"Mahomet cald the Hill to come to him. And when the Hill stood still, he was neuer a whit abashed, but said; If the Hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet wil go to the hil." (Sir Francis Bacon 1625 - Essays)
This homelessness business is getting on my tits so I have decided to claim the status of 'homeless' and to play with it very much like a practitioner of Zen might do. Since the passing of the festivities, and the adoption of an altered attitude, my spirits are renewed; my sense of humour has returned, as has my joie de vivre. I must admit that lately, especially around the build-up to Christmas and New Year, I had felt identified with the label of homeless with a resulting feeling of dis-empowerment, very much as if I were at the mercy of market forces, the dire social housing situation, or the apparent ineptitude of the council's caseworkers, many of whom seem to have been employed because of a lack of empathy, or sheer bloody-mindedness, or could it be that brushing shoulders with 'the unwashed' over a period of years has caused them to become riddled with jaded and unbridled cynicism?
Anyhow, bitchiness aside, only a few moons ago, during a recent moment of meditative immobility, a thought came into my awareness: could it possibly be true that the sages of old were indeed right in stating simply that if you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change? Armed with a fluffy warm feeling - a frisson of anticipation - I set out to perform a mind experiment, namely, that of changing my reality, or, to be more precise, changing my perception of reality...................in real time.
So, there I was, sitting on my son's houseboat huddled round the wood burner with a mug of Yorkshire tea in hand, when out of the blue I had a realisation that I would need to set out a short-term temporal marker for the experiment to have any validity. The following day would be my late-father's birthday (29th January), but then I thought that it might be best if I did not set a date as my milestone, but instead, some colourful future event, albeit, I had no events scheduled in my diary. So, I decided to create a memorable event there and then. The memorable occasion sprung to mind, as if it had been coiled in readiness for quite some time, and then, suddenly, I knew what I needed to do - I would leave the houseboat - permanently.
Although quitting the boat, and the relative security and sanctuary it offered felt a bit drastic, I had been toying with the idea of somehow getting back onto dry land for some time. All I needed to do was to make a decision, and to see it through. After all, I could stay at my daughter Katie's place in Bracknell part time, and also visit my friends up in North Yorkshire, who had said that I could stay with them in their charming cottage by the moors on a needs basis. At any rate, as soon as I had made the decision to relinquish the boat to my son, and to close another chapter of my chequered life to date, a triune of events immediately ensued, which, without exaggeration, left me scratching my head with a sense of wonder, marvel, and surprise; namely:
I felt a wonderful sense of relief. With a spring in my step, reminiscent of Freddy Mercury with his Marigold gloves, I started humming "I wanna break free", and proceeded to clean and dust the narrow-boat with the verve and skill of an experienced houseboat keeper.
Around mid-morning, as I was making a welcomed cuppa, the phone rang. It was a representative of the council asking me whether I would be available for an assessment for supported housing. We arranged to meet at Katie's place the following day (D-day) at four-thirty.
I had only just closed the call when the phone rang again. It was a representative of the Department of Work and Pensions asking me whether I could answer a few questions in order that a decision could be made with respect to my appeal for being granted 'habitual residency status', and thus receiving state benefits forthwith. Within a matter of twenty minutes, we terminated the call with a guarantee that I would be inserted into 'the system' - backdated to boot!
I realise that the logical fallacy 'post hoc ergo propter hoc' might dispel the idea of there being any temporal sequence which appears to suggest causality - in other words, did my experiment of simply visualising, and focusing my attention, and intention on an imminent move cause other agents and agencies to come to my aid, and assist in the realisation of my wish to experience a situation that had changed?
I'd like to think so. Suffice it to say that, in the space of three days, I have said goodbye to the swans, and left the marina; I can now bid for council properties online; my rent will be covered by a social trust; my belongings are stored in an Audi which was donated to me, and is parked behind Katie's house, and now I find myself writing this blog from Ampleforth in the north of England. I am on the move now; I am on the land, and I feel that I am on the mend.
To be continued ................