Victor's Recap

The first stranger I remember encountering was a homeless Black woman in DTLA. Before asking for money, she started with: "Please don't laugh."

I asked how her relationship with God was, because I had just started getting to know Him. She said she had a very close relationship with God. Then she gave me my first validation from a stranger: "My spirit is telling me to tell you — trust the first thought. Any thought after that is not the right thought."

I relayed it back to her and pointed at the book I was carrying — Outwitting the Devil — and validated her advice. She asked for a hug and I gave her one. She thanked me for bringing her positivity.

She also gave me her own example of how she discerns God's guidance. When she's about to enter an intersection, God nudges her not to go in that direction. She feels it but goes anyway out of curiosity. Then she later finds out why she wasn't supposed to go there.

She asked for $10. I gave her $20.

Before the homeless woman — I actually had to choose engagement with a homeless guy wearing Deadpool pants outside a Trump protest rally at night in DTLA. I recalled him because the book I was carrying when I met the woman was the book I had been searching for Richard to give to him.

When I first saw him out of the corner of my eye I was already heading home. God told me to turn around and talk to him. I was like: "What? That's weird. Why would I do that?" There wasn't much follow-up — just a nudge whenever I was about to make the wrong decision and leave this unresolved.

I approached him and asked what happened. He told me his name was Richard and that he had everything stolen — it was in his car when he left his hometown. Idaho or Iowa, one of the two. I don't remember that detail. But I remember him saying his guitar was in the car.

I offered him music through my phone — to re-experience something homeless life doesn't give you access to anymore. He also shared his own viewpoints from the life he'd lived. He observed that Obama was one of the only presidents who used power to kill a single man through assassination — Osama bin Laden. I hadn't thought about it that way.

While sitting with him on the corner I felt pulled to hand out flyers to people passing by. I noticed people avoiding me, not making eye contact, walking around as if I didn't exist. That was when I had the realization of what being invisible felt like.

When I turned to Richard with my surprise, he just smiled and stared out into the distance and shook his head. Like he'd been erased from the face of the earth. He was saying that from lived experience — and smiling because he saw me experience it for the first time.

After making this discovery I stood up and approached a woman passing by — I wanted to share what I'd just learned with someone who was doing the actual behavior. Fortunately she was a teacher. I introduced her to Richard, shared what I'd learned about him, and asked her about herself. I got to see them look at each other without boundary. Two humans looking at each other like people. The homeless man got to be Richard for an experience again. She showed sympathy but also respect — no grief, just understanding. Richard ended the night genuinely calling me his friend.

I didn't offer him to sleep over. That wouldn't solve a problem, just create temporary reliance.

The next time I felt nudged to revisit him, the weather was getting colder. I was nudged to give him Darn Tough socks — more durable than regular socks, effective for homeless life. When I found him first try and offered them, he told me he doesn't like wearing socks. Same here. The police came over delivering food for the homeless. I gave the socks to them for anyone who needed them. They knew Richard and cared about their community. Good to see.

This time Richard wasn't in his Deadpool pants. I asked what happened. He said he got stabbed and another homeless guy stole the pants. I was shocked — I just gave my surprised commentary. Let the absurdity land out loud. Richard was getting to vent, release some unspoken tension. He even asked if I'd visit around Thanksgiving or Christmas. I said probably not — I had friends I planned to see then, but I might come back. He was understanding.

That was the last I saw of him. Because I didn't find him when I searched with the book. But he caused me to carry the book that I'd meet with the Black homeless woman whose name I don't remember, but who is spiritually unforgettable.

A young man came up towards me at night and asked if I could spare a dollar. I asked him what for. He said for a cigarette — he honestly needed one. I told him: "Let's go together, I'll pay. You tell me your story. What's your name?"

"Talon. I don't like that name. My mom gave it to me."

"Oh wow — Talon. That sounds pretty cool, like from a hawk? Pretty badass."

He smiled and looked like he'd never seen anyone compliment the name he hates before.

I asked how he ended up where he was. He said he has mental health problems. I asked what he meant. He said he has negative thoughts about himself. That's when I shared my awareness technique — whenever I hear those thoughts, tell them to "get the fuck out of here," like three times, then they go away. "Be your best friend. Back yourself up. That's not you attacking you — that's you letting yourself get attacked." That shifted his perspective.

He told me about an abusive relationship with his ex and didn't know how to overcome it. I told him: from her perspective she's learning life too. Maybe you two were a lesson you had to teach each other — so in the next relationship you do better than the last. It's not over, it's an actual phase.

I gave him enough for a meal at the convenience store. We shook hands and said goodbye. I didn't see him again after that.

The first time I got scammed by someone needing gas — but just needing money, not for gas. Refilling my own gas in Pensacola, Florida. A Black man approached me saying he needed gas to take his family home.

In my head: "You walked all the way out here by yourself and left your family behind?" So I asked — where is your car, do you have the gas container — I offered to drive him to make things easier. Financial cautious Victor: I have to make sure this is real. Not: I just invited a potential killer into my vehicle.

I kept asking questions that weren't getting straight answers and eventually realized — okay, this is just theater for money. So I told him: "Look, clearly you need the money if you're willing to go this far to pretend a scenario just for money. I'll give you the twenty because you've gone this far for it."

The guy didn't say anything. Took the money, thanked me, and left. I didn't have the truth I was looking for. But what arrived instead was forgiveness and understanding.

A man sitting alone outside a Super Target. He looked sad and depressed. Given the timing and positioning I was already like: "Do I have to, God?" You know the drill — hey, are you doing okay, what's wrong.

I don't remember the details of the conversation, but I remember him sharing how he was the black sheep of the family. The one they all look down on. The failure who wouldn't amount to anything. I was like: "Fuck them. You're you, they're them. You can decide for yourself what your capabilities are — but also, why do you need to compare yourself to them? Just do what you can given what you've got. That should be enough. You seem much kinder than them. That's already more valuable."

I saw that lift a burden he'd been carrying. He recognized what I was saying — and that he was in fact kinder than the rest of his family.

I asked for his first name, he gave it. When I asked for his last name, he said he wasn't giving that out. Fair enough. He mentioned his family is well known — another reason for the privacy. But it revealed to me the inner family mechanics of this dynamic: where kindness gets undervalued if money isn't generated from it.

A man in his early twenties charging at a Tesla station next to me. I was pumping my tires with air and he asked if he could borrow it. Sure — then I asked him how his relationships were going. By this point my questioning is already being directed at root causes to see how that affects a person's current state.

He said he just got out of a relationship and it wasn't for him. I congratulated him on his growth and asked: "Did you have to go through an insecurity phase too, from the first time?" He smiled and laughed — sucking teeth, widening eyes — yeah, I remember the cringe.

We exchanged experiences for a bit, giving commentary. When charging was done and we had to leave, we were rooting for each other like brothers on our journeys.

This phase taught me about the unseen efforts and support of acknowledging the intent of love and hope — even when what we want hasn't arrived yet, but we're still moving toward it without giving up.

An 88rising concert with my friend Kris and his friends in LA. I was at that right balance of drunk and high — full on wide smile constantly, good mood. Nothing could go wrong.

Until Joji started to perform with a sad song. And Rich Brian's songs of sad relationships. This caused me to reflect on my own journey — seeing Evelyn's side through the lens of the singers and their failed relationships and the pain they carry. That level of empathy caused me to cry, then collapse onto the ground and lose myself through darkness.

I actually felt darkness. My soul at my core — the light within me — was literally grabbed by forces I'd never felt before in my life. While experiencing this, my awareness was picking it up, piecing together: is this what drunk high people feel when they reach this level of negative emotion and sadness?

My friend was there for me. He recognized the state because he'd been there once too. It was bad.

I heard outside voices speak to me rather than from me. "Do you ever wonder what it would feel like to lose your best friend?" — followed by my hand slapping my friend vertically on the face while not being able to feel the contact. I was not in control. I couldn't find the ground. I was floating in a body that didn't know where it was.

"Do you ever wonder what it was like to go to jail?" And a visual of being in prison appeared. The voices were looking for a yes. But I never gave permission — not because I wasn't curious, but more like: I didn't understand what was happening enough to respond like it mattered more than returning to orientation.

"Is this what it's like to be possessed by demons?" Hearing voices of "Do YOU" rather than "I wonder" — I recognized the difference. I knew what wasn't me.

I lost my phone that day. And almost lost my friend. I was without my phone for about four days and couldn't contact Kris to apologize until I got it back.

My intuition led me to call my phone through my computer using Google Phone. A woman had handed it to the police — so I knew it was safe. God directed me: "You have your wallet, go watch a movie, enjoy your Sunday." And I was like: if that's what you want, sure, nothing else to do and might as well.

After the movie, walking back home, I stumbled across a faded Black man who couldn't make eye contact. He was looking for the Pasadena movie theater to get to his car. "Buddy, you're in downtown LA — you're far away." But I recognized his state. Faded, no battery in his phone, lost, alone.

I offered to let him walk to my apartment to charge his phone and try to call his friend. As we walked we talked about relationships as I usually do. He mentioned he was a Taurus — and I recalled that Evelyn was a Taurus, so I wanted to confirm behaviors with him. He said the accuracy was crazy. Good to know.

Once at the apartment his phone was charged, but his friend never answered. I'd already pieced together the sub-arc: "Okay, looks like I have to be the one to drive you home. It's your lucky day — you get to ride in the Tesla." He was still shy but grateful. On the drive to his car, thirty minutes from my place, he shared about his relationship conflict. I don't remember the details. But I remember his closure: "I needed this today." He asked for my number in case he wanted to reach out — despite me not having my phone.

What I got out of this was recognizing the pattern: I was you just the other day, so I had to help you — because it's like helping myself from another pattern carrier.

I hadn't given up on retrieving my phone because Evelyn's number was on it. I couldn't lose the phone because of that potential loss. God kept reminding me.

When I was heading to the police station I was running — because if I slowed down it showed I didn't care as much. I hated those push-and-run moments throughout the journey. But actions needed bodily proof. I retrieved my phone with 27% battery remaining.

The first thing I did was call Kris and apologize. I explained how I felt possessed and told him I was going to make up the trust. He was open with me about how the slap made him feel — like he didn't know who I was. It hit his own family betrayals from the past. Kris was like his brother even though not blood related — closer than with his actual blood relatives who had mistreated him.

That apology saved a bond from collapse. Any delay after, without explanation, would have been another form of abandonment by family.