A Day Called Way Back When

I will say this.
We are the energy that we consume. Same as we used to say you are what you eat, I will say we are the energy we consume. Think hate, feel hateful.
Feel loved and think lovingly.
I see this now.

I will say this now and for the rest of my life.
We are who we think we are. Therefore, if we believe that we will never rise above our limitations, then we will always be limited.
There will always be a ceiling and no stars to reach for.

If we believe that our past defines us, or if we believe that we will never escape heartbreak or that we will never get over something, then of course, we never will.
And I have to say this, never is a really long time. However, the ideas of never are fitting in some cases.

I will never sit in a classroom in my old grade school. I will never play a game of kickball in the playground with the same kids, like we did in sixth grade. And that’s okay.
I’ll never have the chance to redeem a shot I missed when I played basketball as a kid. I’ll never have the chance to go to my prom, which I missed out on more than 30 years ago.
And that’s fine.
(Really, it is.)

I never assumed that I, or someone like me would ever exceed or move beyond a certain level of professionalism.
I never assumed that anyone would care about what I thought.
I never believed anyone would find meaning in what I said.
I never thought that I would make it over to the Westside of our country, yet somehow I made it there more than once.

Will I go back?
Maybe. . .
But not today.

I never thought that anyone would care about my poetry or that I would (or could) write something meaningful enough to be regarded by a person as beautiful as you are.

I never thought or believed that I was good looking or that I had a style or a look that would be desirable to someone.

Now, in fairness, I have been told that I seem rough around the edges.
I have been told that I have the male version of a resting bitch face. And more or to add depth, my voice is not the same as it used to be.
I sound raspy now.
This is not my fault, by the way. While I still have love for Jiu-Jitsu and self defense, despite the pain in my shoulder or the pains in my hip and lower back from training, my voice changed due to a submission hold that chocked me out.
One of my ears is slightly different from grappling. While the difference is subtle, I understand that my choices of how I am or how I look, (tattoos and all) might not allow me the humblest look or seem as if I can come with the meekest approach.
At the same time, I am as meek as they come. I am as scared as an attack dog in the mix of thunderstorms.
Barking out loud but afraid from the noise.

I have never been tough. I have never been strong nor am I powerful or beyond measure.
I am always me.
Always and forever.

I am the energy that I consume.

I am the love that I give and the hope that I share.
I say this now and I say this proudly.
It has taken me more than five decades to reach this point.
I am scared of the dark.
Or better, I am scared of the unknown and no different from the dog barking with warnings, I know that my bark is worse than my bite.
This has always been the case.

However, I have grown.
I understand that my barking, so-to-speak, is fear.
So long as I live in fear, I will believe with fear.

I will consume this and be this and as long as I choose this, then I will never be more than this because as I have said, I am the energy that I consume.

I am the memories that I invest in. I am the emotions that I keep alive.
I am the end result of my thoughts and feelings, which are my chemistry, which can either make me crazy or keep me sane. Even better, I can become my own peace, my own serenity, and I can achieve my own brand or personal perfection, so long as I consume the energy it takes to build this..

I understand that thoughts are not fact or fiction.
Neither are feelings and assumptions.

However, I can either think may way into the depths of my depression or think my way and sink deeper into the anticipations of anxiety.
Or I can think my way towards the sanctity of peace.
I can recall the smell of honeysuckle bushes in late spring, which I always regard as a sign that summer is on the way. The warmer days are in the mail and soon enough, I will be able to walk on the beach and feel the sun on my face and the heat on my skin.

By the way, this is my church. This is my sanctuary and my place of prayer and salvation. An empty beach and the waves and the birds, which fly above and call out to each other with their high-pitched cries.

I love the smell of the ocean and the salt air.
Yes, although my best memories of the beach and the ocean are bittersweet for now, I know that my best has yet to come.

There is something bigger and brighter and better coming.
I know this.
For now, I’ll keep watching the horizon because the same as Colin Hay sang, I am like him too —just waiting for my real life to begin.

Just for the record –
I would never cry back in the days that I call way back when.
I wouldn’t flinch.
I wouldn’t move. I would never share my truths (like this) or show my true face and be vulnerable.
I would never dare to be beautiful either but then again, I’m not sure I knew what beauty is . . .
. . . until I lost her, or more namely, until I lost you.
Yet, I am still here.
I might not have known what beauty is back in the day called way back when,
but I know now.
Like I said, it has taken me decades to be where I am now.
I don’t mind crying and I don’t mind telling you that I cry either.
I would rather feel and purge like this than drown in the hateful inwardness of lonesome regret and resentment.

Good morning,
this is for you –
my love.