This is the book of hope
So then?
What does hope mean?
What does it mean to have hope?
Perhaps I should explain
what this means to me,
in basic terms.
Hope—
is this the film within our mind
which we play
over and over again?
Or does this mean something else?
I see hope as that thing
which keeps us going
so that in the face of adversity
or in the midst of a crisis,
hope is still alive.
Or, maybe there’s more to hope
and even more than this,
maybe hope is our soul
or the force of our beating heart
which keeps us alive
as in always
and involuntarily breathing for us
even if something happens to us
that takes our breath away.
Maybe hope is that thing
that when all is
is literally hopeless—
still,
and somehow,
there is a glimmer of light.
Hope:
A feeling
a thought
a mindset of trust
that despite what happens
or the hopeless things we see
or when life goes wrong
or even in the middle of our everyday chaos,
or regardless of how bad the day might be;
hope is the fabric which holds us together.
And this
is what keeps us going.
Hope does not mean that everything we want
will, is, or can happen
or that our dreams are going to happen
the way we planned
or assumed.
No
This only means that as we face our letdowns
regardless of how hard they may be
or heartbreaking;
hope is the substance,
which keeps us intact
or this is what keeps us together
when we fall apart.
Hope is what allows us the vision
to see our way through
to realize that yes,
there’s something better ahead.
Not every dream is meant to come true
and not every dream is true
which is hard and unfortunate
to handle and sometimes,
we find that people are untrue
or that what we thought or believed
was inaccurate and untrue
or maybe even taken for granted,
which means that we were inaccurate
or mistaken.
Or, maybe we (or I)
failed to see the signs
and my angst for the dream
to happen as I wanted
misguided me
because I forgot to see the road around me
or adjust myself
to a new or every changing landscape.
Life is an ongoing revolution of change
always evolving,
always cycling in the rise and falls
like the chest
or the housing of our lungs
that swells when we breathe.
Hope . . .
This is the membrane, or the cell
or the blood.
Hope is the oil that keep the machine
moving in our mind
greasing the gears
with its massed gadgets and parts
to which
without hope,
it is easy to seize-up or stall
or fall apart,
without anything to bind us
or hold us together.
This is The Book of Hope
or perhaps I should say that this is about me
or my hope,
or perhaps this is about my own adversity,
or the struggles which come
when hope is lost
or the light of my hope
is otherwise dim.
This is about the depth of my
hope or the hope that perhaps,
maybe someday,
all of this will make sense
and I will see the point
or that I will understand
the rhyme or the reason
and that when this instance comes to pass;
everything that hurt
and anything that caused me to struggle
will be nothing else
but insignificant.
Perhaps I, myself,
am insignificant to some
or to someone
or in some way, and perhaps
I was merely a lesson
or a placeholder
or a moment in time
which has passed
and now, I am a memory
or part of history
or I am something that simply “was”
and will never be again.
However, this is about hope
which is not to say that my hope
for the next chapter is to resume
or repeat
or to recreate,
or that anything is absolutely
over — but instead,
this is the acknowledgment
that only yesterday is over,
as in dead and buried,
but not me.
No.
My hope is that regardless of what comes,
someday
I will find myself at the doorstep of my desire
and finally,
I will be exactly
where I am supposed to be,
happily crossing the line
and making my way
to where I’ve always wanted to be.
This is my response to an otherwise
daily, ritual, spiritual, physical,
or emotional challenge
that has either taught me
or hurt me
or scolded me, like a child
and whether I have learned my lesson
or not,
this is about hope.
This is my hope that no matter what,
I will still be able to stand up,
and walk
and try again and so,
when my time comes
or the next change I get;
no matter how bad things are
or how bad they may seem,
my hope is I have the wherewithal
and the gumption,
or the fortitude
and secret to endure,
which beyond anything else;
this is my heartbeat
and the breath of my soul.
Hope does not mean the absence of hopelessness
and bravery does not mean the absence of fear.
Endurance does not mean the absence of pain
and resilience does not mean
the absence of struggle.
No,
this means all the above took place
yet; I’m still here
aching for me
so that I can build my dream
and make it my own.
So, what am I saying?
I’m saying that all this means
is that we have a path
and each day
we see, we taste, we hurt, and we struggle.
Each day,
we will rise and fall,
or go through ups and downs
just like the breathing chest of God the Father
or The Great Almighty,
and no differently than The Mother of all,
Mother Earth,
of like The Fruit of Thy Womb, breathing
or like the rise and falls of the great tides
of the sea, and like the Titans
the folklores
or like the mythical Zeus,
Andromeda,
or as it was in the beginning
(is now and shall be forever)
and what I’m trying to say here is:
when the first light shone,
hope is the feeling
that the light will shine once more
even after all has blown away
or dwindled and disappeared
into nothing.
It’s gonna rain sometimes
and it’s gonna hurt sometimes too.
Hope does not stop these things,
not at all.
But hope . . .
this is the feeling and the belief and the trust,
that hey . . .
maybe there’s something better out there
or
maybe there’s news on the way.
Maybe there’s more in store for me.
Maybe I should be grateful.
Or maybe I should realize
that there’s a process to this dream of mine
and whether this is about love
or the dreams I have
are in need of a simple correction;
or maybe this meant
that my dream needed to be altered
even if for the moment
the correction hurt
or the alteration
was heartbreaking
and even when none of this makes sense
and that my changes imposed upon me
were far from simple—either way
I know that my hope is all that I have
to restore my faith
so that when my day comes
I will smile . . .
Or maybe I’ll weep
and when I cross the threshold
and find myself in my earthly paradise,
I will understand every moment
and every instance of pain
and just like that,
essentially, at last,
I will be healed.
This is my hope
and not even my doubt
can take this away from me.
No one can
Not even you . . .
The Written Addiction 