Of course, I want more.
I want to be more too,
as in more than I am now
or more,
as in more aware yet,
the more I am aware,
I want to be more comfortable
with what I know as well as be fine
with what I do not
or cannot understand
because, of course,
what is a man who knows?
If I am a man,
that is.
Or more,
who is a man who is not wise enough
to use what he knows,
or who is anyone to know something,
or to have wisdom
and yet,
who is anyone
to have these things
without the understanding
of how to use them together.
A friend of mine used to try and teach me this.
He would talk about
knowledge, wisdom, and understanding
and by understanding that if the flock is lost
or like me,
everyone is searching for something
or someone, or in hindsight
we realize that we are all
looking to find some lost piece to a puzzle,
which, if connected,
then finally
we can see the full picture
and then maybe,
we can celebrate the process of what it took
to get us here
from where we’ve been.
Where have I been,
asked a young man who had yet to see life
aside from death, and what have I done
asked the young man
who missed the last eclipse
and as he sat with his infection
and used the tools of his trade;
he looked up at the stars
and took in the moonlight
drenched by the beautiful wind
during the summer’s midnight,
and as he reached down to remove
a tiny package that was folded
into the top of his sock
he opened the paper
to remove the contents
of powder and absent dreams –
and so, his eyes watered,
lip curled,
the park bench was a friend
but unknown was his knowledge
or his wisdom and the understanding
of his own worth.
Lost like the flock,
he had no idea
no clue,
nor concept of his own trinity
which was his knowledge,
wisdom and understanding.
In the name of The Father, The Son, and
the Holy Spirit,
and as it was in the beginning,
to him, it was now,
and this was his idea of “then,”
and should nothing have changed
this could have been his forever.
(Amen)
But to him, the world moved
in swaying branches of ideas and
opportunity.
To him,
white powders became
the powers that were,
or was,
and so went his world
in tiny sands
of soft euphoria
or self-destruction, until the light hits
and the heat removes impurity
to shove in the chamber
of his suicide machine.
The flame hits
and the sands . . .
incinerated in seconds,
cooked by the heat of his crooked flame,
melting in spoonful batches
to define the arrival
of synthetic resurrections.
The world is no less in chaos
than it is in denial
but, should I deny anything
then perhaps I should deny that this was me and should I deny that yes
this was me, then perhaps I can point fingers like others
or judge and prosecute or condemn
those who still live this way.
The lies that come to me at night—
which explain that this was me, and hence, awake,
sifting through thoughts and hoping
that my after thoughts will subside, or that perhaps
finally, I have paid my bill in full
or replaced what was taken
or made amends, or made peace
or served my penance;
perhaps I worry too much that
at some point,
karmic debt will send a collector
and just like that,
the interest will hit me
all at once.
I lay awake some nights
after a dream
or nightmare.
I think and hope that
perhaps the moon’s glow
which permeates the air
or leaks through my shades
over my windows
will act like a blue field of electronic dreams,
perhaps maybe
this magic will allow me to sleep
or let me go
just like the package used to do
which was folded in the top of my sock
32 years ago April 1, 1991.
I do see faces at times,
or have reoccurring dreams
and sometimes,
I spring up from deep sleep moments
remembering, inhaling deeply,
as if I were being suffocated
by the traps of where I’ve been
and what I’ve done.
Yet, somehow, I want to be more.
I want more for myself
I want more for my world
and more for my future.
I want more for our youth
who see their truths as lies
and walk around, unaware of their beauty
and wish they could get away,
just once, tripping over themselves
or falling through the cracks
of stereotypes and lies.
I am not who I was,
nor have I ever been who I was before
because that wasn’t me—not now, not then,
and not ever.
I have always been the man I am today.
In fact, this is who I have always been;
hungry, and searching, and hunting,
like a seeker of truth.
I have always been this eager and this loving.
However, I never had the courage to share this
or show you,
which is why I fear the ideas of karmic debt
because, of course, I owe
and so do you.
This has always been me.
I have always wanted more,
which I am welcome to find, if I look
and search.
But to find anything,
I have to understand the branches
of my own trinity
which is my soul’s abbreviation
of knowledge, wisdom and understanding.
It’s not enough to know
it’s not enough to be wise
I need to enact all three
Otherwise,
I can be lost in the field
with the rest of the flock;
aimless and searching
or hopeless and hoping
and waiting for a miracle
to take me away.
Of course, I want more
as in more life
more love
more times to see the moonlight
and mornings when the sun comes up
and the sky takes on light
and the beach over by 100 Lincoln Road
is more than magical . . .
because now
it’s meaningful,
and that in and of itself
is a miracle.
“Don’t quit before the miracle happens.”
I promise you that I haven’t and I won’t.
Not now
Not ever because, of course,
I want more
(with you)
The Written Addiction 