I never thought that I would ever consider moments of my past to be a good time. I certainly never thought that I would look back as I do now and regard certain times as the best days of my youth.
I never thought that I would view the end of my teenage life or the way things that happened when I was far from my usual circle of influence and somehow, I see how time changes our perspective.
And more, I can see why I look back and regard my time on a correctional farm as the best days of my youth.
I have my share of complaints and disagreements with the way things were back then. I equally have a different level of understanding for life. I see things differently now. Take the way I live or the value of how I interact with people, places, and things. This is important to me now. Perhaps more important now than ever before.
And beauty?
Yes, the farm was beautiful.
I remember regarding the surrounding mountains as amazing and tree lined. It seemed as though the farm was nestled in a cup of nature, or as if we rested in a palm of a hand, intentionally carved by the makers of Earth. There were no accidents that caused me to be here.
I remember the place well.
We were high in a New York State mountain and elevated enough to have a beautiful view. We were situated in this carved out place; as if we were placed high on a country-like balcony. This seat allowed us a sight that was overlooking the world below and surrounded by other mountains to guard our sides as our emotional protector.
People healed here. Some died here. Some fought and some surrendered.
Was this beautiful?
Sure. Did I notice?
I must have noticed my surroundings because I still have dreams of a hill on he farm. I have this dream when my life falls into crazy circumstances and confusion takes place.
I remember the hills. I remember the pasture where the cows roamed and I remember the fields where the sheep flocked. And Cali, the barn dog and Josh the silly little black poodle.
I remember the pair of angry geese who seem more relative to me now than before. I regard them because, as a team of two, they were brave enough to fight the world. They were nasty to everyone — until one of them died after getting bit in the ass by Cali the barn dog.
Afterwards, the team of two became weak and dwindled down to one.
Just one, as in one lonely goose who was rejected by everyone else.
None of the other animals accepted the lonesome goose into their fold. Not the sheep. Not the peacock. Not the ducks who gathered near the pond.
No one. I can relate to this.
One day, the lonesome goose was found dead after waddling off as a recluse, alone and unwanted. The lonesome goose died alone, to which I answer now and out loud that yes, loneliness can be a killer and it is absolutely possible to die from lonesomeness and a broken heart.
I suppose we have to live as best as we can. Equally, we have to beware and try not to get bit in the ass by the barn dog — or at minimum, we have to be careful not to give a reason to be cast out and ostracized.
I never assumed I would view things the way I do now or look to find beauty in unexpected places. Again, I use this as a trinity of self or as a divine version to understand the value of people, places, and things.
Everything is subject to change. Including us.
Including how we feel about us, each other, or the world around us.
All can change. Feelings too.
Life changes and so will our intentions.
We all know this already, but the world is always changing. Our tactics will change. Our understanding will advance, and our version of memory will mature and gradually lead to a new perspective
(Even if we’ve grow old.)
Fashions will change. Our bodies will certainly change.
Things in our life will ripen and die on the vine and we will experience deaths of unthinkable proportions until we find ourselves at the same door too.
A young woman at the gym told me that I don’t look “that old” meaning as old as I am, which is more than twice as long as she has been alive.
“Thank you,” I guess. . . .
My closest friend and I were talking about our youthful past and the relevance of our lengthy sobriety.
He smiled and tilted his head off to the side. He did this as if to offer a congrats to living sober longer than half of my life. I am 52.
My sobriety is 34.
My best friend and I walked parallel lines and split ways for a while. However, life knew we needed to reconnect.
I think this is beautiful.
So is he.
So is his life now and so is the fact that in his new chapter, I say it was beautiful for me to be the one who facilitated his wedding.
It was a beautiful thing to be the minister at his wedding and hear my best friend and brother in life say, “I do,” to his bride.
And just as equally, it was an honor to hear her say “I do,” too. Even more of an honor, I was lucky enough to be the minister who said, “You may kiss the bride!”
Now, that’s pretty fucking beautiful.
I am at a new stage in life. Then again, every day is a new stage. The setting of our stage may have already been set and the props might be the same, but today is a new day.
I do not think or believe that anyone or anything has the market cornered on happiness or beauty.
Although I have recently seen what happens when relationships turn south; and while I have feelings and sad regards to some things — I still have to be honest and say beauty is still beauty, regardless of our outcomes.
Good memories are still good memories.
Even if our time with someone ended, beauty is still beautiful.
No matter what happened after or before.
She is still beautiful.
Always was and always will be.
However, slander is ugly. Further, to slander someone as ugly when, in fact, their beauty is unmatchable would only serve to make me ugly, — or otherwise hideous.
Hate and resentment kills too. I know this, and just like a bite in the ass from life, or the barn dog; I don’t want to be ugly or alone. I don’t want to be found someplace forgotten, almost like a John Doe and anonymous to the world — as if to die or to be dead from the loneliness which caused my past, present and future rifts.
I don’t know what beauty is to you. I don’t know the feeling of softness from your hands or the smell of comfort that leads to a memory. I don’t know what your memories are, good or bad.
I know what beautiful is to me. And it’s more than a look or a style.
My ideas of beauty are my own. Like life or like the people, places and things around me . . .
my version of beauty continues to change.
Take for example, my train ride idea and me, sitting in a window seat of a moving train, blue sky during the quietest times of an early morning. No clouds. Just the receding colors of dawn.
Beautiful.
All is quiet.
I can see the City coming up and the skyline of buildings change from my previous suburbs behind me. I can see the scene as I approach a place which has been home to me for a very long time.
I can see this and then I can see how this fades into the obscurity of a rearview distance. And so will my yesterday. So will my stress or turmoil and so will all the tumultuous items that I gripped too tightly to hold onto, when I could.
There is beauty here.
Raw perhaps
Different, I’m sure.
But this is freeing to me, no matter how you see it.
I thought of this while sitting on my early train yesterday.
I was off to work, like the dwarfs who worshipped the attention of Snow White.
There was a woman who was sitting off to my left. She was reading the Bible, praying.
She did not recognize or remember me,
but I remember her.
We used to see each other in 12-step meetings. This was almost 30 years ago.
It’s good to see that she is alive and doing well.
That’s beautiful too.
So is the understanding of release. This is beautiful.
So are the chances that life unfolds and that if we are capable of love and forgiveness, and if we are capable of surrendering our past to clear us to a new future; fate and destiny will always put us exactly where we need to be.
I am a strange one, perhaps.
I do not match my external shell.
I am not tough, by any means.
I do not know where I fit in or who I fit in with,
but I am working on this, currently, as in right now.
Even if the people we love or loved changed and see us as ugly, this is not a representation of self; but more, this is a regard that two things went in different ways.
(unfortunately)
Above all, I know I don’t want to be like the white goose on the farm.
I don’t want to get bit in the ass by the barn dog (or AKA: Life).
Maybe I might be anonymous to some now.
Maybe I might fill an empty memory.
I might be an enemy.
I might be hated.
But I surrender to this.
I surrender to all the ugliness which I never wanted to keep alive — but still, I kept it going.
The world is still a beautiful place.
How do I know?
Because you are still here with me — even if only for now, at least to some degree.
I love you.
My heart . . .
The Written Addiction 