There’s more to life than what we assume. And I know this.
I know this deep down to my heart. I know this at my core, and I know that life is so much more than what happens or what happens to us.
I also know that life is not about what happens to us.
To me, life is a series of events and stories, memories, and a compilation of impactful moments that shaped our thinking.
I am no more harmed or wounded than you.
To think that I am is false or worse, self-centered.
There will be great things. And there will be great things to see. There will be real people and not-so-great people and people who come and leave an impression, or marks, or scars.
I see this as true as the sunrise. I see this as true as the sunset and as true it is when the moon is full, or the water is wet.
Life is life. I am me. You are you.
And the world around us is the world around us.
I used to run and hide. I would do this a lot, which was unfair to people.
Yes, I know this was hurtful to those who cared. I hold this dearly as a reminder that even pure hearts can find contempt.
I am not so pure. But I am honest.
I know who I am and I know what I have done.
I am here to atone and to build strength, or at least find it.
I used to try and avoid the weight of all that fell upon me.
If at all possible, I would try my best to escape or find an angle or a fix.
But what’s a fix?
What is anything temporary, other than a band aid, which falls off anyway?
I think about the Robert Frost poem which was introduced to me from a movie that meant a lot when I was a kid. The Outsiders
That was me
“Nothing gold can stay.”
This was me too.
I have felt that way. I have wondered why we celebrate the little things when the big parts or the heaviness of life can be overwhelming, to say the least.
Is this just me?
Am I alone?
Is this a case of me against my trauma? Or is this me against the world, or me against me, I against I? Thus, I question whether I have won any of these battles.
Have I?
Or am I still lost in wars that never needed to exist.
I have seen people lose their life to figments of their imagination.
I do not want that to be me.
But more, I have seen people lose everything because of that.
I don’t want that to be me either
because then I will lose you –
and that’s a loss that I will not risk.
I have heard that it’s not about what happens to us.
No.
Our life is defined by what we do and how we react or respond.
So, then let me respond like this!
My life is defined by me.
My life is not defined by my mistakes and not even my accomplishments.
Both are equally fleeting and both can change at any given moment.
It is true that I have memories that can degrade my energy or drain me or act catabolically.
This is what it feels like to me when I am dying alive.
This is when I allow people, places, and things like old conversations and old memories to replay like Greek tragedies in my head.
It is also true that there is the opposite, or the more giving and anabolic, which is building and allows us to see the brightness of a new future.
Service to the good.
Doing for others.
Getting out of my head.
These are great things.
Almost as good as seeing your face, even for just a minute.
(God, I love you)
There is more to life than love.
Or is there?
There is more to life than what happened and more than what took place, and there is more to us than the how or the why or when.
There is more to me than my past.
or is there?
I am the combination of so many things. I am often the sum of my assumptions or my preconceived notions. I am often the result of my self-fulfilled prophecies.
Yes.
I agree.
But more, I am the seed and the root, the flower and the fruit. I am the growth of one, big and elaborate dream which we I call life.
I know this.
I am my purpose.
Should I be true to this, or should I choose to be loyal and true to myself, as in being true to me before lying or faking it by acting like an anxious fool, then I have to be true to my heart.
But I was never true before.
Never.
I was always too scared that I would not to get what I want, or too worried that I might get exactly what I asked for. And all in the same, I was too petrified that I will waste and squander my wealth.
Then what?
I would be like the story of the prodigal son. He is the one who went off and lost it all, squandered and spent every last penny to fill a hole inside that could never be filled.
And then what?
The prodigal son went home, poor and humbled.
The prodigal son was beaten by life and by his choices before coming home, back to The Father.
I remember when it was . . .
I had to walk into a house which helped me restore my faith in the body of self.
I had to tell them that I lost everything. It was April 1, 1991
I lost what they taught me to build within myself, and I traded my truth and hope for a 24-hour binge with a poisonous substance that kills most people.
But not me, I lived.
I have had to be beaten more than once. I’ve been beaten countless times. Or maybe this was necessary to awaken me. Then I could realize that hell, I have been listening to the devils in my head for way too long.
I have fueled my doubts and my fears.
I have fueled the catabolic truths instead of allowing myself to grow and evolve.
It is true that the majority of our suffering comes from the degradation of our own thinking.
If this is true, then let me think differently.
Let me see the world from a brand-new scope.
Let me borrow your sights of me.
I like them most.
Or perhaps I should listen to you or the way you teach me.
You say that I am more than my assumptions of “self.”
If I am like the son, or the prodigal son, then let me be more like The True Son, or The Son of Man. Yet, I am not here to die for all man’s sin or to take on the pains of all living things.
No, not at all.
I am here to live, to be bathed and cleansed, and to have the light of life.
I have lived like a dying man.
I have lived well, rich, and poor.
But I want something different now
(with you).
I want the light.
I want the warmth in wintertime.
I want the feeling of being in your company.
Even if you are away from me . . .
You are only away from me in body alone.
My heart though?
Like The Son told us about his Father’s house
In my heart, there are a million rooms . . .
If this were not true, would I tell you that I go to prepare a place for you.
Or if this were not true, would I kneel before you
and offer everything I have?
Is there more to life than love?
I don’t know.
Maybe the two of us can find out
(together).
The Written Addiction 