I go down the old streets sometimes, in memory of course, or in dreams, or in pictured flashbacks of times when time was less crucial.
Life was much simpler then. Me, you, us, the world as it was and how it’s changed.
I go through the different locations that were if anything; safe to say these were the birthplaces of my life because to me, it is accurate to say that yes, we are born more than once.
I say we are born at birth, and yet we are born again each day. We are born several times, each day, opening up like a flower that blooms throughout the span of our entire lifetime. We experience life this way, recreating genesis; the origin, the birth, the beginning from where we begin because in fact, yes, we do begin new each day. Hence the flower blooms again and unfolds each day, differently until dusk.
I am here now and content. I am content like a man by the fire, out in the wilderness and in the dark. I am content to think and comfortable to feel. I am warm from the cold and safe from the elements. I am calm.
I am quiet now and hushed like a child before slumber. Safe like a babe in the arms of the Ultimate Mother – peaceful, plentiful, preserved and safe enough to ease back. I am safe from our sorry tensions and secure to leave behind our useless excuses and be nothing else but peaceful.
Serene, God, what a word.
To be this way, to fit in the curve of a palm, resting like that of a child in a cradle, without harm or worry.
This is where I am.
I have seen the weariness of soldiers like you or me. I have seen them as they return from the battles of normal, everyday life. I have seen them travel, marching, long after the battles are over, and yet, they still march because this is what soldiers do. They search for battle because how does one find peace when all they’re familiar with is the untimely wars that we encounter during each day of our waking life. Perhaps this is what we choose to recover; us and our sense of self and the recuperation of life as it was before battle scars riddled the landscape.
I know. I go too deep.
I think back to where I have been and what I have seen. I think about the simplest things, like the sight of a man walking a dog in the early morning. I saw this before the sprinklers came on at sunrise. I think of me, sitting on the trunk of my car in the driveway. I was watching the sunrise after a long night out and wondering the whereabouts of real love and possibilities of my life in the long run.
I was only being me.
I think back to the deaths and the rebirths and the redemptions and of course, the relapse, which is the cycle until we learn.
We move and we go and we barter and we trade. We look for the path of least resistance, and yet, we resist and we argue, we bicker, and we bark until finally, we find a better way to navigate without going back to our old ways of doing things.
(God, I just wish the carnival would come back to town. Remember? June, the summer was about to kick off and the lights, the ferris wheel, the music and the games, and the cotton candy, like the sugar of our youth. Life was simple then, no?)
I am grateful now and mostly because I am sitting quietly without thinking too much. In fact, I am writing this because put simply, I am only writing words without thinking.
I am writing whatever comes from my mind without editing, without coercing, without forcing or feeding into an idea that we all have to “Sound good!”
Besides, this is something that only the critics think about. And who cares about the critics? Who cares about the people in glass houses, tossing stones? Who cares about the pot or the kettle? Who cares about the finger that points blame with three fingers pointing back? Do any of us even see how we contribute to our own downfalls? Do any of us admit to our part in this?
I have to.
I have to because I see that my downfalls are only the death of a moment that has gone by, which allows me the right to be reborn and start again.
I love that
I love it that you’re here for me –
Even if you don’t know what I’m saying.
And that’s all that matters.