It's so dark I cannot see the road, or the sides of the road or what is out there beyond the road. And it rains hard, so what I can see is slick black asphalt. A slick shine that reflects up on itself.

The forest is out there--I feel it press around the road and the even the car.  The life filled forest and all it's density.  Pine, cedar, redwood, oak, maples. Underbrush too, blackberry brambles, ferns, that holly that grows close to the ground with those wicked sharp leaves.

How do I know all this?

I grew up in the northwest and I've lived in Oregon for most of my adult life.  I've been in the Northwest woods. I've hiked. But the funny thing is. I really don't know what's out there, in this specific black night. I don't know what animals lurk and nest in these woods. I don't know where all the cabins are or what the people, in those cabins, are all about.

I do know that I'm in my car, blazing away at sixty miles per hour on the blacked out back road past Corvallis and headed to Newport on the Oregon Coast.  And I also know, as usual, I'm late. 

I just drive like an arrow is shot, into the black night.  I cannot be late but if I am late, that's fine.  I cannot get into a wreck.  Being in a wreck would be worse.  What I need is to pay close attention, follow that one faint line at the center of the road, stay in my damn lane and keep the wheels on the road. What I also need to do is focus, which I do.

Faith, not fear, my therapist likes to tell me when fear gets bigger than faith.

Which is most of the time.

Faith is not easy for me.

Faith in what?

She means faith in what I cannot see, of course.  Faith in something larger than me.  God?  No way.  That word is so political, I cannot make it work.  Religion?  No.  Same problem.

Faith.  It's a mystery word I cannot define and yet, there is it.  Invest in faith she tells me, not fear.
Invest to me means, "put my attention here."

And why not? On this road, and in life, so much could go wrong. One wrong turn or an oncoming driver could swerve and that would be it. Life over, twisted wreckage or at the very least, serious pain.

So it's faith, not fear as I drive from Portland to Newport in order to speak to about thirty people at what's called The Nye Beach Writer's Series. The group calls themselves "Writer's on the Edge," and tonight--velvety night all around--it's a good name. I'm on the edge as I go to see these writer's on the edge and talk about writing and the quest for the meaning of life through the arrangements and rearrangement of words on the page.

Three things are in my mind as I hurtle along in the dark night, full of caution and full of focus to keep my car on the road.

First, there is being late, second is the "faith, not fear," mantra and third, in the gaps when I'm not gripping the steering with with both hands and focus on the next curve, is the realization I am no longer afraid when I encounter homeless people.

I've met people, mostly men (it turns out women do not do as well on the street, my friend tells me they get sick and even die faster) and I'm not spooked or even scared. The fear has shifted into "being with" what is.  I say hello, I open my wallet, I ask for a name.  Bob, Chuck, Rick.  Yes, mostly men.  A friend who works with the homeless told me women don't make it on the street, they get sick faster and many die.  There is also the issue of rape.   

I'm not saying I'm used to homelessness or that the fact of it doesn't bother me, it does.  I just am with it as part of the flow of life and I do what I can, when I can. I'm not all seized up anymore. I'm not really sure why. It's just happened.

61 days into this blog.

And then I get an idea.  

Arrows, bright yellow, warn of a tight curve. Headlights slide over one, two, three, four, five and then six arrows in total and that is one hell of a curve.

I slow way down, ease on past and when I'm out of that mess, I wonder if maybe--in the next week or so--I could stand next to a homeless person for a few minutes, even a half hour and see what it feels like to be on his side of the sign.  Maybe I can watch other people go in and out of the store, passing the guy who sells papers and observe what those others do, don't do, in the face of the being asked for help.

61 days into this weblog, now I can ask a deeper question: can I spot the fear I once had in others? How do others face the guy with his hand out? 

I steer down something called a safety corridor which is more inky blackness but also more visability.  The rain eases up.   My hands loosen on the steering wheel but then, at my rear end, roars a great big brawny trunk and the guy doesn't seem to like the pace I've set.

I feel it--a little shot of fear.  Adrenaline.

Should I pull over?
Should I speed up?
Should I do something to get this guy off my tail?

And I decide no, I'll just hold steady and go at a pace I can handle. The road widens to give a passing lane and Mr. 4x4-Gigantic-White-Ford screams past in a wave of white spray.

I'm hold on tight.  Yes, I'm in the safety corridor. Yes, I've got faith and fear and yes, it seems I've got a little plan now to turn the tables on this question about homelessness. Now, I wonder, where will I find the extra time?