I can’t help or hide the fact that yes, I’m crazy.
There’s no question about this. However, instead of complaining, shhh –
Be quiet –
I’m trying to learn how to enjoy this!
I would assume it is safe to say that happiness is as simple as waking up in the morning with nothing to do. Maybe happiness is a day with no plans or a reason to do anything. I think we might be on to something here.
Maybe happiness is a day with nothing to do, except to serve yourself with a few naps or watch a few movies. For the moment, I would assume that happiness can be easily defined by the morning sun as it trickles through the curtains in your bedroom.
Your eyes open up to a new day. The night before wasn’t so bad and the morning ahead is a choice to either keep your head on the pillow or watch the sunrise together or see the dawn as it takes over the sky.
I know that not everyone is an early morning person.
I am.
But this is what I’ve been trying to tell you – I think the challenge we find is that happiness is really simple. No bells or whistles. No complex diagrams or wild or futuristic technology is necessary here.
In fact, absolute happiness is far less complex than we assume:
To be happy, at minimum or to be content, like a cat as it purrs with its eyes half-shut, comfortable and no worries. The truth is we are only one idea away from this sort of thing.
Purring . . .
I can say that I have read some of the great poets. I have read some of the prose from great writers who endured such hellish lives yet even in those moments, they were able to write about these concepts with such poise and beauty. – like being in a jail cell, for example and still conveying such freedoms and somehow finding a sense of understandability and commonness and the destruction of everything, as if to say ah, what the hell – it’s nothing new.
Crisis and chaos are more common than the cold or a stuffed or runny nose.
And love – or, dare I mention this in fear of judgment:
Tumultuous love – let me tell you that as wild and chaotic as this sounds, there is something so drawing or calling about this. Maybe it’s the wildness or that collision of wild or crazy sex or maybe it’s the chaos of our chemistry, explosive as ever or enough to make an atomic bomb seem as useless as a firecracker or maybe this has to do with the side effects of our chemistry’s dependence or co-dependence or whatever this means; maybe the fact that as knockdown or drag out as life can be, more wild than the streets I’ve told you about – maybe the draw I feel towards you is how wild we become, like animals, primal or carnivorous. Yes, even in the bizarro world of my specialized insanity and in spite of the calamity of outrageous damages – regardless of the mad fights or the crazy gestures, and no matter what, or even if pots and pans go flying, spit streams from screaming mouths, drools of anger splashing from our bottom lip – we fight hard and fuck hard and yes, I’m sorry for the harshness or the crudeness of my previous word. But regardless of the problems or their sources – the love that I have and the love that I have shared is equally as hard – or equally stronger or as unbendable and unbreakable as the soul of our crazy little lives.
Call me a kid.
Call me crazy.
Call me a cab and send me packing –
But you can’t call me loveless.
You can’t call me passionless.
In fact –
You can’t call me anything other than “ME!”
I no longer believe that happiness is the absence of sorrow or trouble.
I believe that happiness includes passion and heartache. The same as rain comes around and graces the presence of the earth, there is the adverse or the opposite; and too, there are moments where even gray and stormy moments come laced with a beautiful seduction or with such an amazing resurgence and the might of recovery takes over – as if to promise us that once more, same as the sun and rain can share the same sky – even love exists in spite of lovelessness.
I am insecure with this one. . .
I am uncomfortable because I have mentioned my attraction to the wildness or the chaotic nature of love and yes, I admit to my fascination of all its insane splendor – it’s ride or die in this life.
Faults and all, but I will never waver.
P
However, I have news –
Nothing comes without flaw and everything is misshapen in its own way – even the storm clouds that rained on our parade will never appear exactly the same – so, then why should we care about our life?
Why should we try to explain our love? Why should we even try to understand this? Who fucking cares?
Why try to explain the way our love is either the same or similar as anyone else’s.
Let us be different. I say that’s better than good.
I say that’s better than the best and even more, this is better than perfect because this allows us to be absolutely and totally undefinable. The only sameness I want is my right to live and my right to love is equally the same; however, all is subjective and unique to me.
The same thing applies to you.
I was told, “Love in your heart was not put there to stay, for love isn’t love until you give it away.”
I was told this by a great man. He was a beautiful man. I admire him and dare I call this out as loudly and as proud while honoring his anonymity; I am honored and lucky to say that this man was my friend.
Love isn’t love until you give it away . . .
And happiness – I think our problem is our definitions.
Our problem is our designs of expectation. Maybe the blueprints and diagrams we have been given are not only unfitting and inaccurate for our happiness; perhaps we walked away with the wrong assumption. Maybe we thought we were misfitting and out of touch or too far from the spectrum to be “normal.”
But who wants to be normal anyway?
Who said that this is the only way to live or the only way to love?
Maybe we listened too deeply to the wrong teachers or maybe our interpretation did not match our teacher’s intention.
Maybe this is why we walked away and decided that happiness has to depend on our circumstances.
Like love . . . Like sex . . . like desire . . .
Like the burning passion in your heart and how the unquenchable need to touch and feel and to massage or stroke the hair of someone you love –
All of this . . .
I think that happiness can be found in either a solo moment or even during a lonesome event and true, it is nice to share the world with someone – yes, I agree.
Even if that time was or is limited and finite – ah, I can say that at least you made love.
I can say that at least at one point in your life, regardless to the aftermath or the fights or the way things ended, be it either tragic or mutual, one-sided, amicable or otherwise – at least you can say that you know the wild nature of your truest heart – even if it was only once or with one person, ah yes, at least you know.
Maybe happiness is a moment of awareness. Maybe this is an achievement of the grand plateau. In other words, maybe this is the arrival of understanding and that whether life comes or goes or whether times are tough or life is easy, we are who we are, crazy as ever, passionate and wild, daring, explorative, a hunter at times, carnivorous and hungry as ever; as if to have an appetite for more and even more, no one can stop us.
I will say:
Happiness is not a relationship – it is a complement of life that says whether you stand alone or in the greatness of a quiet morning, naked as ever, and swirled in sheets with your body enmeshed or entwined with another – the sun comes up and goes down either way.
Happy or not, the day waits for no one.
Life is life and, therefore, in the span of all that we’ve surveyed and in the crux of our pivotal lives, no matter how tough or strong or weak we appear, and without any relation to the might of the hand or the stroke of a pen, life is by far so much bigger and wilder and more grand than what our limited minds can conceive to be true.
Here’s the truth –
Happiness is as simple as nothing at all.
Do you understand?
Happiness is a living and breathing thing which means this inhales and exhales. Hence, this would also be true that the same as any other living or breathing thing, there will be moments of despair.
There will be bouts and fights and crashes and things will break and hearts will shatter. I’m sorry, but this is true. Our hearts are going to break again, to have its parts, reconvene and placed back together by the glue of our crazy and special brand of love (which only happens our way).
Life is going to come with bouts and moments of discomfort. We are going to have pain. We are going to hurt. We are going to cry. We are going to lose our temper and our patience. Sure, I have been known to shake my fists at the sky.
I have been known to create damage to the point where even the word destruction is too weak to contain the aftermath – but to be clear, I know this is crazy and I know that I am crazy, which in fairness – I love it. That’s fine.
I wouldn’t want to be any other way because if I was, I would never be me and you would never be you.
I might have fought hard and I might have been crazy. But that’s okay.
Sure it is.
This means I have the ability to love and give back to repair and redeem with an equal tenacity. Sure, my greatness is not the situations that I’ve created but instead, I never quit.
I never gave up. I might have taken a beating a few times. I certainly have a few scars and I’ve had a some bumps and bruises throughout my life.
I’ve been in fist fights and I’ve seen violence. I’ve seen a bullet pass through flesh, for Christ’s sake!
I’ve seen terrible things and in spite of the rage or in spite of the hatred I’ve seen or experienced in my life; and in spite of my own ridiculous bullshit, or in spite of my defects or I how I have been guilty from my own regard; I know that somewhere within me is a love that is more great and strong, more vibrant and alive, more colorful than the morning sky and more promising than the sunset.
My love is more elaborate than any sunset, like the one where I’ve chosen to define my version of love from a scene in a movie as the truest depiction of young or unsafe love.
I’m unsafe alright . . .
Beautiful too.
Happiness is simple and so is the world.
So are the basic principles and concepts like to take turns or to play fair, to be nice or be kind and when fate allows you to be in love or to make love – please, make the kind of love that lets your heart erupt. Let your heart build up into the best explosion – as if to release the demons or accept the angels or as if to love as much or as wild and as passionately as possible. Do this as often and as heartily as you can because I hate to break this to you – but no one ever realizes that a time comes when you take the words, “I’ll see you later” for granted. I say this because there will be a time when “later” never comes and you’ll wish you’ve said something different.
Trust me . . .
However, and as for now –
This morning is quiet. I have some music playing softly in the background. I have candles flickering because it is before sunrise and I, well, I have decided to start my day by trying to define that moment where the wildness and the perfect seduction of loving chaos can be so crazy – yet, this is also so wildly inviting. Therefore, I am here, by myself and speaking out loud to you – dear, Universe.
It is my heart. It is my hope. It is my contention and my rage and passion and my contempt and my joy, my venom, my antidote, and with all the craziness of my mixed up emotions, or my bizarre concepts, or my hate or my love, or my worries and fears or my dreams and my fantasies: This is all me.
And fine – this morning is quiet.
The room is otherwise empty but, ah.
I know what love is.
I know about the wild contempt and the brutal collisions of sex and lust and love and as demented as this might sound, I know why the crazy man in the locked ward smiles – even in the straightjacket –
I get it.
I really do –
Sure, I am insecure about this.
I have admitted to the world (just now) and openly exposed the insanity of my desire.
I did this because yes, I’m crazy.
No, I really I am.
In fact, I am over the moon. Demented.
And that’s fine, at least I took what it takes to say this.
At least I showed the gall and put up my nerves and said it here (with you) because in the event that my eyes close or that our last goodbye was actually our last goodbye – I don’t want there to be any doubts about me.
So, I’ll tell you . . .
I am wonderfully crazy.
Amazing.
Sick in the head.
I am outrageous and incredible.
I am insatiable unquenchable and more –
I am a hunter, carnivorous as ever, and hungrier than any animal or beast that has or will ever walk the planet.
The sun is up now.
I might as well get my day going.
But for the record, and just so you know –
I wish I could stay here all day (with you)
And just do nothing.
You know?
The Written Addiction 