South Coast Rock Tour
~ Day 11 ~
Mona Lisa…Street Photo Shoot…Casper…Downtown Depravity.
Last night, and after pulling away from Ella, I was planning
on going the 6th Street. On Fridays and Saturdays, they block off the street
for 5-6 blocks so there are no cars where masses of people roam the blocks
filled with bars. I wanted to experience this and hand out hugs and rocks among
the sea of people. But when I was at a stoplight that would either take me
right, towards downtown, or left, towards the Walmart hotel, I had a strong
sense to go left. It was not easy to obey…. But I surrendered to the Spirit
whose plan is always higher than my own.
Woke up to the hot beams of sunshine pouring into my truck.
The weather has been getting warmer with each day in Austin. Wrote for a couple
hours and then went inside Walmart to buy a pair of shoes for a tiny lady I had
seen near the Arch. She had only one shoe and had layered multiple socks on her
shoeless foot, the last on being a pink hospital sock with rubber grippers on
the bottom. Haven’t seen her since that day, though have carried the new pair
of kicks in my backpack in hopes of providing some sure-footedness to the lady
whose crack addiction has visibly debauched her body and mind.
Found a new parking lot that has become a great home base
when downtown. Molly told me about the high rise public parking lot by the
Convention Center and it is safe, quiet, and allows me to go to my truck for
intermissions without being seen by many people. Grabbed my skateboard and
backpack for a long afternoon and evening on 6th Street. Today I
would get the whole experience of Dirty 6th on a Saturday night. It
was 2pm when I met Mona Lisa. We were both walking towards the direction of the
Salvation Army next to the Arch. She had on a bright red blanket shawl with
white polka dots. “I like your shawl.” --- “Thank you. I like your poncho.” ---
“My name is Katie. Want to walk together for a bit?” --- “Yes, you look nice.
I’m Mona Lisa.” We walked and talked about the Salvation Army where she is
resident at. She had lived there for a while and liked it. Mona was around 45
years old, yet had the mind of a 10 year old. Asked if I could give her
something and she nodded. A rock was placed in her hand that said, “God wants
to be the anchor in your storm. If you grab hold of his outstretched hand, he
will lead you through the troubled waters.” Mona Lisa read it out loud and then
clutched it close to her blanket shawl. We embraced and she kept walking
forward and I turned left towards 6th St. Minus an hour intermission
at Tumbler, I would be on this street for the next 12 hours.
I found a cool spot to set up my rocks. It was near a piano
bar that had paintings of people on the exterior cement walls. Put several of
the pre-drawn rocks on a green hanker chief, laid out a row of Sharpie markers,
and sat on my skateboard while drawing new rocks. Most people walked by without
acknowledging me, though there were three who stopped to look at the rocks.
Most rocks are given away freely, though when “have-much people” stop for a
rock and ask, ”how much for the rocks”, I tell them, “if you don’t have money,
you can have it for free. And if you have money, then give what you think the
rock is worth to you.” Three people in those first two hours stopped (which was
the gift in itself) and gave large amounts, for the rocks they chose must have
been worth much to them.
The sun was shining yet it was in its last hour of bright
light. A man walked by me, then came back to squat down in front of me. “I’m a
photographer. I saw you from across the street and am fascinated with you.
Would you mind if I take some pictures of you?” --- “That’s cool, man. --- “Are
you sure? I don’t want to bother you. I want to set up my flash stands and you
can just keep drawing on your rocks while I take the pictures.” --- “Yeah, I’m
good with that, bro. I’ll make you a rock after this one is finished.” His name
was Stephen Lewis and we spent the next 45min together. He wanted to take
pictures of people walking by and ignoring the girl who wore a brightly colored
poncho while drawing on rocks. It felt like a Nancy Merkling shoot as he talked
about it being “all about the light” as the sun was staring to go down and he
used his flash stand more frequently with the natural light fading in the
horizon. When the early evening light was gone and the streetlights came on,
Stephen packed up his gear minus the camera still in his hand. He came over and
squatted next to me and he asked deeper questions about my story. I asked him
for nuggets of his story as well. It was sweet being photographed, but it was
sweeter that he wasn’t one of the majority who simply walked by with trained
blinders on their eyes. Gave him a “We all have a story” rock. I am going to
email Stephen Lewis soon and tell him the truth of my story as well as thank
him for seeing me in the “light” of where I sat on the sidewalk.
I sat against the piano bar with my rocks till 8:30pm. During that last 2 hours, I met Casper. Could write in great length about this energetic, talkative, friendly street cat. Mainly because he would come visit me every 20min with a new idea, a place for him to take me to, or a person he wanted me to meet. Casper wanted me to be “his girl” and though persistent, he was kind about his approach. He had been on the streets for years and knew the ins and outs of the lay of Austin’s underground world. During one of his multiple visits, I needed to go use the bathroom and not wanting to pay for a meal to use a restaurant’s bathroom, Casper took me to a secret porta potty. He walked me there and told me to never come here alone. I was glad to be “his girl” for those 10min. as we approached the dark side of a building a few blocks away. This was a meth hangout and the people around the blue box toilet were paranoid of this new girl on the block until Casper put his arm around me and told them I was “his girl and cool.” I’m well acquainted with dirty porta pottys, though this one rose the #1 on the chart when I opened the door that wouldn’t lock from the inside. Saw a shadow through the crack by the paraphernalia-laced floor and hearing Casper’s voice, knew he was guarding the door. He had told me that many women get jumped and raped here. This would be the last time I used this location, with or without my bodyguard rent-a-boyfriend. I love going to the darkest places of any town (each town has one or more), though there are places that one should avoid, not because of fear, rather because the light of Jesus is not welcome in the darkness of that demon-claimed territory.
It had been almost 7 hours spent on 6th street
and the streets were about to close at 9am. I was stoked about the different
environment that this would produce on this mission field, but needed to take
an intermission and secure my armor as well as restock my rocks. Went back to
Tumbler on level 2 of the parking building. Wrote, made phone calls, and prayed
in my truck for an hour and a half. When 6th was returned to, it
surely had a different vibe. People had multiplied exponentially and the volume
of music had been turned up. My heartbeat quickened as I went back to same piano
bar spot. Set up my rocks and a few people bought ones that spoke to them in
ways I listened to as they shared the huge impact of such a small object. An
hour later, a man with a big black bag started setting up his “shop” next to
me. He didn’t speak a word to me as he did this. It was made very clear to me
with that this was “his spot.” His street name was “English” as he was from
Africa and his English was good, but still somewhat a struggle. Casper had
warned me about this musician who had a dummy doll as part of his act. I stayed
for a while till Casper appeared out of nowhere and told me that English had
given him a few bucks to get me to move from his spot. I packed up willingly
and went over to apologize to English. He was kind about the intrusion, though
this kindness was also an act.
My heavy pack on my back and skateboard in my arm, I walked
the loud, busy street for a long time. Will keep my descriptions of Dirty 6th
to a minimum, and will just say it was, indeed, dirty… alcohol excess, drug
induced mania, girls wearing next-to-nothing clothing, guys making comments and
gestures that the lack of clothing encouraged, bar bouncers calling people to
come inside, paid women dancing in the windows of the clubs, and the jazz and
country music that plays during the day now traded for heavy bass thumping
get-your-drunken-groove-on music. If my description sounds judgmental, so be
it. But my mind and heart was not judging the environment, rather it was
grieving for it… and the people who were attracted to this depravity. I stayed on
Dirty 6th till 2am that night. I met beautiful people who were
slightly buzzed, completely wasted, had normal pupils, dilated pupils, wore
many clothes, wore mainly skin, went home to a bed, went home to their
cardboard box. I handed out more hugs than rocks that night. So many people
just need a real, genuine, no-strings-attached hug… so many people. After
walking around, I set up my rocks in a spot that hadn’t been claimed and people
would come up to me and say, “I need a hug. You look like someone who I could
get a hug from.” Or “Everyone here sucks. Can you just give me a hug?” A true
hug can be a healing agent when given with pure motives. Tonight, people had
come out to party, numb their pain with alcohol and drugs, have sex for
pleasure or companionship, adding pain to their existing pain and loneliness to
their lack of companionship. But every person out tonight has a story. And
although the ones I met weren’t in the state of mind to share their story in
words, many shared their need for a hug… which told me much about their story
in other ways.
We are all in need of love.
Love comes in different forms.
Notice people.
Look into their eyes.
Give them the hug they need.
Unshakable Peace and Purpose
Cling to the Rock
Psalm 18:1-2
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