstanding (which caused the emptying of institutions).

A community’s actions to the most vulnerable in its midst is the measure of its capacity for compassion and humanity.

An Opaque Existence

Renting a house on the Bluff gives one a regular front row seat to the myriad styles of life passing by and the seasons that ebb and flow as the tide just beyond – off to the horizon and Catalina. To many that island is merely a symbol of an unseen, yet known existence just beyond reach of the mainland and our daily life. The expanse separates us, save for a deliberate choice to board a ferry to enjoy what the idyllic village of Avalon can provide – at least for a day.

Framing that view each day (except when that view is clouded by an opaque film of smog or clouds) is the Bluff’s edge. A walking path provides a constant stream of people – biking (people keep ignoring or stealing the No Bikes signage), running, striding, or strolling, alone or hand-in-hand with a loved one. But hidden from sight is an environment concealing groups of people and felines – both could be considered feral in nature and by their habits. Both are sustained by those who, through their kindness, unknowingly enable that very nature. This assistance may give solace to the ones providing the hand-outs, but it is also destroying the very habitat that they enjoy . . . the Bluff itself.

A full, thick row of bushes on the Bluff at Molino is almost gone now, slowly battered down from the traffic of feet climbing over the railing into the bushes to “care” for the cats, as well as from several homeless people camped there.
I have tried to get the city to deal with the feral cats – which can bring disease, and aggravate their domesticated brethren in our yards. I have also breached the people’s space on occasion to discuss shelter and long-term assistance getting off the street, without success. It’s the same between Temple and Redondo; plants and foliage now barely existent due to other homeless camping along the reinforcing wall ledges. I see them daily hauling their stuff and bicycles over the railing even in the rain and wind. I see the cats prowling along the walk looking for food that is delivered regularly.

The week’s downpours have reminded me that the Bluff is quickly eroding, as are the lives of the cats and people who are allowed to remain on the street without hope or a future. Both the Bluff and Lives are literally at a precipice. I have even gone as far as reporting the situation to law enforcement and the parks and rec department, trying to help both life and the Bluff.

Is there no hope for either the lives or the habitat? Or will we just advocate for the cats' right to flourish wherever they wish, ignoring the disease and overpopulation? Will we continue to enable a homeless existence by our so-called help and just turn our eyes away from the despair?

If you want to change something for the better, stop advocating for what enables the situation . . . rather, enable those who can actually provide assistance and a hand up. Help people make the choice that leads to more than what is merely an opaque existence, but to that which fully embraces life.

Lifting the Fog

Living in the desert for 13 years you get used to sunshine and blue sky 360 days a year. The other 5 days clouds finally have enough mass or altitude to surmount the San Jacinto, Santa Rosa and San Bernardino Mountains that encompass the Coachella Valley. One's view of life can become a bit unrealistic given the constant clarity of the days and nights – where every detail of one's surroundings is un-obscured. The night stars are still so bright that those understanding celestial navigation would never lose their way.

Living on the coast, however, one's view is often clouded by an opaque canvas of clouds and fog. Leslie and I have found this affects how we feel, and we have come to appreciate each clear day; Catalina has now become our gauge of clarity as we measure the ability to see shades of the island as we did our mountain ranges. Standing outside the Mission one evening, I watched as a wall of heavy fog slowly made its way up Pacific Avenue; it was an eerie sight, and conjured up thoughts of obscurity. It was an almost suffocating feeling as was the closeness of the city itself that had caused me some initial claustrophobia when I first arrived here.

As on July Fourth, we hoped to sit on our lawn and enjoy a front row seat for the New Year’s midnight fireworks off the Queen Mary (one of the perks of renting a house on Ocean Blvd.). But our enthusiasm was dampened by the thick blanket of fog that had crawled in and had no intention of lifting. At the appointed time we could hear the explosions, but could see nothing – only a few diffused flashes (definitely not a Francis Scott Key moment).

It is interesting to me how many of these elements provide pictures of the homeless we minister to at the Mission. Most of us develop tools to deal with change in the weather and in our lives. We realize that in the occasional fog reality exists. We know the clouds will ultimately clear, that the sunny day is not a constant, that the issues life throws at us can be dealt with given enough time and relationships with those around us – and through faith. But what of those who have lost that ability to deal with the fog, have an overwhelming feeling of obscurity, living a life wherein addictions provide a constant veil – a life now void of relationships and faith? We can't ship them all off to the sunny desert; that wouldn't solve their problem (no matter how many would like to ship the homeless off somewhere out of sight).

What we can do is help them see that there is a tomorrow without clouds and fog; that, like seasons, cycles in nature and life are healthy and inevitable; they can be understood, prepared for, and the cycle of destructive behavior broken. We can help them take advantage of the occasional clear day and see that there is hope in tomorrow and in having faith – faith in God, in themselves, in relationships and society.

Thank you for helping us help people hope.