An Open Ramble

What was your best experience as a kid? When was your craziest night or what was your wildest time of year? I ask this with reason. I ask this without regard to right or wrong or good or bad and rather than place opinions or act as judge or jury, what was the best memory of you as a kid?
What was one of the best nights when you were out late with your friends, beyond sunrise, and as the night came to a close, was there a time like this when everything was perfect? The night behind you was wild and incredible. You lived every minute up until the very last second. And somehow, as the morning struck, there was a sense of rejoice in your private rebellion because you beat the morning. You went at it without any regret and the laughs and the howls were absolutely worth it. By the time you hit the bed to crash, there was a sense of crazy accomplishment which usually resulted in a late-night meal before parting ways with your friends.

I can say that although there were times when life was troubled and although I do not regard some of my old ways as glamorous or cool; I can say that there were times of greatness. There were moments of perfection. I can say there were times when I found my way home to regard the moments as a night to remember.
These were times when I found myself luckily between the arms of someone’s intimate embrace. Or maybe this was from a time when I sung out loud and danced until sweat poured from my body. I can say that there were times when the wildness of my youth was absolutely correct and accurate. We howled and we laughed and sure, we left a trail of danger in the aftermath.
But who cared? We were young and rebellious, wild and free (at least to some degree).

I suppose it was the music too. Or maybe it was the times and the music was simply an added gesture, like an anthem that fit perfectly.
Sad songs matched sad times and righteous songs matched righteous moments. There were times when I could have driven straight off the edge of the world which would have been fine, so long as the music was loud enough.

And from the other end, there were quiet times which I remember and equally regard them as perfect. There were nights when I was young and alone and sitting on the roof of my home. This was a thing for me. I’m not sure who else climbed out of their window onto the roof of their home. But I did.
I’d climb up and stare up into the sky which was blemishless in a midwinter’s night and clear with stars above and a moon, dangling in the center stage of heaven. I sat there by myself without feeling alone. I took a drag from my cigarette and exhaled the smoke up to the sky.
Nothing mattered at the moment. Not the crowd. Not me or the relevance between myself or the ideas of friendship. I was unmoved by the world and, for the moment, everything was weightless and mild. It is enough to have these times and feel happily unattached, at least for a while or until Monday rolls around.

I can say that I used to need this which I still do in some ways. However, I no longer feel the need to defy the stars or fit within a crowd. I do not need to find a station or position where I fit; nor am I interested in molding my life due to a popular opinion or adhering to popular demands.
However, I can remember a time when the pressures of my social life and the stressors of the crowd were all too difficult. Then one day, I decided to reconcile with myself. I decided to forgive my internal debts and pardoned my confusions with an accepting idea that this is where the new me could begin. 

I don’t go by the ideas of right or wrong anymore. But more, I sift through the different concepts of contentment and satisfaction. I am grown now. I’m older but not so old that I can’t remember the days of renegades or rejoice in the crusades of my past.
More, it is of sound mind that I explain myself here; that I don’t need the glitz or the glamor. I don’t need the marque or my name up in lights. 

My needs are small and more important to me now.
My needs are a good meal, a happy time beneath the sun, and a moment of redemption between me and my former self. 

I made a choice to let go of my unnecessary possessions to gain back something I never had before. I call this the presence of self; in which case, my journey has changed and so has my destination. There’s a word for this too. I think some might call this maturity. Some might call this awareness. But me, I call it my redemption. I call this my way to rid me from the discourse of unhelpful, inner dialogue.

I will leave it at this, I can remember listening to the poet Saul Williams shout, “Stealing us was the smartest thing they ever did. To bad they don’t teach the truth to their kids.”
In his case, Williams was talking about the slavery of his people; in my case, I consider this sentence whenever I think about the slavery of my own mind. I have been stolen more than once. 

But not anymore. 
Not again and not on my watch.