85)
Do you remember the innocence
of looking upwards at the sky?
Picture this –
just around the Fourth of July
and looking up
to watch the sky bloom
with rockets full of color
and the explosions of sparks
and streams, and the aahs
the ooohs,
and the mesmerizing
moment when it’s okay
to be amazed
by purity.
I remember . . .
There are only a few moments
like when the sky took shape
like this
and the memories of youth
or the memories
of moments
where someone I love
or loved, or knew
was there — like Mom
to which,
I can still remember the look
on my Mother’s face
when the fireworks took place.
And man,
I wish she was here.
I wish there were things
she could have seen
or people
she could have met,
or more namely,
I wish she could have met you
when she was well enough
to remember with a clear mind
and while shaking her head,
Mom would tell you
about the wild rides,
the wild times, and the hard times
or the times when Mom
thought that I would never
pull through.
“But look at him now,”
Mom would say.
I once wrote down
there is nothing so
strong as a Mother’s love,
and while I grant you
that no person is perfect
and that all Mom’s
have their own imperfections,
there is one thing
that Mom did well
which was no matter how tough,
or how hard, or bad,
or frightening
the times might have been,
Mom always loved me
perfectly.
Yes.
She did.
86)
There were bouts in the mind
or maybe we can call them
limitations
or ceilings
like a lid, or a roof
that keeps us contained
and meanwhile,
if the sky is the limit,
then how can we
reach for the sky
when all we do
is limit ourselves
with a roof called doubt
and lid called confusion?
There was a trying moment
which is not too far away from me,
and there is a time
which is not too far behind me
and there was a moment
when I questioned the category
of calling it quits — whereas,
I was done, finished,
and through with life, and things, like say,
the limits of my doubts
and the disbelief of my future
or the unsureness of my worth,
and while caught in the concepts
of my inabilities,
I lacked the vision to see anything
as capable
or possible,
and thus, I was lost
in a state known as discontent.
I have been here before,
and it l would be inaccurate to say
that life will not twist or turn
or change in ways
that make the life we want seem
unrecoverable.
I have been told that depression
or rage, or the internal feud
is due to the mind’s need to revolt
and discontinue the litany
of things that are otherwise unwanted
or undesired.
How does one stop the voice?
How does one defy the internal whisper
or ignore the self-talk
or how does one stop the mindset
that does nothing else
but lead us to our own demise?
I only have one way –
Get up
which is not to say that all is well
and everything will be done
or executed perfectly,
but at least
no one can say that I wasn’t there
or that I didn’t show up.
Anyone can say anything
about me
but no one can say
that I sunk back to the needle,
or gave in to the patterns
or different addictions, to which I say
yes,
I have a few.
No,
I am not perfect,
and I am often mistaken
or wrong,
but what I have in my heart,
like my love, faults and all,
is enough to say
that when I love you,
I will love you perfectly.
The only imperfection
is me, which puts me in good company
because, likewise,
you are imperfect too.
But as I see it,
imperfections and all
you are my love
and therefore
you are perfect
for me.
87)
I have this idea
about a small boat,
to which, I need this
for different reasons,
but more,
I need this to reach my church
or my sanctuary,
which is out at sea.
I want to take you here
with me.
Give me the gulls
and the smell of the ocean
and give me sun on my face
and let the swells that rock the boat
gently put me to sleep,
and let me dream here,
and let me think here,
let me confess
and be pardoned,
or absolved,
at least for the moment,
and kindly
let The Great Captain above,
look down upon me,
and see me
as the child of God
and with all I have done
and with all that I have
destroyed
or with all that I have yet to amend
or account for;
let me look upwards
with a humble heart,
and let me be healed
by the hands of the sun.
I want this,
an outgoing vessel of the sea,
which is otherwise known or seen
as the kneeler at church
at the pew before The Great One,
and therefore,
I can say, in response
to the petition and intentions
As if the sky reads out
to say:
This is the word of the Lord
and I can look up and say,
“Lord, hear my prayer.”
so that upon my return,
I can go home
justified.
I can see this now
the summer awaits,
and the docks,
and the smell of the wood pilings,
and the smell of the salt air,
and the look of the sea
when I break through the inlet,
ocean bound
and free.
I will name her
when I get her, my vessel,
but one day
I promise –
I will show you my church
and share my sanctuary
and you will be there
with me because, of course,
you are always there
(with me).
Ever look up at the sky
and see fireworks from the back of a boat?
The oohs and the ahhs
are even more amazing
than you think,
at least
they are to me.
The Written Addiction 