December 2020 – Ex Cop Tales

Now – The Peace Patrol and a Mission

December 15th, 2020 – Crestone Colorado

I believe every man should have a Mission that is greater than anything else.

A distant horizon, a mountain top, a direction of travel – The place that my path leads me. To be in service to something greater than self or Clan. To find something you can swear an Oath to. The people in my life are important and I would die for them but I always have my Mission.

I have found mine in the Peace Patrol.

Stupa of enlightenment – A place I catch and project Love Beams

I live in a small Colorado mountain town nestled in the wiggly toes of Grandfather mountains. I am embraced and held up by the beauty and Wild Places just outside my front door. This town is unique and often referred to as the spiritual crossroads of the World. Many have been called to this place. It’s a loving community filled with Teachers, Artists, Writers, Hippies and other beautiful people.

I was drawn here like a moth to a flame. One day, when I was volunteering at Orient Land Trust, Rosie asked if I wanted to go to Crestone with her. I was low on supplies and didn’t have anything else to do and thought why not. We covered the backroads between the spring and the town filled with a great conversation about Rosie’s life in Crestone. She was and is well respected and a pillar of the community. She would become my gatekeeper.

Rosie told me of the death of her beloved husband Ed in intimate detail. She then asked me if I wanted to visit the Pyre where he was cremated, it was on our way. I barely knew what a Pyre was but I said yes.

Once inside the circle of bamboo fence and witness to the pyre itself Rosie began to cry and relived for me the open air cremation of her Ed. She told me how the community had gathered around as the sun rose. How she had placed Ed’s guitar on top of him before the fire was lit. How she and Ed’s children had lit the four corners of his pyre. She spoke of magic, tears and love. Hot stinging tears spilled down my face as I thought to myself, “I don’t know what these people are up to but I’ve got to be a part of it”. There and then I made myself a promise to move to this town.

*I would later volunteer to be a member of the fire team with Crestone End of Life Project*

I posted on facebook that I was looking for a room. Rosie vouched for me and Anrahyah took me in. The preverbal wandered had found a home.

Back to a mission and the Peace Patrol

Covid had just struck and I began to have security concerns for my town. The local Sheriff is stretched thin and I knew it. I started asking around if there were any other retired law enforcement or military people willing to stand with me in defense of this town. That led me to Kofi.

Kofi is an ex-gangbanger raised on the streets of Gary Indiana. Our backgrounds could not have been more different. He was to become one of my best partners ever, and I’ve had many great partners, Batman and Robin once again. Kofi is a man of honor and earned respect. Tough as nails with a gentle heart, a rare man who I love.

Slowly we started building a team. There are 15 of us now. Kofi already had a strong group of men surrounding him that had been doing similar work for the past years. We built from there.

We trained and found a foundation of our core values. Kofi brought the 42 Ideals of Ma’at to us which the team adopted as our oath.

Sophiah Yaa Fyah Bey™ on Twitter: "42 Ideals of Maat and 42 Negative Confessions of Maat. One in th rising and th other before rescing. Yah can also say "I will not"

We are not Warriors because Warriors need enemies and we have none. We are Protectors and Keepers of the Peace. We are prepared to stand between these people and whoever would threaten or prey on them. We come with open hearts and strong will. We stand together in this work.

We have gathered a group of Grandmothers around us and ask them to Guide us, Lead us and Hold us responsible for our actions.

We met with the Sheriff and received his blessing.

One time Kofi and I identified an active meth house. A woman, who had been at the dope house for three days and nights smoking meth, ended up pounding her knuckles bloody against my door at midnight. When I answered the door I could barely understand her rattled speed freak talk. I did pick up on threats of assault and knew it was tied to the dope house around the corner from me.

I called Kofi to back me up. He was there within five minutes.

Kofi asked the freak if he could smudge her with sage (it’s a hippie thing). She agreed and Kofi smudged her with the wing of a hawk. She did seem to calm down and Kofi moved into the good cop role.

He turned and said to me, “Brother we have to catch this woman. We are called on to protect the women, the children, the elders and the Chief. The Universe delivered her to your doorstep.” In that moment I loved him more.

We spent the next three hours driving this woman all over the valley. No one would take her in. Kofi took her to his home and put her up in his casita. Over the next days Kofi and his wife would take the woman to her mother, who refused to even speak to the her, and two homeless shelters before finding a place for her.

Kofi and I later decided to have a little talk with the meth dealer. I drove up across the street from the dope house just as our primary suspect was driving away. I waved him over to my van. I asked the dealer, “Do you know who I am” as I stared hard into his eyes. He said no. “Have you ever heard of the Peace Patrol”? Again he said no. I told him he should ask around because he had our undivided attention.

I decided to take a different tact. Rather than argue over whether or not he was running a dope house, which I’d already confirmed though numerous informants he was, I went in this direction.

“Young man I’ve done a deep background investigation on you and I want to tell you this. Almost every person I spoke to told me what a fine student and young man you use to be, what happened”. It was the truth.

The dealer, addicted to his own shit, was broken to tears as he said he wanted to be that again. Kofi said, “Young brother let us help pull you back into the light but you gotta stop slinging dope and defiling our women and community with your poison”.

The young man nodded in agreement, having indirectly admitted to selling dope. He invited Kofi and I to visit anytime, unannounced. He closed down his operations shortly and a nice family moved in the once dope house.

Another time I was in town when someone contacted me and related that there was a home invasion in progress in the Baca. The Sheriff had already been notified. It just so happened that two other Peace Patrol members were in town. I swooped them up and we responded to the location. Our intent was to only get eyes on the location and surveil it until the Sheriff arrived. When we got there we discovered the Sheriff’s car in a nearby intersection in a head on configuration with another vehicle. Both vehicles had their driver’s doors wide open. No one was present. The hairs on my neck rose. I told the team we had a new focus, to find the Sheriff and back him up.

Within minutes we located the Sheriff, he was fine and thanked us for our quick response and backup. The case turned out to be more of a squatter.

Another time most of the team was in town right after a meeting. Kofi’s niece came running up to him trembling, eyes brimming with tears, and said that a man in the brewery was calling her a nigger. I looked at Kofi and said, “I’ve got your back”.

As we walked across the street the drunk was already heading out. I stood 6 feet away as Kofi approached him. I could hear the drunk calling Kofi a nigger and saying he uses that word all the time and we should all “Get fucking use to it”. Kofi explained that it wasn’t acceptable here or now.

I saw the drunk take some bridge work out of his mouth and put it in his pocket, a tell for what he was about to do. I closed the distance a little.

The drunk pushed Kofi in the chest and drew back his right fist. Kofi launched him into the middle of the street and was atop him. I dove on the pile and ended up with my left hand around the drunk’s neck, his head pinned to the ground drawing back my right fist to put his lights out when I stopped and said,

“Brother we can still make Peace” and just like that he released his hold on Kofi and I didn’t have to fuck him up. Beautiful, the old me would have never given him that chance.

After the pile was unwound we learned this. While Kofi and I were in the pile with the drunk another drunk, a visitor to the town, pulled a knife and started towards us while we were fully distracted.

An “Outer Team Member”, ex-military of just hard hitters who back us up, saw this and disarmed the perp. I’ve been stabbed before and was thankful it didn’t happen again.

Another time I met a new visitor to town who felt called to be here. He is an Iraq war veteran with a traumatic brain injury and a raging case of PTSD, a three striker. Just being around him triggered my wires but I tried to reach him. We did have a connection and he showed interest in joining me and the Peace Patrol.

One morning this happened. The Iraq Veteran sent an image to my phone of a fixed blade knife in his hand with the message, “Get to Jeff’s now before I start killing some motherfuckers”. It just happens that I know and love Jeff.

First I call the Sheriff’s department and tell them to start rolling something to Crestone, that I didn’t have the address but I gave them some crossroads nearby. Next I call Jeff and get no answer. I sent a message to the Peace Patrol with all the information I had, grab my .45, and bust out the door.

When I arrive at Jeff’s I can hear Tom in a full rage. He is running around the house threatening to kill everyone present. I make a quick call to the Sheriff’s office to update the address and let them know I’ll be out. The dispatcher let me know that backup was 30 minutes out.

Sometimes I’m more hippie that ex-cop and this was one of those moments. As I hung up with the dispatcher I felt Tom’s rage in the air. I suddenly felt that Tom might try to disarm me, he knew I carried all the time and was half my age, or force me to shoot him. Don’t laugh ex-cop buddies but I made the decision to disarm myself and locked my weapon in my van. I was prepared to risk my life to save his. If I was still a Cop the proper tactical approach would have been to fill my hands with the .45 caliber semi-automatic weapon, use available cover, quietly approach, ready.

Then and there I remember another time and wonder why is it always knives. The duality of my Life. Read my chapter Medal of Valor to know where my mind was.

I walked into another shitstorm.

First I was relieved to see the knife back in it’s sheath on his side. Tom was pacing back and forth and would occasionally pick up a baby head size rock and threaten to chuck it at the people he focused his rage on. The Empath could feel his howling pain, how lost he was. In his mind he was a trapped animal wrapped in wire. He was wounded, his past crashing down on him all at once. Two other Peace Patrol members arrived and set an outer perimeter. I was happy to have the back-up.

Tom recognized me. I just kept close to him in case I needed to take him down. I got close to that when he armed himself with a length of lead pipe. I held space for him as he raged up and down the driveway. I kept him from crossing the line and breaking the law, I was the little voice in his ear saying stop. At one point I got him to stop his rage and just hug me. I could only hold him for a minute before he bolted for the nearby woods.

The sheriff arrived and everyone was separated and sent on their way. As wild as this incident was no crime had happened. Our Mission was accomplished, the Peace was held.

Later we tracked down Tom and found him in town. We explained to him that neither Crestone or the Peace Patrol couldn’t help him and his time for leaving had come. He admitted that he was still too violent for our town. We dug in our pockets for the $30 it took to fill his tank, bought him a burrito and a couple of bottles of water and sent him out of town. Money well spent.

In conclusion I think the concept of a community Peace Patrol is just what the Nation needs. I imagine a future with a Sheriff’s department on one side of the building and the other side is the Peace Patrol. Not everything requires a gun. This would free the Police to do their work. We ask our police departments to do to much, to wear too many hats.

My path has lead me to this place, every step. I would rather be with these people, here and now, than anywhere else. So I write my book, plan patrols and wait for the phone to ring – Thankful to be of use.

Wild Woman of the West

I find it a good time to write about past loves before the next one shows up. For me that time is now.

I’m single again for the 21st time. As I reflect back on all the women I have loved and left behind I’ve noticed this. I am a blank canvas that women paint themselves against. If they seek a Bad Boy, a Protector, a Warrior or a wounded human they see that in me. None yet have wanted all the parts of me.

In my own search for a life partner I know this. When we first meet our brains and bodies are filled with dopamine and endorphins. These neurotransmitters and hormones lead us into a deep blissful state. We see these potential partners as almost godlike, we lift them upon our altar of love. We think they are the One.

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Later, and always, we begin to glimpse the clay feet of the gods. At the same time the dopamine and endorphin pumps begin to slow down, then the gods come crashing down.

Since I came out of the Desert and started dating I haven’t had problems meeting women. I just sit back and let Animal put out single male energy – remain calm and confident and cool – and they show up.

A man once asked me, “Michael out of all the women you’ve known how many did you choose”? I was shocked and startled to realize the answer, none! Why didn’t I notice this myself. Maybe the time has come for me to choose.

It’s been too easy to just say next. I’ve always gotten away with dating women 15 to 20 years younger than I and all of them were fit. A chick at a hot spring once said to me, “Michael somebody get’s to bang the cheerleaders just be glad it’s you”. That works for a while but I don’t think Love ages well. I fall off their altars as I grow older. So be careful boys, sometimes there is a hidden price to pay for dating the hot chicks.

I still grieve and mourn the loss of the women I’ve lifted on my altar. I loved them all.

January 20th, 2016 -Terlingua Texas

She, the Wild Woman of the West, wandered up to me as I sat in the shade of the porch drinking a Lone Star. “Hey Michael wanna take a walk with me?” she whispered in my ear. I’d had my eye on this one for awhile. I wasn’t expecting what was about to happen. The Romantic and Animal within me were fully alert – anticipating the possibility of Her.

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I had known this woman for more than five years and had witnessed the wild side of her, she is legendary and lives large. It also helps that she is incredibly beautiful, hard bodied and younger than most of the women I’ve dated.

We walked into the desert surrounded by creosote bushes and the ruins of past lives, stone falling down. She stopped and took both my hands in her’s facing me, “Michael I should introduce myself to you, I am your stalker.” She went on to describe, in detail, almost every one of our past chance encounters. Parties, campfires, experiences in the presence of each other but never together. She pounced on me I thought almost out loud – I was drawn to her – She was Brave and Bold. I wanted her more. Her eyes, pink lipstick and dress drew me to Her. I knew she was comfortable in her woman-ness.

On our first date we stopped in a gun store where she purchased a .357 caliber revolver. We drove out to her place to shoot her new gun and the .9mm Glock I was carrying. We blasted some holes into an abandoned refrigerator and I never once thought of dead dogs. I gave her a few shooting tips which she accepted in a smooth way. Pitfalls of my past were easily avoided with this woman. She is really funny and fun to be around.

A few dates later: “Hey Michael – Wanna come over and watch Trailer Park Boys with me (long husky whispered pause) Naked?”

A few more dates later I would move in with her in an old tin roof one room cabin nestled on the slope of Sombrero Peak. She, her two dogs and I lived and worked on her remote RV park for the following months. I had a blast with this woman and learned much. She was and is the hardest working woman I have ever known.

One day I offered my help to organize her tool shed which she eagerly accepted which was so different from my past relationships. I worked hard for a few days and organized, painted and inventoried the shed. She was impressed and couldn’t have been more thoughtful and generous in showing her appreciation, in her many womanly ways. I wasn’t done. One morning as she slept I spray painted the shed door with a wildly colorful mural. I hadn’t created any “Art” for years but I felt this weird new feeling.

I felt Inspired.

After 20 minutes this is what I had done to her door.

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I heard her up in the house and brought her out in front of the shed without allowing her to look. Only then did tell her I’d spray painted her door – she couldn’t wait to see it. I knew before I turned her around that she would love it, she did and let me know how much. I painted another one of her doors and other things which I gave to friends. I’ve told more than one the story of how I was inspired by this woman – Free to be what I am. I am thankful for the gift of her appreciation – something new to me.

After that I made a corner table for her while she was away taking care of her grandmother, who she loved dearly. On the surface of the table I painted our initials inside a heart.

When I gifted it to her I handed her a little jar of paint. She asked, “What’s this for”? I answered “To paint over my initials when I’m gone silly”. She giggled and accepted the table and the paint with affection.

Even though the Thinker, Realist, and Rationalist that lives in my head knew this relationship would crash and burn the Romantic that lives there too, and rarely pays rent, could only see the beauty of this Woman and she had plenty.

As my feelings grew I knew I would have to speak to her about a difficult subject, her drinking. She wasn’t an alcoholic but in my opinion she drank way too many boxes of wine. I knew that if I should bring it up I would be throwing a grenade into this relationship, a form of self sabotage.

That day finally came after a road trip to get more wine and steaks. When we got back I started a campfire, we were alone and miles from the nearest human being. The West Texas night was just shifting from electric blue to purple light. A slightly warm breeze embraced us and our neighbor, a roadrunner I had named Grandfather, came by to check on us.

I knew there would be no better time to bring up the subject than now. I did the best I could but a fiery argument followed filled with hurtful words. We had found our Ending.

Within 30 minutes I had loaded up my two cardboard boxes of clothing and my DR650 Suzuki motorcycle, inside my van, and I was heading down the dirt road sending up a cloud of dust and cranking JJ Grey’s song The River, which she said reminded her of me.

Where did my soul go?
Where did my spirit hide?
Why won’t they rescue me.
From the pain of the mind.

In the end I knew I was asking too much. I was just a guy. Just a guy that was falling in love with the Wild Woman of the West. This one was all my fault. I had no right messing in her business and she was more than capable of taking care of herself – always had been. The Thinker had pulled the pin on the grenade and blew this relationship up before the Romantic fell deeper in love. It was out of kindness to save him from future pain. Such battles often play out in my Mind.

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I started living in the van down by the river again as free as I’d ever been. During the day I would sometimes ride my motorcycle hundreds of miles to the most awe inspiring mountain Cathedrals of Nature. I cracked myself open in the wild places.

Sometimes I’d visit the naked hot springs in Big Bend park, the spring bubbles to the surface with mud pots right on the edge of the Rio Grande river. Naked and alone I was becoming more wild which I embraced and treasured. The Animal that lives within was free to roam. Sometimes I’d hang out in the shade of a hundred year old porch and drink Lonestar beers all day long laughing with my friends and enjoying organic music. Who ever had a guitar and a will to play often joined in. I was raising hell with the Cowboys and the Hippies and the tourist chicks. The days lazed by. I released the hold any calendar every held over me.

Me then party bound. Don’t ask what’s in the tupperware. Don’t you love it when you show up at a party and the first question is, “How much you weigh”.

One day I drove through Big Bend on my way to a favored place, Langford Hot Spring. Life shot skyward from the desert floor in the branches of the Ocotillio cactus. Their leaves were thick and ranged in color from dark to lime green and crimson. The blossom, red faced and searching, swaying gently on a breath of wind. I was amazed by the vibrant colors of this miniature forest.

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As I pulled into the dusty parking lot I find few cars there. The tourist must have had somewhere else to be, another good sign of things to come. I changed into my shorts behind the van and started the short walk towards the spring. Here the trail is bordered on the right by tall river reed grasses and the Rio Grande and on the left by a vertical cliff face more than 100 feet high. A single track of gray path weaved between the two. The cliff looks to be made of white stones each carefully stacked atop the other. Pictographs of ancient people line the upper ledge. A carpet of small yellow flowers are at my feet.

I was a big dog off the leash – I was a refugee from reality and the King of Ratland.

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The big yearly event known as the Fiesta Protesta or Voices from Both Sides was taking place. Every year we gather on both sides of the river. The Americans on one side and the Mexicans on the other. Each side takes turns playing live music by gifted musicians. Then we gather in the Rio Grande river about 100 feet wide and waist deep with muddy clay banks. Kids slide down mud ramps as dogs and people played in the river. On this day there was no border. I was intoxicated by the friendship and love I found in this place and with these people. We were building bridges not walls. I wondered if anything like this was happening on any other borders on the planet.

There was a deeper and more truly beautiful thing that happens during the confusion of the dogs, the kids, the beer and the music. Real families divided by this border and lacking the official paperwork to cross can and do so on this one day. Large family reunions happen as grandmothers are helped across to hold their newly born grandchildren for the first time.

Some of us cross illegally into Mexico under the watchful eye of the Border Patrol on the hill or the Federales on the Mexico side. I bought 10 pounds of honey and the best brisket sandwich I’ve ever had and started wading back to the American side when…

I was standing in the middle of the river in the middle of this protest waist deep in muddy water. There and then I was struck with another lightening bolt to the Mind. I suddenly knew it was time to leave, whatever I had been up to in this Texas border town had run it’s course. The time for going was upon me.

This sudden insight found me as a complete thought, having never engaged the gears of my mind. I glimpsed a reality without ever thinking about it. I consider them my nudges of the Universe and I give in to them. I think the Universe loves and smiles down upon me and is always trying to find new ways to speak to me. To leave clues in my path that is up to me to decipher.

In the voice of the Raven circling above me, to cast it’s shadow upon my face, I hear the whispered words.

I had my van loaded and said some quick goodbyes and was northbound before the sun had fully set. I remember my pants were still wet.

I never drive more than 300 miles in a day. I don’t have to and if you can’t find something cool to do in 300 miles look harder. I never drive at night because I don’t have to. I would drive throughout this night and into the next day covering 741 miles without having the slightest idea where I was going. I thought maybe the Pacific Northwest because I’d never been there.

Suddenly I noticed I was close to the Orient Land Trust or better known as Colorado’s best naked hot spring. As my past relationship, with a woman from Santa Fe New Mexico, wound it’s way to an end I’d spent many weekends camped at the spring having ridden my BMW motorcycle there. It was and is one of my Touchstone places.

I headed to familiar turf thinking I would spend a couple of days collecting my thoughts and coming up with some sort of a plan. I was greeted at the desk by Rosie who was about to change my life with a single question.

She recognized me from my many previous visits. “How you been Michael” she asked?

“Living the Dream Rosie, Living the Dream” I replied.

We hugged and laughed and caught up for a while. Rosie then asked “Where are you headed Michael” and I answered that I didn’t have a fucking clue.

She then uttered these words that sent my life in a new direction.

“Would you consider being a volunteer here at Orient Land Trust? We don’t pay nothing but you get free camping and electricity”.

“Sign me up Rosie” and with those words my new adventure began. I would become the Astronomy Host, the Camp Host and my favorite gig of all being the trail guide up to our very own bat cave. Two miles up the trail and a 900 foot elevation gain to the cave. I would hike with groups of guests to witness great out flights of Mexican free tailed bats.

My life filled with beautiful naked women, fast motorcycles and skinny trails had begun.

But I’ll save those stories for the next chapter.

The Road Home

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The death of my Father

I wrote this almost five years ago

My Father died today and this is the last conversation I had with him:

“Dad this is Michael your Son, can you hear me?” I stare down at him, frail and gray curled on the hospital bed. He mumbled something I could not understand.

“Dad – We will take care of all the things you were once responsible for. We will take care of Mom and keep her safe. ”

“Dad – We will all survive once you are gone. We will miss you but we will find our way without you.”

“Dad – All is forgiven. Rest easy knowing you will leave here surrounded by Love and Peace.”

“Dad – Your life had meaning and you changed many people for the better. You worked hard and accomplished much and you should be proud of a life well lived. You did good.”

“And finally Dad, know that you’ll be remembered. We will laugh and cry over our memories of a life lived together, with you.”

I then painted for him, with words, a picture of his boyhood home in the green hills of Kentucky. I reminded him of listening to the Grand Ole Opry on a big radio between twin beds while his beloved brother Frank giggled next to him, both young and healthy, planning their next escapade. I spoke of Blackberry cobbler, cold milk and starry nights. I stirred up a Dream for him from the embers of his Life. My Dad called out Frank’s name, the last word he would speak.

“Go easy Dad, I Love you.”

My Dad, Glen Ray Fulcher, took his last breath a couple of hours later.

Peace surrounds me…