From Bags To Riches

By Scott Kalechstein


"NYLON JUMBO LAUNDRY BAGS! MACHINE WASHABLE! WATER RESISTANT!" Uttered at the top of my vocal volume range, these words were my money mantra for seven years as I worked the sidewalks of New York City as an unlicensed, self-employed, street peddler. You could say I was into MLM Sales. (Maximum Lung Marketing!) I bought the laundry bags below wholesale, straight from a factory in North Carolina, and made a great profit selling them just below retail. I loved the quick cash and the gutsy, streetwise calluses that formed on my psyche. I was part of the color and pulse of New York, a place where adrenaline, art and survival all blended together in a tapestry of shadows and light.

My style for hawking the bags became something of a creative, comic performance. "How did you get into this?" people asked me as I handed them their purchase. "How do I get out of this?" became the question I asked daily as the call of a career in music and the healing arts grew louder and my patience for eluding the police grew dim.

Did I say police? Yes, I confess! This crazy job of mine was not exactly legal. ‘Slightly illegal' was my juicy rationalization. About once a week I unwittingly donated a sack of laundry bags to the city of New York, via the police. Did breaking the law nag on my conscience? Not. Well, at least not my conscious conscience. I was a rebel without a pause, enjoying the game of cops and robbers, and moving too fast to question my ethics or my sanity. Besides, I was also using the job to practice my mindfulness meditation skills.

My technique was called Zen And The Art Of Spotting The Police Before They See You. This spiritual discipline on finding inner strength in the inner city found me routinely in the Yoga posture of being on my toes, my head stretching from left to right, being very here and now, moment to moment.

The police sometimes dressed in civilian clothes, sandwiching themselves amongst the human sardines that crowded the city sidewalks on any given day. I developed a sixth sense, an organically grown synthesis of intuition and paranoia. I could spot the police, pack up my bags, and slip into the crowd at a speed that Houdini would have admired. But even with my escape skills honed to a science, I did get caught on occasion.

While the temptation was to perceive those times as a bummer, I took it upon myself to make light of those moments when the police were writing me tickets and confiscating my bags. Feather dusting the situation with levity, I refused to buy into the consciousness of loss and gloom.

One day an absurd idea crossed my mind. I have learned to spring into action when a creative prompting knocks on my door. Before hesitation festered into analysis and paralysis, I took out my pen and wrote:

To Whom It May Publicly Concern:
This note is written permission for my son, Scott, to sell laundry bags on the streets of the city without a license. I know it is against the law, but my son is such a good boy in almost every other aspect of his life. I think he is entitled to some leeway here. This note officially absolves him from the law. Ignorance of the law is no excuse, but a mother's written permission sure is!

Hugs and kisses,
Mom

I put the note in my pocket and waited, almost eagerly, for the next time I was caught in the act, bags in hand. Sure enough, my sales were interrupted the next day by two of New York's Finest. "Hold it!" I confidently barked. "I've got a pardon!" I handed one of the officers my note. He read it out loud in official police business monotone. Neither of them had any change of expression, and for a moment I feared the worst. Trying to humor a New York City police officer, committed to the confines of seriousness, can have disastrous results. Finally, the pregnant moment gave birth to a response: "Take a walk! This one is on Mom!" I skipped away a free man, thankful for the juices of creativity that turned a potentially negative situation into a close encounter of the hilarious kind.

The next day I was selling bags in my usual location when a police car came out of nowhere, flashing lights and blasting sirens, and parked halfway on the sidewalk, a breath away from my frozen body. The two officers from yesterday were right in my face before I even realized that they were after me. But instead of my bags, it seemed I was in possession of a rare and precious piece of literature that they wanted for their files. "We want the note!" one of them said, as if expecting me to challenge their authority. I handed him the scribbled piece of evidence. "We told everybody in the precinct about it, but they don't believe us. We're going to laminate it and post it on the bulletin board!" I relaxed, realizing that the sirens and the flashing lights were part of a joke they were playing to get back at me.

So there we were, three human beings, sharing a most unusual moment, temporarily suspending the crime and punishment game and connecting at a level that the popular script did not call for. Perhaps most moments of human connection unfold when we are willing to abandon the popular script and improvise our own.

Sometimes my improvised sales tactics included saying things like "The Strongest Laundry Bag You Can Buy Without A Prescription!" Other times I got even sillier: "You've Read The Book. You've Seen The Movie! NOW BUY THE BAG!!" Some people enjoyed a good laugh as they passed. Others would quicken their pace and be careful not to make eye contact and possibly catch whatever I seemed to have! Joy can be dangerously contagious, easily spread by inner child-to-child contact, often rendering its victims quite vulnerable to spontaneous emissions of playful life energy.

When my laundry bags or my humor were not well received I got to work through some of my rejection issues. I used my sidewalk adventures as therapeutic stepping stones, time and space to experiment with my self-expression and to develop some confidence, as well as cockiness! I look back on those days with affection, amused and grateful that I actually did it, and even more grateful that I don't do it anymore!

Six months after selling my last laundry bag and moving to California, I went back to New York to visit friends and family. I couldn't resist paying a visit to Court Street, in Brooklyn Heights, where most of my bags were sold. I strolled into the Kosher Pizzeria that had become my hang-out over the years. (I used to store my bags in their basement and hide from the police in their bathroom when I needed swift santuary.)The employees gave me a warm greeting. One of the waiters excitedly handed me a copy of the last week's Brooklyn Heights Gazette. On the back page was a comic strip with yours truly in it. An artist had captured me in caricature, selling my wares on Court Street. The caption read, "Whatever happened to the laundry bag man?" I had left my mark on the streets of the city I grew up in! That felt good.

A few years later I was back in Brooklyn again, giving a concert. A woman in the audience was looking at me quite strangely all throughout the performance. She appeared dazed, confused and disoriented. At the concert's close she approached me cautiously. "I know you from somewhere," she said painfully, as she attempted to make a difficult withdrawal from her memory bank.

I looked into her eyes and instantly knew. "NYLON JUMBO LAUNDRY BAGS!" I said loudly with a huge smile spread across my face. Her eyes registered both shock and the relief of recognition. "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "You are the laundry bag man!" She had cracked the case, but there were more pieces of the puzzle to put together. "I passed you on Court Street for years, feeling so sorry for you. What happened to you?" She had many more questions, wanting to know the details of how I had gotten off the streets and created such a rewarding career doing what I love. It was obvious that her belief system did not have much room for the possibility of people transforming their lives for the better, yet there I was, guitar in hand, proof before her eyes. She was stunned! I walked her to her car, telling her more of my story- voice lessons, recording my music, making my ‘no more bags' commitment, moving to California, taking the leap, trusting the universe. Her reactions gave me a richer appreciation for my bags to riches journey. What a story to tell around the campfire!

Sometimes remembering those days feels like a past life regression. Did I really spend seven years in this life as a street peddler, running from the police like a criminal? Yes, I did, and with no apologies. I made friends with the homeless, and sang improvised rap songs to the passing high school students (who thought I was weird, but cool). I made warm, human, and creative contact with each of my customers, sending them off with some positives vibes along with their purchase.

So what started as a laundry bag sales job evolved into a laundry bag performance ministry, which transitioned into what I do now. It strikes me sometimes that although I have changed products, I have not really changed jobs. My job has always been about extending love and sharing joy, and that is always the business at hand, whether it is gift wrapped in sales, laughter, singing, or NYLON JUMBO LAUNDRY BAGS!


Scott Kalechstein, the author of this article, is a modern day troubadour and inspirational speaker. He makes his home in Marin County, CA and travels through the United States, Canada and Europe giving concerts, talks and workshops, as well as presenting at conferences. Visit
http://www.scottsongs.com to read more about his workshops, to hear his talks or to sample songs from his nine CD's. Send him an email at scott@scottsongs.com to receive articles like this one on a semi-occasional basis.

SCOTT'S SCHEDULE

BERKELEY, CA

March 16- I will be the featured speaker and singer at the Spirit and Work Breakfast, 7:30-9:30 a.m. at the Unity Church of Berkeley, downstairs in fellowship hall, 2075 Eunice Street (between Henry and Shattuck)
Cost: $15 includes a healthy breakfast.
To register: Call Pat Sullivan, 510-530-0284 or write visionpat@aol.com

MARIN, CA

March 17- On Saturday night I will be giving a hugely humorous & healing house concert in Novato. Contact me for the details at scott@scottsongs.com

March 18- I will be the guest singer at the Golden Gate Center for Spiritual Living, www.spirituallivingcenter.org, 498 Tamalpais Dr, Corte Madera, 94925 - (415) 924-1494.

SAN FRANCISCO

April 28- I will be giving an 8:00 PM Saturday night improvisational humor concert at the New Living Expo. Contact info@newlivingexpo.com or
415-382-8300 for more info.

ROWE, MASSACHUSETTS

May 25-28- Every Memorial Day Weekend I offer my music to complement the love and wisdom of Joyce and Barry Vissell at a lovely Couples Retreat. Committed relationships are supported, renewed, and often healed. Contact Rowe at retreat@RoweCenter.org or call: (413) 339-4954 or visit http://www.rowecenter.org/.

There are many dates in the year that are still open and available. If you would like to discuss how easy it is to bring me to your neck of the woods and set me loose on your community, church, friends, etc., please call me at 415 721 2954 to talk about it. Or email me at scott@scottsongs.com if you prefer typing over chatting.

The Kiss Of Life

By Scott Kalechstein

"May I laugh all my laughter, may I cry all my tears
May I love the rain as deeply as the sun when it clears."
- An Open Heart. A ScottSong

Did you ever have a moment, a single moment that forged such an impact that you knew your life would never quite be the same? Often such moments involve facing death in some manner. Near death experiences can be an effective wake-up call that direct us to examine our direction, values and priorities. For me, my moment came through a near life experience! You see, I received the kiss of life. In Brooklyn. In a fast food restaurant. While waiting for the bathroom. I will explain....

One day, while on my way to my favorite laundry bag sales area, I needed to use the bathroom. I spotted a McDonalds, strolled in with my sack of laundry bags strung over my shoulder and proceeded to wait in line for the restroom. Just as it was my turn to go, an elderly woman in a wheelchair came in, and her nurse asked me if they could go ahead of me. "Of course!" I told her enthusiastically, commanding my youthful anal muscles to squeeze a little longer in respect of this woman's feeble physical condition. As she left her wheelchair and was escorted into the bathroom, I noticed a beautiful glow in her eyes, which reminded me of the eyes of a baby - crystal blue, clear, pure and precious.

Two minutes passed very slowly for me, and finally I heard the sweet sounds of a toilet flushing. Both women came out smiling, and before the elderly woman returned to her wheelchair, she came right up to me, kissed me on the lips, and said, "Thank you. I love you." I embraced her frail body in a delicate and tender hug. Her eyes blazed with light, and I felt a ripple of energy go through my heart. We parted. I went into the bathroom to relieve my body, but also to sit and ponder what I had just received. The woman's eyes, her radiant spirit, and especially her fearless, shameless offering of love had my knees shaking. I was in delicious shock, thrown completely into a state of wonder. The best moments in life catch us off guard, sneaking up to us when we least expect it, and this was one of them.

My mind, that endless question machine, was spinning. Who was that woman? Was she too old and senile to remember that one doesn't go around kissing strangers on the lips, or was she too wise to let her heart be confined to the ways of the world? My thoughts raced with theories, questions that would never be answered. Finally, I gave up the detective work and surrendered to the mystery.

I'm happy to say that I never fully recovered from that experience. It was as if she had passed a torch on to me, igniting my desire to love boldly, to live without concern for what the neighbors might think. The torch burned a hole in my tolerance for mediocre, half-asleep self-expression. I wanted what this woman had, and I didn't want to wait till my body was old and feeble before I was that free!

But how would I do it? What was my style of loving? Was I to kiss my laundry bag customers on the lips after each sale? Would that increase or decrease my sales, I wondered. Perhaps I would say, "Thank you, I love you." to the police officers when they handed me a ticket? Would that increase or decrease my encounters with the police, I pondered. Pretty soon I realized that I couldn't approach this business of loving with a plan of action. It had to spring up from my heart like a bubbly fountain, spontaneous and unrehearsed. All I could do was practice being a channel for love, not its creator. From the depths of my being, I prayed to learn the ways of love, and my prayer took the form of a song:

I want to wake up in the morn, and know what I'm made of
Oh, great spirit, teach me, teach me how to love
I want to hear the birds at dawn, and know what they sing of
Oh, great spirit, teach me, teach me how to love
I've learned quite well just how to hide
Behind these rusty walls inside
But now my heart is calling me to rise above
Teach me how to love

I've shined on just a chosen few that fit me like a glove
Oh, great spirit, teach me, teach me how to love
Teach me to shine on everyone just like the sun above
Oh, great spirit, teach me, teach me how to love
I've walked the earth in self-defense
Bracing for some punishment
Could it be I'm safer here?
I've asked a jury of my fears
I'd rather ask a dolphin or a dove
Teach me how to love

©1989 ScottSongs

By writing and singing Teach Me How To Love, I was telling the universe: "I'm ready, I'm willing. Guide me on the path of love." What I got, of course, was a series of experiences and relationships designed to pry me away from the beliefs I harbored that were in dire need of inquiry and release. Beliefs like ‘Romantic love will make me happy', or ‘Deep down I'm not lovable', or ‘I must perform and achieve at a frantic pace to earn love', had to be brought up from the subconscious, examined and released. Gradually I learned that the art of loving was not practiced through willful control but through surrendering and letting go, two skills not exactly taught to me in my years of schooling. In a culture that gives us messages in movies and music such as, "Once you have found her, never let her go." or "I can't live if living is without you." it's no shock that most of us have some significant ‘unlearning' to do before we are able to learn healthy loving.

Just last week I walked into a resaurant to order something to go. As I was leaving I passed by a woman eating by herself. She looked up at me, smiled, and asked me about the meaning of the words on my T-shirt. Feeling embraced by her warmth, I invited myself to sit with her and explain my shirt over lunch. She enthusiastically agreed, and soon we were talking about everything from angels to life after death. After sensing that I was a safe space, she revealed to me that her only daughter had died six months ago. She showed me her most recent picture. Her daughter was in her early twenties. I felt the weight of her loss, and silently prayed to be of some support to this woman. She openly discussed her healing process, her shock and sorrow, and I listened intently. As I listened I noticed a light in her eyes, a radiance that was untouched by the hurricane of grief barreling through her heart. She closed the conversation by saying, "I can't imagine anything worse that can happen in my life than losing my daughter. Now that the worst has already happened, what's there to be afraid of? In a strange sort of way, I feel freed up to really live."

The strength behind this woman's choice of perceptions reverberated through my soul. I thanked her for teaching me about courage and I gifted her with one of my tapes. That night I thought about her a lot. I thought also about my angel in a wheelchair, whose kiss years back had prompted me to delve deeply into the mysteries of life and love. All of a sudden I flashed on where that light in her eyes came from. Suddenly I realized where both of these woman got their strength. It wasn't from leading rosy, sheltered lives where all their needs were met. It was from enduring and embracing adversity. It was from refusing to stop being in love with life in the face of searing pain and heartache. These women, like most of us, found their great inner strength while on their knees.

Stephen Levine, gifted meditation teacher, has said that the happiest people he knows are the ones who have deeply investigated their own suffering. When I wrote Teach Me How To Love, little did I know that I was starting a thorough investigation that would take me through my darkness and on my way towards a light that is not dependent on outer circumstances for me to be happy. I didn't realize that the maturity my soul was asking for does not come from a challenge-free life, but from overcoming the obstacles placed before me, obstacles designed to make me wise, flexible, and responsive to love's calling.

It has been eighteen years since I received the kiss of life and wrote my prayer-song. The lessons in loving have come, my heart has been many times broken, and compassion and wisdom have begun to rise up from the ashes of my disappointments. Perhaps the human heart is like an egg, and mother life pecks on our protective shell until it breaks, breaking it open. Then, later on, she stops providing food so our hunger can motivate us to find our own. Finally, when we're ready, even though we usually think we're not, she leads us to a cliff and gives us a push. And in the open air, in the middle of our free-fall, we discover our wings. How else do we learn to surrender? How else do we learn to fly?

"For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your heights and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth."
Kahil Gibran, The Prophet



Scott Kalechstein can be reached at scott@scottsongs.com or visited on the web at http://www.scottsongs.com, where you can sample and purchase his music.