There are times when the hour is late and all is dark. My mind escapes me, which means my thoughts are moving too fast and in a thousand different directions.
And I know what this is. I know what they call this.
They call this insomnia. But me, I call this another night in bed, looking up at the ceiling. I say this is another night, tossing from one side to the other, trying to find a comfortable spot and trying to stop my mind from moving in a thousand different directions.
But hey, try to relax. Right?
Isn’t that what people say?
Try to clear your mind.
Ever hear that one?
I have . . ..
And that’s just it.
One thought becomes two and then four and the rest just snowballs out of control. Some thoughts lead us to an assumption of danger or shame or into bouts of discomfort and next, your body almost reacts, as if you want to just jump up and move because you want to get away. You react or, for all intents and purposes, you want to find a safer place or a safer thought – but that’s the deal when it comes to insomnia.
If there was a safer place or a safer thought, we wouldn’t be up so late, thinking too much about every little goddamned thing.
Try to clear your mind.
Really? What asshole genius came up with that bright idea?
(As if it were that easy.)
I chose to start this journal with an almost lighthearted side for a reason. Even this – although I will ask you to pardon my previous degree of sarcasm, I am here so that I can focus more on the happier side of life. Yet, life is happening to me. All day . ..
This is happening to me the same as life is happening to you or to anyone else in this world.
And that’s okay. That’s fine. Really, it is
and I say so be it.
My aim is to reset myself. I want to retrain my thinking so that I can alter my perception and engage in a more positive approach.
I need to find a new appeal and to gain a better footing. I need to understand about my shaky ground, to keep me from slipping.
I want to find my spot in the sun. I want this the same as anyone else. It’s true.
I don’t know what your version of happiness is, at least not totally.
Maybe a little though.
I don’t know what makes you smile or brings a sense of warmth to your soul.
I don’t know what works for you as an emotional penicillin nor do I know what cures you from the heartaches we face.
However, what I do know is that we all have a certain, special set of ingredients that works to soothe the soul.
This is my hint – this is my search and my quest.
I know that we all want peace. We want to be happy. We want to be safe and secure. We want the sun on our face to enjoy the rays of sunlight. At times, we want the wind at our backs. We want the picturesque sky – clouds like scattered feathers, gently threading across the sky and trailing in beads of white cotton which take on the reflection of color that comes from the sun at the end of the day.
I write about this because yes, I am the real-life version of S.E. Hinton’s novel and to quote this warmly – I’m just trying to “Stay gold.”
I have been known to confuse happiness with external resources that eventually faded. I have lost myself with things that I thought I needed – except, in the end, they left me wanting more.
I have been known to place value in the wrong people or with the expectation that somehow, regardless of the red flags or the problems at hand – somehow, the odds would forgive me and the risk would be worth the while and at last, I could find my place in the circle and sit down for a while.
(Know what I mean?)
I have these ideas of traveling to find some remote town, small as ever, quaint and almost that of a fairytale, and warmer than any fictional place that we’ve seen in the movies.
I could find someplace where I would settle in and be there, happy as ever, living a life in a commonplace town where commonplace people say the craziest things like, “Hello” or “Good morning” when they see you on the street.
I have these thoughts of towns like this where there’s a local diner where the soup is always good and the food is always served with love.
I’d like to find this place. I’d like to see where this is and live there.
I want to be part of the town and help build or rebuild whatever it takes to keep this place going.
I want to move here and see what the sunset looks like from the view of a backyard – maybe I could be sipping from a cold glass of iced tea on a late summer’s day.
I used to lose myself in the idea that might makes right.
Money rules the world. Or, so I thought.
I used to waste my time on believing that status controls happiness and that looks are everything.
Of course they are, right?
Well – they kind of are because now that I know what love is, to me, love looks like something that I could never live without.
But this is a different perspective. Either way, optics are everything, right?
Optics are the key to the perception of success. And maybe it is – optics, I mean.
Or maybe optics are nothing more than a fake gesture or the pose of a plastic smile.
We’ve seen quite enough of these.
Optics can be an insincere “thank you” ingenuine as could be, which is followed by an even less-sincere, “You’re welcome.”
I want to be away from this sort of thing.
I don’t want to talk like this or be like this ever again.
I don’t want to place my value where my worth does not belong; and more, I want to find my spot in this world because I’ve earned this.
I’ve earned the right to make my way and stake my claim.
I have earned the right to have the life I have always wanted.
I say this because, at best, most people wish for the life they’ve always wanted to have. But instead, they stay as they are and live the life that they’ve always lived.
But why? To what avail?
What has this done for them or you or me or anyone else?
There’s life and living to its best potential and then there’s the other kind of life. This is the kind that is otherwise lifeless and passionless, flat, like a desolate landscape.
No ups or downs. No highs or lows because life has otherwise become limp, as if to have nothing to stiffen the spine or to help us stand tall; or worse, life becomes nothing other than a flaccid existence – soft in all the wrong places and lost like a leaf that fell from the branches too soon – dying alive while all else is fruitful and bright.
I have seen decades of tragedies and watched people submit to a life that was otherwise dead. I have witnessed the dreams that went deferred and observed the forfeited life that was otherwise surrendered to an alternate life that was equally unwanted. I have seen people go down and quit and worse, I have watched people who were beautiful and charming, charismatic and lively; yet, I watched them lose belief in themselves and slowly, I saw them dissolve in the acid of their misunderstanding and sink to the depths of sad depressed lies.
This is the life that would steal their beauty and cheat them into believing that we are anything but . . .
I found an old insomnia poem of mine last night – 5 verses
Five Verses of Insomnia Poetry
~
1)
I know a little girl that collects rain in bottles.
Says she wants to keep something from heaven
because,
“That’s where God lives.”
I say that’s beautiful . . .
In spring, the little girl collects dandelions.
She picks the kind with feathers.
Then she closes her eyes to make a wish
and she blows the feathers to the wind.
Says, “My Daddy told me if I wish real hard,
all of my wishes will come true.”
When I was a little boy The Old Man
tried to teach me about the different clouds in the sky.
Said, “If you know what you’re looking at,
you can tell what kind of weather we’re gonna have.”
It seems over the years,
I have forgotten the difference between cumulus and stratus.
I don’t remember the clouds at all –
But I do know that there’s something to them
Weatherman says it’s going to rain tomorrow.
Think I’ll put a bottle outside to catch something from heaven
Because, as I’m sure you know –
that’s where The Old Man lives
and besides, New York is too cold for the butterflies now
I’ve been told that they’re a sign . . .
I could use a sign like that
(You know?)
2)
I see this as my moment, and why shouldn’t I?
Just because someone tells me, “Now isn’t the time,” doesn’t mean that I should listen.
It’s not like they have my best interest at heart, and let’s face it, if I move forward
that will only mean that I tried and those who stay still –
They never tried at all
Right?
I saw a group of old friends not too long ago
Age has stepped in.
I can see that.
Too much time went between us.
I get that too.
That doesn’t mean everyone has grown up though.
I passed them as if I didn’t recognize anyone
No one recognized me either
or . . .
maybe we were all playing the same game
in our 50’s
3)
Pretty soon, the poles will switch
our half of the hemisphere will tilt away from the sun
and our part of the world will grow colder.
It doesn’t bother me; the colors of fall
or the shedding of leaves
I love this time of year.
I feel as if the summer heat has given way
so we can rest,
and the constant pressure of being, “in,”
or fashionable subsides to say, a knitted sweater, or a cup of hot chocolate and a smile.
Pretty soon, the beaches will vacate.
The sands will empty and all that remains
are the vacant remnants of summer
like tiny flags that mark the spot
and poke upwards from the sand.
Somewhere,
someone is combing a beach with a metal detector.
Maybe they do this right now with hopes
of finding someone’s forgotten fortune.
But otherwise,
the empty sands are worth so much more to me.
I prefer it this way: the beach – vacant and empty.
(Don’t you?)
I can hear the ocean and the surf
I can hear the gulls cry
And can imagine the waves that fold on the sands.
In the distance,
gulls follow the commercial fishing boats to sea,
and as for the sunrise . . .
there is nothing else like a sunrise on the beach
Believe me
I know
4)
You . . .
Your king is weary of his conquests yet
You have wished with all your might to vacate your title
as the queen of empty houses.
And as the queen,
you so
are weary of travel and your mind needs something
to feel pure again (or whole)
. . . I know.
Your search to feel better is overwhelming
So you give in and swallow something to help you sleep
. . . I get that
You trade your empire for secrets
And you’d give up your throne
for threads of something real
You welcome the remedies that ease the tension,
or placate the lies
so you can breathe for a while –
To breathe; as in, without the constant conflict
. . . I’ve been there
The mind detaches from the body like
rainfall changes the landscape.
An army of dreams can no longer rescue
the infant that cries in your mind.
Lost –
Looking for sunlight
to soften the blow of your missing rainbows because otherwise,
it’s just another storm
. . . I know
I felt that way too –
5)
My first step is short of the next,
which bothers me,
because I am unsure of where to turn
If you ask me, “what have I done with my life?”
Maybe I’ll smile
or I’ll laugh to drown your question or –
maybe I’ll come up with some flashy answer –
to keep you from seeing me down..
I mean, here it is 3:00am
I’m dreaming of pillows I can’t sleep on
and wishing my head would slow down long enough
to close my eyes.
I can’t sleep again . . .
I guess I’ll write for now
What else can I do
to reach you?
~
I have this notion that at some point, even if the clouds are thick, I still know there’s a sun up there somewhere.
And the moon? Sure, the moon is up there too, looking down like a bright bulb or a nightlight to allow us to see – or if anything else, maybe this is enough to keep us from fearing the dark.
I know that there is love out there for me.
I know that there is love in here for me as well.
I know that I needed this today – to come here and find you – even if all you are is a figment of my imagination – then fine.
So be it, at least I’m still alive enough to imagine.
Otherwise, life would be lifeless and me – I would be hardly existing.
Man . . .
Jim Morrison was right when he asked the question:
How many of you people know you’re alive?
I don’t know the answer to this
But I think we’re all dying to find out . . .
The Written Addiction 