Today is a good day to let go.
I swear.
It’s a good day to let go of my history. I can let go of my story and the mysteries of my past. I can say goodbye to the weights of life and the heaviness of all that needs to be dead, gone, or buried.
I can rid myself from the burdens of misused communications or I can let go of the wasteful conversations and the records from my previous fights that put me smack, dab in the middle of nowhere.
I can do this.
I can start now, as in right now, and make my way.
I can see myself now, walking down to the end of a long pier at some unknown destination, facing the ocean. The sun is coming up and the sky is light from early dawn.
The colors of orange and the different hues from the sunrise cast down in rays across the wooden planks at the end of the pier.
I can hear the waves as they crash upon the shore. I can hear the gulls crying as they fly overhead. And I can feel the salty air blowing around me, as if to be my only living friend in the form of an ocean breeze, gathering around, like a hug from the wind, as if to say “Welcome home,” and for the while, I could be at peace, like a guest at a small bed and breakfast, somewhere along the eastern seaboard.
I am at the line here, dividing where the land meets the sea, or in my estimation, I could be here at the edge of purgatory and looking over the line into the gates of salvation.
I need this.
I need a road trip.
I need some music.
I need to flip the switch or disconnect, or to unplug for the moment, and for intents and purposes, I need to let the airwaves go dead for a while, or for the moment, and hopefully, I could let my body move in its automatic state.
I want to drive down some long highway, alone, music playing, and my thoughts can be free to unhook themselves from the daily bullshit.
I can sing out loud and scream the lyrics to my favorite songs, or I could say nothing and think about the amazing ideas or the beautiful concepts of meeting the love of my life (again).
I could think about what the sunsets are like in places like Imperial beach in San Diego, California.
I have seen beautiful things in my life. I have been to beautiful places. I met beautiful people. At the same time, I have met my share of sheep in wolves clothing. I have been lied to, just the same. I have been led astray, misled, led on, and yes, I have had my hopes up and thus, I know what it feels like to be so high in one minute, only to be crushed, and to be put down beneath the ground like someone dead, gone and buried.
I understand the mysteries of the flesh and the sinful desires and yes, I understand the flare of kink and the beautiful surge of something so amazing and so beautiful that the body explodes in the orgasmic state of eruption.
I know what it feels like to watch the sun go down over the town or come up over the sea.
I know about the world that I have seen and no, I have not seen much or as much as most people; ah, but yes, I have seen beautiful things.
I can list the moments in my life that matter most.
The summer will be here soon.
What will I do?
Where will I go?
How will I spend my time or will I be alone, or by myself, or like my idea that I have, will I get in the car and just drive off with nowhere to go, no one to please, except for me and my own interests. If I do this, will I understand the beauty of freedom?
Will my trick work?
Will I learn how amazing it is to separate from the crowd or to step away, as if to be alone, and not feel lonely, but instead, will I feel the benefits of the redeeming tides that wash the dryness from the sands in some unforgotten shore?
Dearest Mother, Mother of all.
Holy Mother, Goddess of Morning and Goddess of light,
Heal me.
Let me take a deep breath and fill my lungs with the air of redemption, so that I can exhale my breaths of regret and be rid of my past and the demons who haunt me.
I don’t know what song to start the trip with,
but I know about the song in my head —
I’ll stop the world and melt with you.
I like the intro to this song.
“Moving forward using all my breath . . .
. . . making love to you was never second best.”
If you ask me, I think this is the right way to start my trip.
This is the best way to celebrate the best ride to nowhere.
Starting now.
The Written Addiction 