Escape to Malibu: Epilogue

Even as I am writing, life marched on. My Thoreauian existence on Malibu beach is now at an end too. It came naturally, as death does when respected. It came peacefully as April does on the heels of March; "In like a lion, out like a lamb". The systematic raping of my people goes on unabated as Congress shamelessly & in broad daylight tries to vote itself in another 50% pay increase, moving themselves from the top 2% income-wise in the country to deep in the top 1%.

But I am serene & in the world, but not of the world. My days at Div Hall are over, as are my days as a house wife in Concord. I exchanged my wedding band & engagement ring, bereft of meaning, along with other trinkets at the end of the summer of '82 after fruitlessly negotiating a "no-fault" divorce agreement with Bernie, for a plane ticket south.

I abandoned this God-forsaken nation for three months, after that first separated summer & worked my grief & anger out in the Caribbean with some loving, dark-skinned people there who understood what makes Charity Queen tick.

I did several outrageous acts of rebellion for spite along the way, just to prove I was free & could do anything I wanted; danced unclad (save for body paint, stick-on tattoos & bangles & bells) in the Liberty Bookstore in the combat zone in Boston, cruised every bar in Cambridge & Boston &, like a shark, hit on many an unsuspecting male for one night (or day) fling in my private (or their private) quarters, for the sheer athleticism of it, had my tubes tied (previous to the shark phase), & continued my private counseling, advertising in local papers as a "pastoral therapist", which had most of the "patriarchs" at the D School & in the alumnae clubs apoplectic. I screwed who I wanted to when I wanted to in a variety of exotic locations, always inspecting my prey with an uncompromising clinical eye so as to avoid any nasty diseases, which Praise the Lord, I never contracted. I hurt no one, I just worked out retribution in my own unique way, & satisfied a nearly insatiable curiosity about men. Although Bernie accused me of it in court, I never did "it" for money. I counseled for money, a privilege I had earned. I always did "it" for free.

Needless to say, although I tried, through many court visits to get a just settlement & fair hearing in Massachusetts, I never did. I returned to the Caribbean with Joshua & Adelaide in March of '84 having exhausted all legal routes to fairly being returned to my home, & custody of them, only to have them snatched illegally back off the little island by Bernie with the help of local corrupt authorities. This led to a second incarceration at Muddy River Hospital in Wellesley, Massachusetts, for another five weeks, but this time, with one illegal exception, I was not medicated & finally in a court hearing on April 19, 1984, I was justly released.

I tried to remedy this abomination; this malicious use of court & hospital when I finally moved to L.A. to pursue my musical career, & in the process nursed my way back to self-esteem & financial solvency. My court battles had left me broke, but my spirit remained strong & determined. I pow-wowed with Josh & Adelaide, & with their support headed West, young woman, West. My civil action suit eventually failed.

There are & were friends, true friends I had & have in Massachusetts who supported my rebellion & the principles underlying it. One particular prince, Arthur, bought many a meal & movie ticket for me, brought health food to Muddy River to sustain me, & to this day remains a loyal friend & confidant. I shall not forget his unconditional kindness & love. There are a handful of others.

But mainly I encountered & uncovered numerous hypocrites. "Lawyers" working for Mammon, doctors & nurses working for the same master, & later in L.A., more of the same. To my despair, my own blood & flesh family, most frustrating of all, my own parents in particular, were caught up in Mammon's intricate web of half-truths & money worship.

The entertainment world was (and is) riddled with corruption, deceit, & compromise. Massachusetts, in perspective, became a mere training ground. There was no justice in California either. In fact, the ringleaders of the Federal rapists were & are intensively trained in California. Public agencies do not serve the public.

"Social service" & Social Security may well be renamed "social injustice" & social insecurity". Monies frequently earmarked for the care of the elderly, the mothers & infants & the infirm in either state or federal coffers are dried up & supposed to be replaced by charitable, private sources.

Problem is, private chartable organizations often are wolves in sheeps' clothing. It is 1989. We have seen the rise & fall of many T.V. evangelists.

Between '84 & now, I criss-crossed this country several times, both by car with & without a companion, & by plane, to be true to my musical career & true to my children. When away, I maintained steady contact with them on the phone. When near, we visited restaurants & bowled, skated, skied, & swam together. We hung out at the farm. We talked through the difficulties my path had created for us all.

My children remained & remain loyal & true. They know the difference between right & wrong, good & evil. They know evil is to be resisted, even when manifest in government & those close to them. They know their mother loves them with all her heart & soul.

Since April 19, 1984 I have lived in a variety of situations; communal homes, efficiency apartments, temporarily with friends, Saint Charity, Venice, & fially Malibu where I could slow down enough to put pen to paper. Being an airline pilot's daughter I always flew when most didn't.

This philosophy permeates my life. I work nights when most work days. I wrote during the writers' strike the summer of' '88. I give herbal tea when others prescribe pills, laying on of hands & massage when others would use the scalpel & IVs. Sips of juice & empathetic companionship in lieu of tubes in the belly.

My arrival in Malibu too, was not without drama. I had finally decided to leave yet another Joshua, a blond, blue-eyed 12 string guitar player & singer who had been my steady mate since first coming to California, because of his drinking problem. I found my position in the Malibu Times one Saturday on a scouting trip.

He had been my companion in Saint Charity & Villa Beach in New Hampshire, sharing a winter each on a southern California beach & a North East sea coast beach. Zone 10 & then Zone 2. Our shared journey included a return of the prodigal son episode for him, as he had run off & joined the Marines in his teens after growing up in an upstate New York foster family.

We built a camper together that resembled a little, red, New England, shingled shed to some, an outhouse to others, depending on perspective, which was on the back of a truck he rebuilt on K Street in Villa Beach while planning our return to L.A. I was going to visit. He was going to live.

I came back to the farm long enough to be cast out by my mother, & return again to L.A. for another year. This journey was made in my '76 Toyota station wagon. Alone. My children were not happy about this. But my blood whispered I had to go.

Joshua & I nested briefly in a French-style guest house in Saint Charity Canyon. People, especially street people had "gotten used to seeing us together" as the J.T. song goes, & we enjoyed a kind of street celebrityhood up & down Ocean Avenue in Saint Charity. We had a motley crew of musician friends & other hangers-on; those who rejected or were rejected from the "system" as it used to be called in the sixties. A foster pit-bull, & later a foster teen, Archangel, Jr.

I worked in Saint Charity Hospital in Saint Charity, the highight of which was meeting one my favorite male screen stars who had just had a baby, the lowlight being a 90% C-section rate one weekend & a lecherous anesthetist who kept trying in his stomach-turning way, to seduce me.

Over Christmas I had invited every known living relative to come celebrate, but nobody came, & I instead shared Christ's birthday with a houseful of hungry musicians & other folk who gathered in together to keep out the loneliness they felt inside.

I stopped working at the hospital & went to bat for my foster kid. He had come to me through my dearest friend Shaharazade, a woman who took care of people too, that no one else noticed, by feeding them & bringing clothes to them, & often, to her family's chagrin, bringing them home to live for days, or weeks, or months. Little archangel could not stay with her any longer. Her husband, Poet, would not allow it.

We all moved, after the first of the year to Venice, courtesy of a Christ-motivated black woman social worker, Sarah, at the hospital. She herself had lived there before. She hoped one day to own the building.

She had stayed up one whole night cleaning it for our arrival. We arrived; me, Joshua, & archangel were the official occupants. Unofficially there were 8-12 people every night. And during the day twenty or so in & out. Using the kitchen, using the bathroom & back yard. The back yard was rapidly filling up with a Saint Charity Canyon resident's excessive material goods as he was known as the "Clutter King" by Johnny Carson staff & the National Intruder weekly gossip sheet & had been evicted from his digs in the Canyon. We ran a perpetual yard sale in the back yard to reduce the clutter & produce income for the unemployed.

The intentions were good. But the living situation proved disastrous. In broad daylight a woman walked behind the house slingng a rifle over her shoulder. At night helicopters with search lights flew over head. We were in the middle of "rock city". Drugs & alcohol poured in & out of the house despite the house rule to the contrary I had laid down. My friendship with Sarah strained & severed. I fed countless people at home & on the board walk. I was not making even a small dent in it all. I was caught up in a tide of human refuse. I realized I could not help people who did not want to help themselves.

I found a position caring for an elderly woman on the beach; hired by her "daughter" whom it later turned out, were long-standing lovers. It did not matter to me; it was simply nice to find two people caring for each other, & who cared about me, too, as I cared for them.

My move in was plotted with stealth, to escape Joshua's drunken wrath which came anyway. Despite elaborate efforts to cover my tracks, he had the hunting instinct of a panther & found me. Then he ransacked my apartment & terrorized my elderly charge.

But this time, at last, the cycle of abuse by the individual to abuse by the court was broken.

Eye witnesses, including my employer's daugher Trinity, came forth in court to help me get him out of circulation & behind bars. He was later released, but has ceased harassing me. He was, at one juncture, sought by Malibu, Saint Charity, Venice, & L.A. authorities. At last salaried governmental officials were doing their job & working with me.

My employer, it turned out, had cancer. I began hospice care with her & her daughter. We created a caring team with the couple renting downstairs. My Toyota died of old age & they bought a Ford Escort for me to drive. We shared the work, & when Trinity arrived, over a long weekend, I worked at local hospitals through several agencies.

I also became a life-long friend with Michael & Lisa, my neighbors-across-the-street in Saint Charity Canyon, & in the process, gave up much of my rebelliousness for a renewal of my faith in Christ which was fostered by them. We shared everything important from the first Christmas '87 we met on. They learned all about me, & I all about them. In the light of their genuine love I was able to gain strength to sever unhealthy ties with Joshua & Archangel.

Archangel & I, before L.A. had lived together nine months after my divorce. Not in the same bedroom, in the same apartment. I loved him, but the love was never returned. When the lease was up, we parted. There was some correspondence later. He eventually moved to Miami. We wrote. He wrote. Then I wrote one last time. I could not settle, can not settle for being one of many lovers. Any more than I can find happiness being one with many. Michael & Lisa helped me see this.

Through the example of their marriage I at last saw what I was looking for. And settled for nothing less. In the spring of '88 Michael baptized me into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I gave up old habits. I took a vow of chastity. I went to church every Sunday & began to have friends who genuinely cared for each other & me, as I began to know & love them.

I found true democracy & order based on Christ's teaching. I found love & charity. That first summer I was tested by a new romance, faltered & fell away from my vow, only to be gently helped back to my own original vow. November rolled around & with it Adelaide's birthday. My employer had become bed-ridden & her care shared with another nurse. I left Malibu, my sanctuary, to honor my daughter for her birthday, & while back in New Hampshire, death came gently & quietly to relieve Marrisa-Sue from her earthly suffering.

So at last the sandwich is made & ready to be sliced, eaten, & digested. I am living in the North East now, in a state which doesn't believe in income tax. I am near & active in my children's lives. Bernie & I have no more rancor between us & have celebrated Thanksgiving & Christmas together with the rest of the family.

The quest for my Twin Flame continues. My Soul Mate. He is out there somewhere.

But that is another story, for another day.