I am, in essence,
or essentially, I am this –
I am working and growing yet I am looking back
over my shoulder now (of course)
because the symptoms
are still in my rearview mirror.
The sea is the place for me.
No, wait –
I have dreams of mountaintops too
and daydreams of places I’ve never seen before.
But maybe . . .
. . . someday
My Mother once said, “this is life.”
I am (for the first time in a long time)
worried about interpretation
and judgment or scrutiny;
whereas, in fairness,
I go way back with these things
We go back “like car seats”
which means I know these things for a long time –
since birth, perhaps.
Or, maybe it began that day in second grade
when I was beat up for the first time
– and learned about my weakness.
I am uncomfortable about the upcoming moments
and the services around the bend.
I have something up and coming yet
I have nothing going on,
except for the figures in my head, which I laugh about
because in fairness – I know that all we need to do
is turn off the light – and see.
Even the monsters under the bed
are scared of the dark.
They only scream
because they don’t want to be alone.
See?
It’s that great big world out there called the unknown –
vast as ever and wonderful, glorious and beautiful
but . . .
the abyss of our assumptions, the void of nothing,
misled by an assumption of the mind;
this is no different than fearing the monsters under the bed
or if you prefer, the one in the closet,
which (of course) intellectually
we know that nothing’s there but emotionally,
we work up the fears
to become insurmountable at best.
I am, in essence
or essentially,
I am this cosmic combination of thoughts and ideas,
assumptions, biases, worries and fears; but more,
I am a child, even though I’ve grown –
I’m still a boy, just trying.
Or, in other words –
I am on a trip to a place in my mind,
an escape, a train ride,
a window seat to nowhere yet I can see everything:
the country, the landscapes,
the beauty of unknown places
that no one talks about.
I am where bridges go
from one place to the next and, from this point,
I can see the lakes and the rivers
and the quiet places where people live,
but never reach the news.
I see this as hopeful which hopefully
or should essentially; this is me,
eager to seek this out and experience,
hopeful to feel the perfect abandon
of all that tied me up in knots,
which is not to say that I am in knots right now;
but instead, I am simply trying to untie myself.
I want to untangle without thinking
or wondering about who thinks what
or who says what to whom.
No judgment . . .
No thoughts lurking
no worries in the abyss
of the unknown.
Just something soft, that’s all –
like a grandmother’s hand
and the creations she’d make, just to show love,
just because; as if perhaps,
this was nothing more than an offer from an old woman
who’d seen this face before (somewhere)
hoping to see new things because yes,
life can and will be tough;
and therefore,
we can and will be tough –
but so it goes
and so comes a time when dammit to hell –
we grow tired of being tough all the time.
(I think to myself)
Maybe I should read less poetry.
Or, maybe I should read more.
Maybe the inspirations I seek to soften the blows
are less inspirational and more troublesome; so therefore,
maybe I should just speak for myself
instead of thinking
or sounding like someone else . . .
Maybe we should learn to remove the internal criticisms
Maybe we should understand the art of letting go
Or maybe we do understand
and it’s not that letting go is the problem
It’s the decision that causes us to balk.
Or pause, or ponder, or prepare for the worst.
I don’t have anyplace else like this – here.
I don’t want to lose this either, what I have here, I mean.
This is my place of worship.
This is where I go to find my moments of prayer.
This is all I have because
what I was given was not meant for me.
I know that now.
Besides,
I said goodbye to organized prayer and religion a long time ago;
therefore, if you will, this is my personal cathedral.
This is my moment of prayer.
That’s why I keep this place sacred.
I keep this a secret too
because there’s no one else here but our thoughts,
which essentially, this is us – always thinking.
Everything is protected here –
even the monsters under the bed.
This place is where I come to see the sunrise,
like now,
for example – and I think to myself . . .
Why do you look for the living among the dead?
This was the word of yesterday’s Easter.
Mind you that I am not one to take to religion but still
We do this too . . .
We look for the living among the dead
but life has risen
and so have we
so long as we rise as well.
The Written Addiction 