Good morning, my old friend Chaos.
It’s me again,
trying hard to find my way
and trying harder to defy the ideas
which have consumed me for way too long.
I find myself on the verge of another impasse
or crossroads, or perhaps I am on the verge
of another choice, or change
or decision. And again,
I go back and forth and walk down the same streets,
which have recently changed, yet
everything is still the same.
Same ideas, same repeats,
same outcomes which, of course,
and if I’m not mistaken,
this is your definition
(isn’t it?)
Doing the same thing
and expecting different results.
I believe this is what they call
insanity, isn’t that right?
Everyone I know is still remaining
in their perspective places,
or hovering somehow,
in their same positions
or waiting in their stations,
and hoping for something now
to correct our mistakes
or make up for the things we say,
which is of no consequence to me
nor is this a surprise.
No, I think we just call this life;
as in life that is lived
or life that we know, like the poison
we’ve become accustomed to,
which has become tolerable, but not preferable
and so,
this is our life, which has been explored
and lived
and a life that has been analyzed,
or questioned, yet nothing changed
or maybe we’ve only lived in part
because we were caught by the internal lies of omission,
or as we travel down the paths of denial
or supposed blindness, whether this is due to
a hysterical nature or because of some
off-putting obsession; or albeit temporary
or momentary, or albeit it situational, or otherwise;
this is life and so henceforth,
let us stop with the games
and rid ourselves of the need to play pretend.
Let’s not act
as if nothing happened
or nothing hurt
and the scars we bled from
were just happenstance
or inconsequential . . .
Let’s be aware of ourselves, for the moment,
shall we?
There are no more tests or pop quizzes.
No, there is only life ahead and yes,
somedays are easier than others
and other days, well,
my old friend Mr. Chaos feasts on days like this.
He smiles and chews from the fat
that drizzles from of our dramatic instances
which, of course; all of them
have been self-created, or, is it better to say
“self-induced?”
“Quit hurting yourself!”
I’m sorry.
I wasn’t aware, but thanks for pointing this out.
Like I always say,
old habits die hard
if they don’t kill us first.
There are no more excuses now—at least
not now that our eyes are open
and certainly, there are no more lies
which we can hide behind or pretend never happened
because now that we find ourselves
here in the center or smack dab
in the middle of our existence,
which is only purgatory itself—now that we are here
and our eyes are open enough
to notice the truth,
there are no more reasons to pretend,
or to act as if some miracle is about to come and yes,
just like that, all the mistakes we made
will somehow right themselves
and the wrongs will be unobjectionable,
and the road from here will be smooth,
like the unmolested sands on an empty beach
that’s never been touched by the foot of man.
Nothing is perfect
and there are no straight lines anymore.
Although, in fairness, this is how we learn.
We circle back. We think about what took place
or what we said
and what happened after we said them—and sure,
there are times when I think about the things I said
and if possible,
I wish that I could kick my own ass for saying them,
but more importantly, for every action, there is a reaction.
We know this and like a sheet of paper
that has been crumpled or folded and ripped,
sometimes, some of the creases we’ve created
can never be redeemed or smoothed
or removed from the pages of what took place.
I have come here to remove myself from sin
and to alleviate the grips of you,
Mr. Chaos.
And perhaps I am not fit to absolve myself
but at least I have come to acknowledge
what I have done.
I stand here, humbled with my head bowed
in all humility, hands clasped in the means
of a modest prayer.
Eyes closed, breathing slowly
and deeply, in through my nose
and out through my mouth.
I have come here to realize that my old friend Chaos
thrives on my secrets and my lies,
and my mistakes, and my bouts with shame
and like the demons,
Chaos is always eager to pull a deal,
with interest of course, but this goes without saying.
I have learned the ever-painful truth
that you cannot save your face
and your ass
at the same time,
and yes, the pay out from deals with Chaos
is never quite fair, or worse,
Chaos seems to change the interest rates
on a whim, and at the same time,
if you took the deal, then you took the deal,
which means that no—there’s nothing you can do about it,
but pay what I owed, and move on.
But Chaos is slick
and often changes the tone in his voice
just to keep me guessing,
as if to plot against me like a fake friend
who helps with a plastic smile
and with another deal on the table
that appears to be good,
but the fine print is always a bitch
and Chaos, of course, is born from the beast
and me, my beast is tricky
and knows me better than anyone
including me
(and you).
I stand here to part ways with the wreckage of my past,
which is where Chaos looks to burrow himself,
and he hides here in the previous cracks in my façade,
just to keep me off balance or guessing,
or to keep me from recovering;
this is where he fuels my fears,
because like I was said
Chaos is always around
and eager to remind me of things, like,
“hey, remember the time you ruined everything . . .
well, guess what?
You’re not the only one who remembers,”
so this is how he wins.
By the way, let’s keep the shame machine going
and the fear tank rolling
because if you are unarmed or unaware of your truth
then you are vulnerable—or,
|if anyone ever finds out about your imperfections,
you are equally vulnerable and worse,
if you are vulnerable and weak,
then Chaos is free to collect his share, and me, well,
I find myself alone at the shores of my imaginary beach,
breathing in deeply; in through the nose
and out through the mouth
watching the waves come in,
or watching the ships come home,
to hopefully carry the news
of some brand new thing.
I want the tides to wash away my past and my sins,
or my mistakes, or the fact that I dared poorly
or invested poorly; and whether something deep down
or something within me told me to “turn back now,”
but I couldn’t
(I just couldn’t)
or maybe I was in too deep into a fantasy,
or perhaps life simply unfolded in a different way
and the nature of my vision changed
or transformed to a different
or unexpected outcome
and now, my future is uncertain,
or whether this is only an object
or an item in the brain or that I am thinking way too deeply,
the bottom line is there is no escaping facts
nor is there a way to deny our truths.
However, truths are true and facts are fact,
opinions are just opinions
and assumptions are not facts
or true
which means it would behoove me
to find benefits in the facts that stand before me,
instead of running off to the races
or allowing my mind to play
that movie out in my head.
So . . .
I can do one of two things.
I can fight and argue and bitch and complain
or, I can adjust my sights
and set sail again, with hopes that my port
is not just a port in a storm,
but instead, this will be my home . . .
Forever.
And like the sea, I throw myself into the winds
and allow the tides to pull their tricks,
with hopes that my port is eagerly awaiting me
the same as I have been eagerly awaiting my destiny—
otherwise known
as my dreams come true.
The Written Addiction 