The Book of Chaos: To Believe

The question to you, Mr. Chaos is simple.
The question becomes what have you done for me?
What have I lost on your behalf
and where has this led me?

Where have you taken me,
besides to you, and either constantly or consistently
and somehow or persistently, and for the record;
I am sure I am not speaking alone,
but I find myself caught in the same patterns,
and often times, I look around,
as if to wonder, “what now?”
As if fate has failed me again
or “What did I do to deserve this?”
as if destiny has a personal vendetta against me
or “what did I do wrong this time?”  
as if for some reason, I am the wrong one
and I am the one in need
to find blame
or fault. . .

Again, I repeat the line
which I have learned from you, Mr. Chaos:
the demons know us better
than we know ourselves,
which is how they sneak passed the guards
and fray the various ends of our sanity,
until we are otherwise, and literally crazy
and hence, we make rash or harsh decisions
due to the fact that somehow,
we have been lied to
(internally).

You, Mr. Chaos.
You keep us guessing.
You teach us to question everything,
including our own worth,
our own beauty or, if at all,
you teach us to wonder if we are worth anything
or if at all, you teach us to assume
that our worth and our value is either subpar,
or that otherwise,
we are deserving of life’s little mishaps.

I mean . . .
We all need someone to blame, right?

But the truth is
none of this is true.
This is all a quandary in the mind.
These are the strings that come from our insecurity,
and this is how you move us, Mr. Chaos
like some wild or maybe even sadistic puppeteer,
pulling our strings,
to keep us uneasy
or to keep us unsettled,
down here (in purgatory).

I will say that not all chaos is bad
and that sometimes, a little chaos is good.
It’s to get the blood going,
or to keep the heart pumping,
but within reason.

I will say that fear is not bad either.
Fear helps us to stay aware
or teaches us to be vigilant
and stay alive.
However, you,  my old friend,
you take this to a whole different level.

Don’t you?

Or, is it us who let you in?
Or, is it just me and in the case against me vs myself
I lose to an idea that I am simply
not enough.

It is us who fail to see beauty in our reflection,
so therefore, we tend to believe
in the commercialized lies
which dictates that beauty can only look a certain way
and ugliness, oh you ugly bastard,
ugly can come in a trillion different forms,
when, in fact, beauty can be found anywhere—
and so can ugliness, but see?
Mr. Chaos,
You trick us with smoke and mirrors
and lead us astray.

I don’t want to be ugly anymore.
I don’t want to believe in the old tapes
which play out in my head,
nor do I want to succumb to my own unfair assumptions
which, of course,
this is where you come in.

It was said to me . . .
it’s sad to know that so much time has been wasted,
simply because I didn’t know that
“I was enough”
or that my love is enough,
or that I am enough as a lover, as a friend,
as a confidant, and as a partner,
and an intimate connection.

It is sad when we fail to recognize our own beauty.
It is sad to see oneself in the mirror
and notice the flaws or the so-called imperfections,
and yes, it is sad and frustrating
to be caught in the mind-fucks
of all mind-fucks
which is to lose to one’s own way of thinking,
or, as I have been saying to you for years—
it’s sad to lose to our thoughts
or to our life
or to the irrationality of our fearful thinking
and to lose to our bouts with shame, and yes,
of course, it’s sad to lose to our own insecurity
or to lose to an otherwise preventable madness
or to lose ourselves
or to any of the above because when you lose,
you lose to this like water loses to a drain,
and there’s nothing you can do
but be sucked away.

It is terrible to be blind to your own beauty.
This hurts me too;
to see someone as amazing as the sky
and as mysterious as the stars, cosmic
like the Goddess Andromeda,
or beautiful, like a princess;
and it is amazing to me
to see someone who can enter a room
and the place lights up to a new version
and yet, it is sad when someone does this
but they cannot see how they impact the room,
or me, or us, or anyone.

It is sad when you, Mr. Chaos,
you come along to teach us to see our faults
instead of our features,
and the saddest of all
is that we allow this to happen.

We allow time to pass us by.
We allow our hopes and dreams
and our fantasies
and even our purpose for living
and our reasons to wake up in the morning
to become muted,
all because of you, my good old friend,
Mr. Chaos—the devil’s advocate himself
(or herself, depending upon the perspective).

This is The Book of Chaos
And these are the tales of Chaos, himself,
and the way he laughs
or the way he allows us to settle on a trade,
which is like, say, when you settle for someone
or something less than who or what you really want.

These are the tales of the wake behind the floods
and the aftermaths
and the degrading, self-destructive downfalls,
which are somewhat self-inflicted
and mainly just a symptom
because somehow,
or at least in my case,
my beast whispers in my ear from time to time.
He keeps me guessing
or wondering about my worth or,
if I listen long enough,
I tend to focus on my ugly remnants instead
of the beauty of my potential,
or my ability to change the mood
of the room, just because I was there.

I have news.
You are far more beautiful
than you could possibly imagine.
And okay, I get it—there are different versions of beauty
and there are different ideas
and different strokes for different folks, which, okay –
I get that.

But you . . .
 . . . you are the most beautiful person
in this world.
Nothing and no one compares to you.
Nothing
and no one.

Remember that

I know that my mirror teaches me lies
and for a long time,
I was unable to step on a scale to weigh myself
because the answers hurt my feelings.

I am not who and where I want to be — yet.
Then again, I’m not who or where I was either
and I might have more work
to do and more to travel,
and I have more to learn
and more to uncover.

I might have hours or days or weeks
or years until I find
how my purpose unfolds.

I might have far to go,
and I might be tired sometimes,
but I know I’m not at the beginning anymore.

I know this moment is more crucial
and pivotal than we realize.
I am a fan of the saying,
when you know what you want the rest of your life to look like,
you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

Well, I want that too.
As in, like right now.

It’s okay to let go of me, Mr. Chaos.
You don’t really need me.
Besides, there are over 7 billion people in this world.
I’m sure you’ll have more to pick from,
and just like you,
there’s always someone out there
looking to pull a deal.

I think that my reason
or purpose for this series
is to realize how
chaos and fear can steal us from ourselves.

I lost decades because of a lack of belief in self.
I don’t know how much time I have left,
but as long as I’m living, kicking and breathing,
I think the truth of the matter is
it’s up to me to make a move—which is why
I’m here, pointing to you,
and telling you what I see
and think and feel
and I’m here to tell you
what it’s like when you walk in the room because,
to tell you the truth,
I have left too many stones unturned
and too many roads untraveled
and to much has gone unsaid
and unloved.

Behold, like Robert Frost said about two roads
diverged in a wood, and how
he took the road less traveled
and how this made all the difference.

Well, I say behold, two roads, diverged in concrete
or on the sidewalks
or near Grand Central Station
and the cities and the towns
and all of this are diverged
in the places we see in New York City — and I,
I will choose the path
I’ve always desired, just to say that I did it,
like the way I achieved a personal goal
on a rooftop one time, down beneath the sun
and just to say that yeah
I gave it my all,
just so I can have you.

Although faulty and imperfect,
I do believe in love.
I believe in this still—

And that . . .
. . . has made all the difference.