Prose From the Soul: Working for a Living

I was young and working in a new world with new people who came from different backgrounds and even different parts of the world.
A morning came when I was no longer fit for my life in a suit, which I changed by trading in my tie and briefcase for a blue collar life with a different level of understanding.
In which case, I learned and understood without any shadow of a doubt that life is life and work is work. I came to the realization that everyone has a boss and that no one comes to work for the food and friends, at least not for the most part.

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Prose From the Soul: Game, Set, Match

I have come into the sum of so many things
which have grown bigger than I’ve realized
and gone beyond my control.

Then again, this is life;
these are the episodes of our existence
in which some are perfect and others are less than.
Some are stellar and others are unremarkable; yet,
life comes at a steady pace.
Life happens. Age happens
and in the blink of an eye,
time passes and we look back and think,
“Where’s it all gone?”

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Prose From the Soul: In the Simple Terms

So, where does it begin?
Through a window or an opportunity?
Is it a curiosity? Or what is it?
Is this a need to be bad or to rebel?
Is this to overthrow the powers that be
by being defiant or is it a need for control
and to take back the brand of excitement
by disobeying a rule or an establishment 

How does this start?
Is there an age where this begins?

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Prose From The Soul: Making The Choice

I can’t see it. At least, not really

It’s like I can’t see the wall, the hand in front of my face,
or the life before my eyes.
There’s so much in the middle,
like the way it is in the middle of Times Square,
say like, when the ball drops on New Year’s
or the way it is at the intermission at an off-Broadway play
when everyone takes to the street for a smoke or a breath of fresh air. 

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Prose From the Soul: To the Mother, Curantis Omnium

End of September –
It is the start of autumn and the first chill has come around.
I am nowhere near ready for what comes next. Yet, whatever comes will come anyway
regardless if anyone is ready or not. 

Our part of the northern hemisphere
is tilting away from the sun. This means that
warmth might vanish on some days
but the sunlight will prevail

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Prose From the Soul: The Scene

I went to visit a place from my past,
which was unrecognizable to me now.
All the stores had changed
and the buildings looked differently to me.
Then again,
maybe everything looks different to me now,
especially the way I view myself or life; therefore, everything has changed
either physically or at minimum,
our life has changed on a cellular level.
Therefore everything has changed
because of the way we’ve adapted to it.

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Prose From The Soul: And The Truth Shall Set You Free

One of the questions I’m asked is if everything I write about is true?
Or, one could offer the idea that perhaps what I write is only true to me, which it is.
This is all true to me. Everything I write is true, even when (or if) it’s not true to someone else or true; I have come to the understanding that everyone has their own version of truth. Why else do people argue? Then again, perhaps the biggest problem is that we mistake opinions for fact and therefore, no matter what we think, there is only one truth. Any other version of that truth is no longer true. It’s only true to us.

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Prose From the Soul: So This is 50

I never prayed much.
Not just because of my thoughts on religion or the lack thereof
and not for any other reason
than the fact that I have no tongue for it.

I think of myself as an equal to the parable about the tax collector –
he was the so-called sinner to which
the righteous man or the Pharisee
saw himself as better
or “greater than”.

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Prose From the Soul: Trippy Dreams Theory

I take to the dream like an old familiar place
which I’ve been to a thousand times; yet,
it’s been years since my last trip to the brownstones.

I see the old familiar corners of back home
where eyes were bright and youth was wild.
I remember us as longhaired maniacs.
We looked to find our way around mediocrity
and tried to promote own own rebellion,
one scar at a time.

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Prose From the Soul: It’s Time to Stand Up (and be counted)

I’ve heard this question asked before –
What can we do to save someone’s life?
I’ve heard people ask, what can we do
to get people to change their ways
or how to see things differently?

Unfortunately, the answer is nothing.
The answer is there’s nothing harder to change
than a person’s belief system.

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Prose From the Soul: Invested

Now, of course, this is easy to say.
Then again, words are only words,
unless you mean them.
For example, take the words, “I love you,”
or the words “You mean everything to me.” 

These words mean everything,
unless they mean nothing.
These words have the ability to heal, uplift,
build and repair the soul.
Or, they can do the opposite
and tear us apart – it all depends.

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Prose From the Soul: Flashback

It isn’t much just to look up and see the stars.
Then again, I suppose there is a time
when we were young.
There was a time when we were free
to feel the adrenaline of a midnight hour,
which is when the night was only beginning.

You could feel it too – coming on
like a storm that can’t be stopped
and like the first rain drop
soon enough,
you knew the rage was about to pour.

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Prose From the Soul: The Farm . . .

Somewhere aside from the typical norm,
besides the same streets we’ve seen
or aside from the usual views of the Hudson
as seen down by Liberty
or the spots in SoHo, the Village,
or the uptown fads and Central Park,
or aside from the long walks along Central Park West
and a memory thereafter;
which is a time at the Conservatory Garden in Harlem,
that was visited during a class
in which I saw myself in a different light –
learning that I earned this right
to claim my share in this world
(I swear)
and be who I choose –

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Prose From the Soul – Cue the Sun

It is a few moments before sunrise –
I am looking through a window
and tracking the vague moments before the sunlight.
It is dark and the sky is about to bloom,
which is good

The moments of autumn are underway and soon,
the world around me will cool
and the leaves will change.
I am somewhere in the middle of nowhere,
or at least it seems.
Better yet, I am somewhere familiar
yet the world is allowed to be strange to me.

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Prose From the Soul: Four Hard Truths

I am in no position to judge anyone.
I am human, of course, just like the rest of us are.
I have pieces of me that are dark
and at the same time, I have other pieces of me
that have been embraced by the light. 

I have secrets and lies and sins and mistakes;
therefore, I have no right to either accuse
or condemn nor do I have the correct position
to act as either judge or jury. 

I do my best to remember that . . .

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Prose From the Soul: Early Morning, Alive and Well

I am driving by myself, alone,
heading south on the parkway and driving before the sunrise
heading down the same trip which has become automatic
which is familiar, yet strange in a sense
because as I head towards my usual destination
I have come to the realization that I have outgrown the clothes of my past
and that my old uniforms no longer fit me.

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Prose From the Soul: Pieces of Recovery

They say this is “recovery month.”
So, I’ll understand if you turn away at this point. I’ll even understand if you don’t want to read anymore or if you’d skip a few of my journals; but then again, the reason why I come here is because this is the place where I can be heard – even if only by you, at least I know that someone is listening. If anyone is listening, I’d rather it be you.
They said yesterday was Overdose Awareness Day. And I’m aware. I’ve been aware for a very long time because to me, this is not something new. In all honesty, I shake my head when people act like addiction is new. This isn’t new. None of this is.

What I have for you today is a few pieces of my soul; hence the term Prose From the Soul; yet, this is only a piece of me. I am more than this. I am more than a person in recovery. I have countless other successes that go beyond the typical “one day at a time” approach. But still, I do remember where I came from and, yes, I remember what my purpose is and the direction I am choosing to take.

So, here are some pieces of my recovery. But before I go forward, I’d like to share something that I’ve never said to anyone, which is thanks. But more than a simple thanks, I am thanking you for accepting me for being me
exactly as I am –

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Prose From The Soul: It Can’t Rain Forever

It rained last night
and this morning was gray with a slight mist.
I awoke later than usual –
the sun was trying to peek through the clouds
like a round spot in the sky
with a shade of orange in the silvery shadows
The grass is wet and the smell from the earth
is like that of a late summer rain and me
I am still me
with a mind full of ideas.

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Prose From the Soul: STOP!

And the way the wind blows, it changes, right?
The winds change and so does the weather,
so does the time,
and so do the fashions, the music,
the shows we watch and the foods we eat.

Life is a constant page turner.
I know this now. 
Sometimes we read the writing on the wall
and other times
we get lazy or comfortable
and we skip a few pages thinking,
“I’ll just figure it out as I go along.”

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Prose From the Soul: In a Perfect World

In a perfect world, no one would ever get old
No one would ever die or feel pain or touch a moment of sadness.
Not once.
In a perfect world, your favorite gum would never lose flavor,
you could eat as much of anything you want
and you’d never gain too much weight,
you’d never hear the word calories as a threat
or be put off and think about things
like your cholesterol.

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Prose From the Soul: The Purpose Between Us

It is beyond me . . .
to think of how you know someone for so long yet
there are people we meet and in an instant,
the world changes
and it seems as if we’ve known each other
forever. 

But more, it’s amazing how time passes
and people go their own ways,
only to circle back
as a means of fate:
to reconnect and to find each other again.
I swear, there’s something to this
Something deeper than say,
fate;
that is, if fate is what they say it is –

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Prose From the Soul: A Note From the Underdog

More than the moments in late spring
or when when the first few carnivals took to the town
like the one at St Raphael’s at the birth of summer,
and more than the summer nights,
more than the hot festivals
or the late night venues;
or more than the place where people danced
or swayed beneath flashing lights
and neon colors in places like The Limelight
or The Tunnel –

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Prose From the Soul: Both Missions – Before and After

Both missions – Before and after

1)

Wintertime, 1990 (February, I believe)

I never thought that this would be me
here, living on a farm somewhere up north
short haired and disciplined or should I say “leashed”
or healed like a dog who ran too wildly.
I was north of everything I knew.
I was north of the only living that my young life could understand.

After all, this was supposed to be the time of my life.
I was young, which is for certain and yet,
I was lost in plain sight

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Prose From the Soul: Openhearted

This is a short poem that was written to set a few things free. This was written on a white screen that was blank in the beginning with a white glow shining on my face and reflection in my eyes.
This was begun before the sun or before the hours when my alarm clock songs; but more importantly, this was written with the intention to purge the soul.

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Prose From the Soul: A Brief Adventure

There it is, a great big world which is right outside of our door. This is alive and well, even if we don’t choose to see it.
I think, of course, and wonder of places such as certain cities, like say, places that I’ve only seen in pictures, like San Francisco or maybe Wyoming or even Alaska.
Or then again, my pilgrimage to anywhere could begin from anywhere; in which case, I have this urge to board a train and ride the railroads that span across our country. This way, I can see it all. 

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Alive in my 20’s

The morning was like a brief interlude after a night out with friends. As usual, I was up early because I’ve always had trouble sleeping on floors. Let alone, I never slept much anyway, least of all, as late as the rest of my friends who were sleeping it off the night before. No one else was awake in the small apartment, except for Pete. We were both sleeping on the floor because Steve already took the couch and the beds were all taken. Besides, this was not our apartment.

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