There must be something. There has to be.
Or should I say that we all need something. Everyone needs something to relieve stress or to break the tension so that we can breathe.
And yes, I say breathe, which is automatic and part of body’s responsibility.
But when I say breathe, I mean breathe as in a sigh of relief.
We all need something to right the inaccurate wrongs in our head.
At least, I do which is why I always come here to sit with you.
And this is it. This is my thing.
This is what helps me and somewhat saves my life on a daily basis.
You, me, and the ideas of some kind of wonderful interaction; whereas the world could explode and war could take off, but none of this would matter to me because I have you. And you have me.
No one else in the world could have what we have.
No one.
This right here, what I’m doing with you right now.
This is me. Doubts and all.
Coming clean, with you.
Coming to you, for you, and with you to cleanse the dirt from my eager soul, which is lost at times and polluted as well. Hence, this is why I say I come here to come clean
(with you).
I am speaking out loud to ensure that I remember what to say, when I sit to write to you.
Currently, I am driving west towards the city.
This place has history with me. This is the only place that has helped me earn my daily bread for most of my adult life.
It is early and the sun is coming up. I am driving down the Expressway and watching the morning sun reflect against the tall buildings across the east side of New York City.
Everything is peaceful, at least for the moment.
There is no tension. There are no battles for the time being.
Most of the world is sleeping, except for me, of course.
No.
I am driving and lost in thought. I am admiring the New York skyline, which has changed so much as I have grown older. The tall buildings are all equipped with spires, like needles that push into the fleshy palm of the morning sky.
The colors reflecting across the buildings range from orange to peach and there are hints of purple as well.
I love it this way.
Quiet. Alone.
And me, thinking of you or who you are to me.
God bless these morning drives.
God bless the emptiness of the roads, which will become congested later today.
God bless these quiet reflections I have, which are enough to calm my spirit —so I can breathe.
I enjoy things like this.
But there’s more.
I love the sound of waves as they crash on the beach. I like these things because they remind me of a greater time in my youth when it was safe enough to be calm, or not on guard.
I love the smell of the ocean and the feel of the winds that come from offshore.
I see this view and think about the hopefulness which comes when the waves come to quench the shoreline, and wash the sands of its dirty secrets, and then take them out to sea.
I see this as an action, which baptizes the lands repeatedly, to relieve us all from natural sin, or to remove our filthy secrets that otherwise stain the soul and poison our dreams.
I have told you before, but the beach is my sanctuary.
This is my place of worship. This place is holier to me, more so than a church or a synagogue.
And I love them too, by the way.
Cathedrals and churches, I mean.
I suppose the beaches are different to me because all else are manmade institutions and organized religions come with their own politics and rules of worship.
My God knows me well enough to relieve me of the politics of people.
All else is confusing.
But not the beach.
No, the beach represents the Almighty Mother to me.
Mother Earth. Loving. Nurturing,
But The Blessed Mother can be quick to discipline — and she shows us this whenever we start to believe in our own arrogance or act as if we are bigger than we are.
She can end us, without an effort.
The Great Mother. The beach.
The rise and fall of the tides is like the rise and fall of The Great Mother’s chest —breathing.
She was here, long before us and she will be here long after we cease to exist.
Or so, I believe.
I come here to offer myself and my soul, “to build with thee,” as I pray at the sands.
But for the moment, I come here too, to write my thoughts and to offer this to you, heartfelt and heartily, and truthful as ever.
This is my only way to solve the stress . . .
Writing to you –
my love.
This is my daily confession.
This is where I come to pray.
I come here to redeem myself to the best of my ability.
I come here to try to find ways to absolve my sins or rid myself from my past mistakes.
I come here to find peace because times can be unpeaceful and people can often be unkind or vengeful.
And yes, this means myself included.
I come here to be better.
I come here to find you, because this is my greatest escape.
And you?
You are all the different representations of truth, love, kindness and, in my heart, you are all the roads that lead towards tranquility.
All paths to peace, run through you.
My love.
I confess to my nightmares and to the memories which haunt me or sneak into my thoughts when I am sleeping.
I see them.
I see the people who I have harmed.
I see the casualties and the innocent bystanders and the people who never hurt me, yet, I hurt them in response to pains that had nothing to do with them.
I come here for forgiveness or, at minimum, I come here to try and learn about the forgiveness of self.
Comfort me, please.
Mother of all, Mother Earth, and Mother of the Almighty,
I come here to find you, to hope that I am not so far gone that my redemption is lost and that my salvation is too far away.
Good morning, Mother Earth.
The day is new.
The time is short and I have far too much to make up for.
Strengthen me please.
And let me show her my love …
Fearlessly
The Written Addiction 