Ah, Chaos,
I wonder who I would be,
if I were like the Buddha,
as in all-seeing and all-knowing,
or ever-growing and consciously improving,
as in consistently, on an ongoing basis,
as in forever,
always evolving, ever-changing
as in adjusting or adapting
in a moldable form
like an unfolding story
with a peaceful plot that projects
the pure divinity of beautiful aspirations
and essentially, this is what regains
my ever-evolving perspective
towards the possibility of infinite hope.
Alas, my friend Chaos—I know him well,
all too well. Yet, in the center of myself,
I reach to find peace yet, reluctantly,
I find that my definition of peace is still unwinding,
or unravelling, or maybe I have become
washed beneath the tides of outgoing waves
unrolling, like a ball of gaining mass
that angrily amasses and gathers and gains weight
and momentum.
Life picks up speed
really fast,
and quicker than we anticipated
even when moving at a snail’s pace;
I say, beware the deception of perception.
It tricks and lies
it multiplies consecutively
and by varying the degrees of difficulty,
by the hundreds, beware the snags in your mind
or the traps in your gains.
Beware the downward spiral of emotional quicksand
sucking you in and pulling you down
or swirling like a tornado in a whirlpool of lies,
or losing oneself to the suction
like the vortex above a drain,
sucking the life from the pools of our hope,
or otherwise,
draining us from the abilities of empowerment;
beware the assumptions of predictive loss,
especially when our math
isn’t right.
Ah, to be free.
To step away or to emancipate
or escape or to disconnect from the static
or to silence the resistance
and to live in the variation of an alternate existence,
as if to breathe in deeply
or to feel the approaching warmth of springtime,
and to be free from the toxins
or the sins against us.
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,
and since it has been never since my last confession,
then allow me to confess myself here,
with hopes that your penance will be soft
or at least
tolerable.
And I see you, Chaos,
Sitting over there.
You’ve not fooled me.
Not once.
But still . . .
I want to get away
or to step away. You know?
As if to pull your chair back
and to stand up from the undesired tables
and to remove oneself, or to push your chair back
without contempt, or without the need to feel disdain
or think another disdainful thought
and to walk away without the mournful concepts of loss,
because of course; loss is only loss
if you actually had something
because if you never really “had it,”
then you never really “lost it”
because it was never yours to begin with.
All else is only make believe, which means
if we never had something, and we only pretended,
then we only pretended and when all else failed
and when everything ended,
we woke up to the realization
that life is not a game of pretend
and life is not a dream
nor does life live in accordance with out hopes
and nor does life build itself
according to our dream’s consent.
But more, life is more than who we are now
or who we were before.
And yes, I want more.
I want more than I had before
and more than I have now
(if I have anything, that is).
I want to step away.
I want to be free from the weight of labels
or outside opinions
and free from the heaviness of unkind things, or like the Buddha,
I want to be free from the concepts of possession
and at the same time,
I want to understand the exact definition
or what the word possession means
so that I can understand exactly what it is,
that I possess.
This is not to say that I am going to change my style
and give up all of my worldly possessions
or join a cult or be involved with some organization
or some organized religion.
No.
First,
I’m not so sure how worldly my possessions are
and to be honest, I’m not so sure that I am worldly,
nor do I possess anything so valuable
that I can call them worldly.
But then again,
I suppose this is all relative because
one man’s trash
is another man’s treasure
and one person’s desire
might be glad
if I gave them the things
which I saw as undesirable.
However, I can understand
the need to cut ties or to walk away
or to say hey, I’ve had enough
and break the chains
or to remove the shackles
and to find the balls to stand up to the guards
or to the warden or the watchmen and say,
that’s it. I quit.
Go dig your own foxholes
and pray from them.
This has done nothing for me
but rob me from my truths
Ah Chaos,
It’s coffee time in New York.
I may not always agree with you
and we might not always get along,
or see eye-to-eye.
but I’ll give you one thing—you are dependable and yes,
of course, like clockwork
you are always there
right on time.
The Written Addiction 