Essay: Zakara's True Story
It was a dark green, Dodge caravan with tinted windows and it was my home for sixteen years. I had picked up a steel bed in a junk yard, took out the back seats and turned it into a camper. It even had a pee pot. Nobody knew I was living in the car, it looked like a regular car. I felt very safe in the car. I had decided to do this not out of any loss but to seek joy. It was my choice and I was excited about the opportunities. I got my inspiration from a book I had read, Peace Pilgrim. What the author, Mildred Norman Ryder, had done was walk around the United States in the 1950’s for peace with just the shoes on her feet and the clothes on her back. I said to myself, “I can’t walk because of my asthma but I can live in my car and seek peace.” With my new home complete, at age 56, I set out on a new road. It was the year 1997.
I had a rather normal American upbringing, which is to say my family was dysfunctional just like everyone else’s. I was born in Connecticut in 1941 to the mother from hell. Sally, had thirteen siblings and because she was the oldest was designated the primary caretaker. My mother was physically abusive to my brother. He was beaten a lot and often tied up down in the cellar if he didn’t do his chores. My aunt went down to untie him once and my mother ended up beating her too. To the outside world, she was very likable, but with her immediate family she was a holy terror. She would often tell me “You’re no good; you’re not going to amount to anything.”
When I was ten, I went for a job interview at a neighbor’s house. I’ll never forget the first time I met the lady of the house, Trinette Peters. She wore a beautiful sea green dress with an A line skirt. When she started to talk to me she began crying. She asked me if I would help her. She needed help around the house and with her children. It was the first time in my life I felt worthy; she made me feel so good inside. I was at her house all the time, helping her with the laundry and caring for her three children, two boys, eight and four, plus the newborn.
When I met her husband, Harry, he was studying to be a lawyer and had deformed ears. The tips were burned off when his plane had crashed into a mountain during the war. He was an amazing person and one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. He went to Brown University on the GI Bill. Harry came down with spinal meningitis not long after and we thought he was going to die, but he survived. When he came home from the hospital, we all moved into the house he built in Greenwich, including me.
When I was around twenty-one, I worked for a commercial art studio in New York City and took college courses at night at the University of Connecticut branch in Stanford. That’s where I met Hans from Holland. He was handsome and wrote beautiful poems to me. We got married, had two kids and lived a normal middle class lifestyle, but after eighteen years, called it quits. Three months after the divorce was finalized, Hans was diagnosed with lung cancer and died. I ended up with a house completely paid for and $200,000 from the life insurance policy. With it I was able to take care of my kids and start my own business.
I built playgrounds for schools and then started my own remodeling company. A few years later, a client, who made expensive changes to the scope of the project on a daily basis, blamed me for being over budget, and instead of paying me, sued me. The lawsuit lasted four years and was over after a twelve day trial. I had to sell everything, including my house to pay for my six figure defense. After the trial was over I felt free, but I needed to do something to heal my wounds.
That was the beginning of my new life. I even changed my name. I was born Sandra Grace. When I had turned 50, an age I had never thought I would reach, I had a conversation with God. I looked up at the sky and asked him, “God, what do you want me to do now?” I heard him tell me to change my name. I asked him, “What name should I change it to?” I heard Zack. I thought that was a boy’s name and maybe I heard wrong. So I played around with it for a few days and came up with Zakara. A Rabi, years later asked me where I got that name and I told him the story. He said my name was derived from the Hebrew word Zakaria which means, “The Lord Remembers.”
Shortly after the trail but before the car, I had started reading books about metaphysics and about being a more conscious human being. I studied A Course in Miracles, Foundation for Inner Peace. By the time I started my journey in the car, I was reading daily from six volumes of commentaries by Maurice Nicoll on the teachings of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. These books had a real impact on me.
I basically lived in two places, Cape Cod in the summers and St. Petersburg, Florida in the winters. Finding a place to park my car was never a problem. Only once in sixteen years did anyone ever ask me to move. Sometimes I would park in a friend’s driveway. Back in those days, Walmart let you pull into their parking lot and sleep there for free. I had a friend, Chris, who lived in St. Petersburg. In the winters, I would park on a side street outside his apartment. I would stay from September through May.
I was on disability because of my asthma so I had some money coming in. Other than food and gas, I had no expenses. When it was time to move because of the change of seasons I would take the auto train back and forth from Virginia to Sanford, Florida. The train served dinner, had movies, games and a bar. It was cheaper than driving, cut out 1,000 miles of my commute and had all those perks.
If I went home to Connecticut, I’d stay in my friend Bobby’s driveway or my Aunt’s driveway. They offered me a room but I would decline. I was very happy with my living quarters. If I needed to go to the bathroom, I could drive to a nearby fast food restaurant. I used my computer at Panera’s while I ate breakfast. I thought, “Who needs a house?”
The best place I found to park was the 1900-acre Nickerson State Park in Cape Cod. The park had a volunteer program - if you agreed to keep the bathrooms clean in your zone, you could park for free. I did that May through September. I took pride in my job and the park rangers often thanked me for how well I kept the bathrooms. My parking site overlooked a lake; it was a million dollar view if I had to pay for it. I attended spiritual meetings around town and made a few acquaintances. One day I decided to host an al fresco dinner party at my camp site and told people they had to come in a costume. The rule was that you had to dress as the person you thought you really were. After all, we were a group of people seeking spiritual awakening. Everyone showed up in a different costume and had to give a presentation. This one guy showed up with a clear plastic bag over his head because he saw himself as invisible. I ordered lasagna from a nearby Italian restaurant and everyone brought something to eat. Here I was, living in my car, hosting a feast with new friends, sitting around a bonfire looking at the stars over a beautiful lake. I felt like the richest person on earth.
I had my first manifestation experience at this park. I pulled in one day around six o’clock in the evening and paid the six dollar entrance fee to stay the night, before I knew about the volunteer program. As I was driving, I saw they had a steel circular thing in each campsite for building bonfires. I didn’t have wood so I drove back up to the gate to inquire where I might get some. While I waited in line there a man pulled up in a mint green, vintage, convertible Cadillac. He got out of his car. He was very tall and wore a pink and green suit with argyle socks. He obviously didn’t belong in the park, rather it looked like he belonged in a five star resort. I watched him. He walked over to the bulletin board and looked at some leaflets, but didn’t take any. Then he got back into his car and drove away. I wanted to see what was on the bulletin board, but a voice came over me that said, “Don’t get out of the car Zakara.” I had been reading the chapter on “Resistance” and I was starting to understand how ego holds you back in life. It was then that I recognized my own resistance and refused to obey. I forced myself out of the car to take a look. On the leaflets it said, “Free wood, come and get it.” I drove to the campsite advertised in the flyer and there was all the wood I needed. I said to myself, “Wow, what is this all about?” I realized then that if you take a leap of faith and walk through resistance, you get a gift, a real thing. I was gifted that day.
Then I started looking for resistance to happen in my mind so I could walk through it and be gifted. I was becoming more conscious, more awake. I was playing and having fun with my mind.
After 9/11, I took up painting. In St. Petersburg one winter, I had my first art show. That’s when I sold my first two painting for $3,000 each. I was shocked and happy that my paintings had an impact on other people.
I was in my car when one day in 2009 I got the call that my mother had passed away. After 65 years, the primary nemesis in my life was gone. But because of my studies I realized that she too was a gift because she taught me how not to be. I ended up inheriting a nice sum of money.
The whole time I was living in my car no one knew. I presented myself like a regular, middle class, woman. I could have asked someone for a place to stay, but I didn’t. My car was my home.
Today, I live in a modest one-bedroom apartment in Fort Lauderdale. I’m 72-years old, still paint and have everything I could possibly need. I believe God gives us people in our lives to help us grow. He gives us both negative and positive people. Mr. and Mrs. Peters were gifts, they made me feel special. My children and the money I received after my husband’s death were gifts. One helped me take care of the other.
Living in my car for sixteen years was the greatest gift because it brought me closer to God. Since I didn’t own a TV, I was shielded from the negativity of the world. It is where I woke up and learned to let go the ego and the guilt and stand in integrity. I was never attacked; nothing bad ever happened to me. It was the best decision I ever made.
I had a rather normal American upbringing, which is to say my family was dysfunctional just like everyone else’s. I was born in Connecticut in 1941 to the mother from hell. Sally, had thirteen siblings and because she was the oldest was designated the primary caretaker. My mother was physically abusive to my brother. He was beaten a lot and often tied up down in the cellar if he didn’t do his chores. My aunt went down to untie him once and my mother ended up beating her too. To the outside world, she was very likable, but with her immediate family she was a holy terror. She would often tell me “You’re no good; you’re not going to amount to anything.”
When I was ten, I went for a job interview at a neighbor’s house. I’ll never forget the first time I met the lady of the house, Trinette Peters. She wore a beautiful sea green dress with an A line skirt. When she started to talk to me she began crying. She asked me if I would help her. She needed help around the house and with her children. It was the first time in my life I felt worthy; she made me feel so good inside. I was at her house all the time, helping her with the laundry and caring for her three children, two boys, eight and four, plus the newborn.
When I met her husband, Harry, he was studying to be a lawyer and had deformed ears. The tips were burned off when his plane had crashed into a mountain during the war. He was an amazing person and one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. He went to Brown University on the GI Bill. Harry came down with spinal meningitis not long after and we thought he was going to die, but he survived. When he came home from the hospital, we all moved into the house he built in Greenwich, including me.
When I was around twenty-one, I worked for a commercial art studio in New York City and took college courses at night at the University of Connecticut branch in Stanford. That’s where I met Hans from Holland. He was handsome and wrote beautiful poems to me. We got married, had two kids and lived a normal middle class lifestyle, but after eighteen years, called it quits. Three months after the divorce was finalized, Hans was diagnosed with lung cancer and died. I ended up with a house completely paid for and $200,000 from the life insurance policy. With it I was able to take care of my kids and start my own business.
I built playgrounds for schools and then started my own remodeling company. A few years later, a client, who made expensive changes to the scope of the project on a daily basis, blamed me for being over budget, and instead of paying me, sued me. The lawsuit lasted four years and was over after a twelve day trial. I had to sell everything, including my house to pay for my six figure defense. After the trial was over I felt free, but I needed to do something to heal my wounds.
That was the beginning of my new life. I even changed my name. I was born Sandra Grace. When I had turned 50, an age I had never thought I would reach, I had a conversation with God. I looked up at the sky and asked him, “God, what do you want me to do now?” I heard him tell me to change my name. I asked him, “What name should I change it to?” I heard Zack. I thought that was a boy’s name and maybe I heard wrong. So I played around with it for a few days and came up with Zakara. A Rabi, years later asked me where I got that name and I told him the story. He said my name was derived from the Hebrew word Zakaria which means, “The Lord Remembers.”
Shortly after the trail but before the car, I had started reading books about metaphysics and about being a more conscious human being. I studied A Course in Miracles, Foundation for Inner Peace. By the time I started my journey in the car, I was reading daily from six volumes of commentaries by Maurice Nicoll on the teachings of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. These books had a real impact on me.
I basically lived in two places, Cape Cod in the summers and St. Petersburg, Florida in the winters. Finding a place to park my car was never a problem. Only once in sixteen years did anyone ever ask me to move. Sometimes I would park in a friend’s driveway. Back in those days, Walmart let you pull into their parking lot and sleep there for free. I had a friend, Chris, who lived in St. Petersburg. In the winters, I would park on a side street outside his apartment. I would stay from September through May.
I was on disability because of my asthma so I had some money coming in. Other than food and gas, I had no expenses. When it was time to move because of the change of seasons I would take the auto train back and forth from Virginia to Sanford, Florida. The train served dinner, had movies, games and a bar. It was cheaper than driving, cut out 1,000 miles of my commute and had all those perks.
If I went home to Connecticut, I’d stay in my friend Bobby’s driveway or my Aunt’s driveway. They offered me a room but I would decline. I was very happy with my living quarters. If I needed to go to the bathroom, I could drive to a nearby fast food restaurant. I used my computer at Panera’s while I ate breakfast. I thought, “Who needs a house?”
The best place I found to park was the 1900-acre Nickerson State Park in Cape Cod. The park had a volunteer program - if you agreed to keep the bathrooms clean in your zone, you could park for free. I did that May through September. I took pride in my job and the park rangers often thanked me for how well I kept the bathrooms. My parking site overlooked a lake; it was a million dollar view if I had to pay for it. I attended spiritual meetings around town and made a few acquaintances. One day I decided to host an al fresco dinner party at my camp site and told people they had to come in a costume. The rule was that you had to dress as the person you thought you really were. After all, we were a group of people seeking spiritual awakening. Everyone showed up in a different costume and had to give a presentation. This one guy showed up with a clear plastic bag over his head because he saw himself as invisible. I ordered lasagna from a nearby Italian restaurant and everyone brought something to eat. Here I was, living in my car, hosting a feast with new friends, sitting around a bonfire looking at the stars over a beautiful lake. I felt like the richest person on earth.
I had my first manifestation experience at this park. I pulled in one day around six o’clock in the evening and paid the six dollar entrance fee to stay the night, before I knew about the volunteer program. As I was driving, I saw they had a steel circular thing in each campsite for building bonfires. I didn’t have wood so I drove back up to the gate to inquire where I might get some. While I waited in line there a man pulled up in a mint green, vintage, convertible Cadillac. He got out of his car. He was very tall and wore a pink and green suit with argyle socks. He obviously didn’t belong in the park, rather it looked like he belonged in a five star resort. I watched him. He walked over to the bulletin board and looked at some leaflets, but didn’t take any. Then he got back into his car and drove away. I wanted to see what was on the bulletin board, but a voice came over me that said, “Don’t get out of the car Zakara.” I had been reading the chapter on “Resistance” and I was starting to understand how ego holds you back in life. It was then that I recognized my own resistance and refused to obey. I forced myself out of the car to take a look. On the leaflets it said, “Free wood, come and get it.” I drove to the campsite advertised in the flyer and there was all the wood I needed. I said to myself, “Wow, what is this all about?” I realized then that if you take a leap of faith and walk through resistance, you get a gift, a real thing. I was gifted that day.
Then I started looking for resistance to happen in my mind so I could walk through it and be gifted. I was becoming more conscious, more awake. I was playing and having fun with my mind.
After 9/11, I took up painting. In St. Petersburg one winter, I had my first art show. That’s when I sold my first two painting for $3,000 each. I was shocked and happy that my paintings had an impact on other people.
I was in my car when one day in 2009 I got the call that my mother had passed away. After 65 years, the primary nemesis in my life was gone. But because of my studies I realized that she too was a gift because she taught me how not to be. I ended up inheriting a nice sum of money.
The whole time I was living in my car no one knew. I presented myself like a regular, middle class, woman. I could have asked someone for a place to stay, but I didn’t. My car was my home.
Today, I live in a modest one-bedroom apartment in Fort Lauderdale. I’m 72-years old, still paint and have everything I could possibly need. I believe God gives us people in our lives to help us grow. He gives us both negative and positive people. Mr. and Mrs. Peters were gifts, they made me feel special. My children and the money I received after my husband’s death were gifts. One helped me take care of the other.
Living in my car for sixteen years was the greatest gift because it brought me closer to God. Since I didn’t own a TV, I was shielded from the negativity of the world. It is where I woke up and learned to let go the ego and the guilt and stand in integrity. I was never attacked; nothing bad ever happened to me. It was the best decision I ever made.
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Cassy