It is even more confusing to say
that tomorrow is not a given,
especially when we have so much
depended on tomorrow, like a bet at the window
as if to bet on the 7 horse to win,
place or show.
Maybe tomorrow is not a given.
Maybe there really isn’t anything else
but right now . . .
and now has become the determining factor
of whether you or I will take that next step
or make that turn
or change our minds
and figure out a plan
for the rest of our lives
(so we can be happy).
I have been told about
the different positions of the moon
and the variation of the tides
and how this affects the moods we feel,
which tend to swing, from left to right,
or back and forth.
And I admit that I have grown impatient
but not without reason.
I admit that there is a difference
between realism and skepticism
as opposed to pessimism
and cynicism and nor
do I want to be either, a cynic
or a pessimist,
but yes—no one becomes this
without reason.
I do have hopes though
and dreams
and visions which I hope to see,
like say,
the trips I never took,
which will come soon because otherwise
they’ll never be.
It is not beyond me to sit back
and look up at the stars
and notice the countless twinkles
across the cosmos, and I view this like a child,
like a dreamer,
or a man with a prayerful attitude,
or as someone hopeful
with an outer space mind.
I am a dreamer, of course,
and someone with a beating heart
loving as well, full as ever
and I am a soulful person
with dreams to share.
If I am anything at all,
I am and always have been a searcher
who is in search for that “thing”
or that place, or that space in time,
or that moment, which is perfect
and forever unchangeable; and more,
I am the one who is looking
to find my place in the universe,
which is where I belong
and where I can stake my claim and say,
“Yes, you see this here. This is mine!” with pride
and as I say this,
I will say this with full and total comfort,
and without comparison,
as if to worry or wonder about who has more
or if I should have held out. . .
because now that my life has changed,
my story has changed
and so has my plot, and my point,
and my destiny.
There is no need to have my head on a swivel,
at least not anymore,
and there is no need to look around
or to be envious
of the world around me—or to never be satisfied,
or to settle for a lower or lesser brand of perfection;
and yes, there is such a thing as perfection,
which is not perfect to anyone else
nor should it be.
At least, not when this is intended for me.
But me, I am a seeker
and searching for my perfection which, alas,
I have the right to see this
and find this and to accept nothing less,
nor should I accept any form of substitute
because any kind of substitution
would only cause me to find
that I have defied myself and thus,
the result would only leave me wanting
or searching for more
and thus,
this would be my search
unending.
It is another morning here in Chaos
and it’s been raining in Purgatory
for quite some time.
The new weather is supposedly underway,
which means the seasons will change
and perhaps, just like the moon and the tides,
perhaps our moods will change too.
Maybe my search will change,
which it already has,
and now that my cycle has shown proof
of what it means to overlap with my past,
at last, I think that the light
at the end of the tunnel is bright enough
to shed hope
to the heart of a hopeful soul.
Perhaps I see it this way
because my intentions have changed and thus,
my reasons have changed as well because, of course,
I see that my purpose is not what it was,
and since I am not the same as I was yesterday;
and hence, if it is true what they say about tomorrow
and if tomorrow is not a given,
then let me gather my things
and make my way now, because I get it now.
Fate pulls tricks too,
or maybe this is fate’s way of telling me,
“Wait, I have something better for you!”
And I like better—it certainly beats the ideas
or the feelings, or the beliefs
of not being enough or wanted or valued,
or if anything, I like the idea that somehow,
fate and destiny is on my side—
protecting me.
Better than the sun coming up
and better than the sunset at places like, say,
the baseball fields
that were down the block
from my old house on Merrick Avenue,
and more to me than the reveries
and youthful memories of way back when,
or when it comes to innocent thoughts
like, when kites flew in the fields
or little sailboats raced in the pond at Eisenhower Park,
somehow, my path has randomly overlapped
to remind me that yes,
there is a home for me out there
and that yes, my place at the table has always been set
and there’s always been room
and I’ve always been welcome
It’s amazing what happens
when you realize your own worth—
You realize that so long as you dream for more,
then you can work for more,
which I am.
So, hold tight
There’s more to come
I promise . . .
The Written Addiction 