Inspiration

"This song is brand new. I only wrote it a few weeks ago, so if I forget the words, bear with me."

It was an artsy, intimate setting over at the Asbury Park Music In Film Festival, and many of the faces - my Tent City friends, a mix of volunteers, advocates, and former residents - were quite familiar. Nevertheless, as I stood in front of the crowd, I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, my adrenaline soaring. That studio may as well have been a stadium.

But as I heard the introduction of my newest musical composition, "I've Got a Story" start to play, I jumped in. My eyes struggled against the bright stage lights as they scanned the outlines of my friends' faces. Indeed, as the song proclaimed, they all had a story. They all had a name. And we were not very different at all. I sang to and about each and every one of them, as well as those who were there only in spirit.

The day was a joyful one, a reunion and a reminder of the paths that crossed along a winding dirt road. I felt proud that my video for another song I'd written, "One Voice," had been accepted as an entry into the festival, and prouder still that I had the opportunity to perform live.

But there was more work to be done.

About two weeks after the Asbury Park Music in Film Festival, the tremendous degree of inspiration I'd received along that dirt road came to fruition. The album I'd been working on - composing, producing, mixing, remixing - for the past year was finally complete and sent to the distributor. It is due for release on May 5 - which is now less than forty-eight hours away.

I've got a story too, one that I've attempted to condense into ten songs. I wonder if my listeners will be able to hear the elusive bits of my heart poured into each note: the subtle shifts when powerful emotions hindered an otherwise-flawless take; the allegories and the metaphors in lyrics scribbled on the back of a Harbor Freight receipt; the piano progression that took me weeks to perfect.

I wonder how many are aware of the number of times I was filled with doubt, questioning not only the journey itself, but what would come of it. There I was, never having been homeless myself, never having pitched a tent, never having slept outdoors, suddenly drawn into a world I knew nothing about and a calling I didn't think I was equipped to handle. I felt so strongly that providence had led me there, yet there were many moments I tried to walk away, returning to the life I knew before the people of Tent City left their footprints on my heart. At times I didn't have much recourse but to just strap myself in and take the ride. But with each song I wrote, another doubt disappeared.

My listeners may never know the full breadth of my experience, but whenever those songs are played, I hope they are able move people in spirit and to action.

I hope they will inspire their audience just as the people and spirit of Tent City inspired me.

I hope I sell so many copies that I'm able to single-handedly finance an intentional community for the homeless where people need not fear harassment, demolition, or eviction ever again. Hey, I can dream, right?

Yes, I can. And I will. Because as grass can still grow through cracks in the sidewalk, even amid hopelessness and uncertainty, there will always be room for inspiration.

And always, ALWAYS room for dreams.

COMING SOON!!! :-D

Refuge

The clock read 1:35.

It was the second time I'd woken up. The first time was shortly after I fell asleep, not long after 11:30.

But I was in my home, the home I'd lived in for almost five years, in a comfortable bed, the wind noisily stalking the opposite side of the sliding glass door. I was warm, and I was safe. The thought that roused me from my slumber was of my friends who weren't quite so lucky.

Former site of "Golan Heights" homeless encampment

Approximately twelve hours before, I'd learned that another homeless camp was being dismantled. This one was home to a dozen residents, first settled in January. Unfortunately, the land they were occupying was privately owned, and they were forced by the landlord to vacate the premises.

They'd just received a visit from Monmouth PATH social workers, who had vowed to help the folks there in whatever way they could in terms of supportive housing and other resources. They'd also been visited by my friends from Be The Change, as well as a kind woman named Kelly, who came bringing a generous amount of food that she had prepared for them.

Now, they were being scattered to the four winds once again. I was certain Minister Steve would find them at least a temporary place to stay, but wasn't sure where it would be. And with more snow on the way, the thought of whatever uncertainty they faced weighed heavy on my heart.

The clock read 2:20. I sat up; the dim room silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves outside. A vague sense of helplessness gnawed at me. I checked my phone. No new texts, no calls, no recent chat room messages, no replies to my Facebook post. I got up, paced for a bit, let the cat into the room; he promptly took his usual spot at foot of my blanket. I checked on the kids, who were fast asleep, and inadvertently woke up the dog, her paws tapping against the wooden floor as she trotted to the bottom of the stairs.

And my mind raced. Vera and her boyfriend had just lost their apartment. Nancy was already sick, and would she be able to keep her dog? Jeanine needed propane for her stove, and without being able to cook, was she hungry? These people had started to bond as a community; would they be separated? Did the owner of the property, in his sense of urgency to reclaim what was his, realize it was going to snow?

I went back to my room and sat at the edge of the bed. I took a deep breath, said a short prayer, curled back up under the covers. I wondered what the woods might sound like through the thin walls of a tent.

Things will work out, I told myself. Everyone is safe. Minister Steve will see to it.

The time was 3:11. I'd have to be up in just under three hours. There had to be something for me to do during the day once the kids were at school: make more calls, drive people to shelter. Something. Anything besides just standing idly by.

I shut my eyes, took another breath, and thought of the last song I'd heard before going to sleep: "Candle On the Water."A permanent musical fixture in my memory since childhood, and this night, a lullaby to myself.

And somewhere between "lighted by a prayer" and "keep holding on, you'll make it," I drifted off.

"Get A Job..."

A burden to bear: Jack (left) and Joe load up their belongings
after being evicted from their room at the Capitol Motel.

Lakewood is home to what's known as a "muster zone" - an area where day laborers gather awaiting employment by contractors. Former Tent City residents Joe and Jack frequent the site, but are still struggling. Winter is generally difficult for day laborers, as manual labor and landscaping projects are in short supply. When it snows, that might mean some work shoveling and the like, but such jobs are few and far between.

Both men own a fair amount of tools, accounting for roughly a quarter of their belongings, which gives them an advantage. Even still, they must compete with a sizable Latino community, for whom the going hourly rate can be stretched further by the communal living situations to which they are accustomed. Not to mention that, over the course of the past six decades, it has become increasingly difficult to afford housing on one salary.

The room shared by the two men, at a cost of $800 per month.

When Tent City was demolished by the local government, Jack opted to take a $3500 buyout in lieu of the year of free housing. He used the money to pay child support. Meanwhile, Joe had arrived in Tent City after the census and was not eligible for either the housing or the buyout. Fortunately, Jack and Joe decided to team up, pool their resources and make do sharing a hotel room at the Capitol for $800 per month - until work slowed and they started to fall behind. When Joe's employer fell ill and could no longer provide work, they lost their housing.

Now, they've resorted to once again camping in the woods.

"Why can't they just get a job?" That statement reflects one of the most common misconceptions about the homeless.

The truth is, a New Jersey resident would have to bring in more than twenty-two dollars an hour just to afford the basic necessities: a one-bedroom apartment, a used car, utilities, phone, food, and clothing.

For those who rely on manual labor, and who were not privileged with the silver spoon of a good economic foundation for education or job training, it's a losing battle. Moreover, the ratio of affordable housing to people in need is scarce at best, waiting lists are several months or even years, and with unskilled labor in lesser demand, the need is not shrinking anytime soon.

"Get a job." Often, people work two and three jobs. But if they fall behind because of illness and lack the insurance that many minimum-wage jobs do not provide, they could easily lose everything. Including their jobs.

Folks like Joe and Jack are working, yet cannot afford housing. If we as a society cannot supply more jobs or $22 per hour as a living wage, the only feasible solution is to lower the cost of housing.

With limited options and employment prospects waning,
Joe and Jack set up camp in the woods.

It’s been proven that a Tiny Home can be built and rented for as little as $150 per month – an amount that is within the economic means of workers like Jack and Joe. Tiny Homes ensure that even those working a minimum wage job would be able to afford the basic amenities.

Anyone who says “get a job” to a homeless person ought to be pitied for not understanding basic economics – and you can pity the homeless person for having to exist in an insensitive society that fails to provide an economic niche in which he or she can survive.

Out in the Cold

We’re so very fortunate, you and I.

Wherever you are, I can assume you’re reading this from the safety of your home or another location where you can watch the snow fall from a nearby window, or check the weather on your phone.

But tonight, my heart is heavy with the thought of those who are not so fortunate.
As we sit out the storm, four people were putting up tents in the middle of the woods, beset by the sleet, snow, and wind.

For two years, they’d made their home in an encampment in Toms River. Three months ago, just like several other homeless camps in the area, it was shut down by the local government with the notion in mind that the residents would be shuffled off to another town. With the help of Mike McNeil of STEPS (Solutions to End Poverty Soon) and Paul Hulse of HAVEN/Beat the Streets, they’d been placed in a hotel. Today, in the midst of the harsh winter weather, they were evicted from that hotel because their temporary housing term had ended, and they were left with no options. The female of the group, distraught and overwhelmed by the stress of relocating, dissolved into tears. Fortunately, they were assisted by other homeless who were living in woods nearby, who helped move their belongings and clear away ice and snow to make room for their makeshift homes.

I’m left wondering how many more tributes I need to dedicate to those who perish as a result of these faulty measures before someone in the political arena takes notice – and, more importantly, takes action.

I’m left wondering why so many of the poor and needy are caught in this seemingly endless cycle of band-aid solutions, and why so few politicians are willing to exercise compassion, address the core issues, and implement a more proactive and comprehensive approach. Why people in power are so unwilling to step up to the plate and change a broken system that would force people to resort to pitching tents in a snowstorm.

I’m left feeling helpless, frustrated, and angry, because our elected officials prefer to seek the easy way out to making just and moral decisions. Anti-homelessness laws are rampant throughout the country because they've chosen “out of sight, out of mind” over “love thy neighbor.” Ocean County, for example, adopted a policy of giving the homeless a one-way bus ticket to the Atlantic City Rescue Mission – which, incidentally, now no longer accepts homeless from outside Atlantic County. It is there that the politicians demonize the homeless and blame them for the ill fate of the city’s casinos.

You and I, friends, are so very fortunate. And perhaps upon reading this, you will take a moment to pray for the ones who are not.

But there’s more we can do. We need to tell the powers that be that yes, “we the people” care that people are being literally left out in the cold. There is power in numbers, and if enough of us care, and enough of us talk, they have to listen.

Because no matter what their circumstances, all lives matter.

Stay well, and stay warm, my friends. And let us be the change we wish to see.

Half of a Whole

Former Tent City resident Marek Mroczek

"My life is finito."

Even just reading those words stung, a ripple of sorrow that spread hard and fast.

Igor and Marek been virtually inseparable, so much so that was rare to see one without the other. They were next-tent neighbors in Tent City and roommates at the motel where they were placed after Tent City was shut down. There, Marek endured a bedbug infestation and frozen pipes in addition to poor health. Despite the sub-par conditions, in the wake of the social isolation imposed on them by Tent City's closure, it was a comfort to know Igor and Marek at least had each other.

But Marek succumbed to heart failure yesterday, and those words - "My life is finito" - were Igor's response.

Dawn Dixon, outside her former home in Lakewood's Tent City

And Marek's passing called to mind another recent loss: that of Dawn Dixon.

Both had lived in Tent City and were relocated away from their home and community by Lakewood Township. Both health problems that might not have taken their lives had their circumstances been different.

And for the respective people with whom they shared the best of their lives and memories - namely Dawn's partner John and Marek's soul-brother Igor - the mere thought of life without them seems too painful to bear.

Life as they once knew it, by their friend's side, is forever changed. And to them, it feels like it's over. Finito.

The death of someone they loved dearly isn't the only major loss they've suffered this past year.

I remember whenever there was a death in Tent City, people rallied around one another, hugged one another, cried with one another. Minister Steve would give a sermon in honor of the deceased, offering words of hope and comfort. There were tasks to keep them occupied when they might otherwise fall into the trap of isolation and despair.

The residents of Tent City were not just individuals, couples, or partnerships: they were a community that was indeed greater than the sum of its parts. But that community was broken apart because the powers that be did not see its inhabitants as neighbors. They saw only a ramshackle "eyesore" of makeshift tents and shanties. They saw arbitrary faces that reflected various degrees of hardship, but not actual people worthy of dignity.

Those in power paid little regard to the very human needs of community, purpose, and belonging. In their haste to rid their own community of the homeless, they applied little more than a soiled bandage to a gaping wound.

And now, for some of those people, that wound has grown, while their inner circle has been exponentially diminished. How to begin again, how to thrive, when it feels as if someone has taken a hammer to your sense of hope time and again.

Pray, friends, for those who are living with such profound loss, that perhaps we can in some small way help them feel less alone.

Rest in peace, Marek and Dawn. You matter. And you are missed.

The Soul of the Moment

In late January, my mother called to inform me that she'd seen an ad for the Asbury Park Music in Film Festival, and that they were accepting submissions for music videos. She suggested that I enter my video for a song I'd written back in June, just around the time of Tent City's demolition.

Although I'm quite proud of the song itself, I considered the video more of an impromptu compilation than anything else. I put together a collection of stills and clips to go with the song so people would have a visual without the painstaking process of watching me sit at my keyboard and cry - which, by the way, I actually did at around three and a half minutes in.

This past Sunday, my friend Jack Ballo, director of Destiny's Bridge, contacted me to let me know that my submission was not only accepted, but would be included with the Destiny's Bridge screening as part of the "Tent City Block." I was also invited to perform an additional song at the event alongside other musician-activists. Soon after I posted the good news on Facebook, Tom Mongelli of Townsquare Media reached out and asked if he could interview me about the song and what inspired it.

In October 2013, I took a drive down an unpaved road in Lakewood, found myself remarkably inspired on many levels, and proceeded to share that experience through blogs, videos, and song.

It wasn't only about the opportunity to translate my own observations into art. Often I would visit Tent City and sing songs with residents who themselves were musicians, who would accompany me on background vocals, piano, guitar, or harmonica. Music became our common ground, a powerful reminder of our shared humanity.

And what's more, I'm confident that the art inspired by Tent City will in turn inspire others to use their own gifts, artistic or otherwise, for the greater good.

It is said that the mere act of creating is what gives life itself meaning, but it is a monumental blessing when your art itself takes on meaning and purpose beyond merely creating for its own sake.

And when art is paired with purpose, it does more than inspire. It can be a powerful catalyst for change.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

For those interested in attending the "Tent City Block" on Saturday, April 11 at the Asbury Park Music and Film Festival, here are the details:

Destiny's Bridge
with Director and Tent City founder Minister Steve Brigham Q&A
Feature Film
Directed by Jack Ballo
Time: 1:00-2:30

The Voice: A Song For Tent City
with Performance by Lisa Ferrara and other friends of Tent City
Music Video
Directed by Lisa Ferrara
Time: 2:30-3:00pm

Location: Salt Studios (658 Cookman Ave. Suite 5, 732-775-9300)

Open Heart

"You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." (Matthew 5:14-16)

This past week, I learned something priceless about how being the light of the world doesn't only mean letting people see your good deeds.

In response to a post I made expressing gratitude for my family and friends on Thanksgiving, an acquaintance of mine decided to address me with some ugly words ("phony," "monster," "grotesque" etc.) as he believes that celebrating Thanksgiving glorifies the slaughter of animals and the genocide of Native Americans.

And then, he decided to follow up by going right for the emotional jugular and offering his opinion on the "real" reasons I was involved with Tent City.

My initial response was to ignore and dismiss everything he said as the ramblings of a bitter, self-hating individual who had clearly lost any connection to reality. But just as a stopped clock is right twice a day, there was some element of truth amid even his most vicious lies. Things that have, indeed, made me feel at least embarrassed.

Ultimately, I decided to respond by directly addressing his accusations, and making it clear that I would not continue the discussion until he was able to get a grip on his anger.

Ever hear the song "Secrets" by Mary Lambert? The first part goes like this:

I've got bipolar disorder
My shit's not in order
I'm overweight, I'm always late
I've got too many things to say
I rock mom jeans, cat earrings
Extrapolate my feelings, my family is dysfunctional
But we have a good time killing each other

They tell us from the time we're young
To hide the things that we don't like about ourselves
Inside ourselves
I know I'm not the only one who spent so long attempting to be someone else
Well I'm over it

I don't care if the world knows what my secrets are
I don't care if the world knows what my secrets are
So what...so what...so what...

I love it because all of the above (except for the part about the cat earrings) applies to me.

And, yeah. SO WHAT.

Perhaps there's someone else out there who has had a similar experience and your story helps them feel less alone, even empowered. And if you own your truth - including your transgressions, your flaws, and your pain - no one can use it to hurt you.

By all means, stay safe. But don't be afraid to fly that freak flag now and then. Because your darkness might be a light for someone else along the way. Because a truly open heart has both an entrance to let others in and an exit to let yourself out.

Let it shine. All of it.