In all fairness,
I don’t believe that anyone
can pass their own test.
What I mean is,
I think it’s easy to point fingers
or to assign blame
and come up with excuses
or rationalize your acts
with ideas to justify the things we say
or do—
But in all fairness,
no one can pass their own test.
Let’s take today, for example,
the morning is warm
and the sun will be kind today.
The beach will be emptied of its seasonal guest
and without intrusion or without interruption,
I can gaze away at the sea from the shoreline
and take a breath (or two)
if I need to.
In all fairness,
I admit that I cannot pass my own test
or dare I say it,
the truth is
I am often in my own way,
often reacting,
or deeply thinking
and here, at least for now,
I am envisioning
the empty beach,
stretching for miles, with no bodies,
no intruders, no insults
or injuries.
No incidents
or accidents
and there’s nothing to report
except, of course,
the feeling of the sun on my face
and the breath of remorse
in my chest.
I have to breathe
Of course, I do.
I have to let the sands
cushion my feet
and take every footstep,
as if to soften the impact
and in reaction to the subtleness
of say, a heartfelt plea, or prayer, or in attempts
to come to a meaningful supplication before the eyes
of an Almightiness — I realize that one has to
recognize their own truths, and not point fingers
or assign blame, or let themselves sink
to the grief of their own discontent.
It’s easy to lose oneself
beneath the eyes of our own scrutiny,
but this is what the beach is for.
Let the wind blow, I say.
Let the waves come and wash the shore
and cleanse the sands and let the tides
replenish the Earth.
For now,
see this as nothing else
but the rhythmic breath
of the Great Mother,
loving and wholesome
accepting of all,
forgiving of true sorrow,
and absolving the soul
of our yesterday’s wrongdoing.
“He among you
who is without sin,
let him be the one
who casts the first stone.”
No one among us
can cast the first stone.
But I’ll bet there’s a line around the corner
and everyone is there
waiting to go next
just in case someone who lives in glass houses,
and shouldn’t throw stones,
decides that they don’t mind the draft
or the broken windows in their own soul.
No,
no one is so perfect
and no one is secret
or sin free.
Not me …
Not you …
Not anyone else.
But as far as this entry goes:
The beach. . .
this is my place of worship.
This is where the winds
hear my confessions
and wash away
the sins of my world;
to absolve me of both
my original, and unoriginal sin;
to console me
and with a hint, somehow,
The Almighty Mother
sends me a sign
(hopefully).
“Don’t worry, son.
Nothing is so strong
as a Mother’s love.”
I’ll send you a sign . . .
It’s been a while
since I’ve seen a butterfly, Mom.
Send one please.
if you don’t mind . . .
But for now,
I think I’ll have a moment of silence
that sits between me
and The Spirit—
Just for now
the summer is about to vanish,
life is about to change
and I’m afraid to miss the sunset
again
or never share one as meaningful
as one from the beach,
beautiful as ever,
and ever proving
that no matter how intense
or ugly things may seem—
true love can never die.
But,
that doesn’t mean
that people can’t do the damnedest things
and kill it
So,
I think it’s time
that I rearrange myself
and change my direction
because the sun is up
and the days are getting
shorter.
Before we know it,
time will pass too quickly,
and me,
I don’t want to point
or persecute
or place blame anymore.
I don’t need to be right.
I don’t want to fight anymore
and I don’t even want to win
so much either.
I just want to be happy
with you.
Know what I mean?
The Written Addiction 