All For More (Or less)

No one wants this. No one wants their back against the wall and their peers, or a jury thereof, sitting in front of them with the power to deliver a verdict.
But let’s be honest. Who is anyone to judge me or you?
Who has the authority? Or like it was said before The Son of Man was led to the cross, “You would have no power over me, had it not been given to you from above.”
I go back to the words, “Only God can judge me.”

And God?
Or when it comes to God and my relationship with God, or God as I understand him; I cannot say whether I believe or I need to or choose to because the opposite of belief is too doubtful for me.
Do I believe?
I do. Do I believe in God because there was a person standing in front of a room preaching about God or how the Devil works.
No.
I know the Devil too. I know him well, in fact, I see him around the City often enough that he stops by to say hello.
Then again, the Devil and door-to-door salesman have a lot in common. They keep knocking and knocking on doors until, eventually, someone opens up.
So, sure, I know the Devil.
I’m pretty sure he knows me very well too. In fact, I could argue the Devil knows me better than I know myself.
Why else would he tempt me so often?
How else would he know which flavors or aromas lead me back to the times of my amazing chaos.
I don’t want this.
I don’t want any of this, if I’m being honest.
I want to let go.
I want to loosen my grip and let faith guide me if I fall.
I want to remove myself from the dilemmas and subtract myself from these ongoing equations. But today is today. Tomorrow is tomorrow. Yesterday is long gone, and no, neither of us live there anymore.

As for now, I am facing my case, or cases as they add up. I have charges against me.I have committed more than one of the Seven Deadly Sins. And so has everyone who sits on my jury. This includes the prosecutor and the judge as well.
I know this.
I have no time for what we call, “foxhole prayers.”
I have no time to scream out, “Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with Thee.”
I know that She is blessed among all women and blessed is The Fruit of Her Womb, Jesus.
But I lost my tongue for those kind of prayers . . .
I lost my faith too often as well.
I am challenged, here in Purgatory.

I know. . .
Let’s be clear. Everyone finds religion when their mortality comes into question. It’s strange to think about life or the absence of life, especially when the threat of dying comes to light. It is hard to accept the facts that I am impure or that I am of the flesh; and therefore, it is within me to sin.
This is within me, unless I crucify my flesh on a daily basis; unless I give myself or give my will over to the care of God or God as I understand him.
But more, I am facing another judgement. I am facing my truths, which is what causes us to run and hide because most people are afraid to see the mirrors that reflect their ugly truths.

I am no fan of dying or dying alone. I do not want to be alone nor do I want to die or die alone. However, I am facing too many charges.
I find myself pacing the floor inside my small confinement. This is my cell. This is my prison or perhaps, otherwise, this is my he;ll.
I have too many accusations and at the same time, I am not facing any of these things. No.
I am facing myself.

I am facing the reflection I see in the mirror, which is deranged of course because our perception will often distort the truth in our reflection.

There was a time when I was better. There was a time when I was living well or stronger.
I swear.
There were nights when I was brave enough to walk around or to try new things. I was fine to experience life without the influence of a crowd or other people.

I miss this feeling. I suppose some people might call this freedom.
I miss the feeling of being detached or disconnected and happily involved. I want this again.
I want to be uncaring about who comes or goes. I say this but I have no intention of being callous or shallow-hearted.
No. This is different.
I miss the feeling of being unbeatable, or being on top of the world, as if no one could hurt me or put me down because somehow, I was too high on life and too far away for an unwanted sould to reach me.
I don’t know how or when this all changed. I don’t know when it was that I lost my ability to speak freely.
I don’t know when I decided to sink into a sad or submissive state. Rather than declare myself as an independent, I somehow lost the courage to speak up or state my case.
I suppose this is why I have decided to speak up now or defend myself.
There are no more reasons for me to retreat. There is no more time for me to excuse my actions or to excuse myself from the hearings, which I am about to face. 

I can fall or fly or run and crawl. I can land on my ass or on my face. No matter where I go or what takes place, I cannot allow myself to surrender anymore. Therefore, I refuse to give up another inch, or another moment that prevents me from standing up for myself. 

Here is the line.
There are the members of the jury and at some point, I understand that the prosecution will have their way with me, or try to.

The judge is sitting behind the bench and eager to slam his gavel.
I know all about it.
But I?
Me?
I cannot give way. So, should this come to pass or should they lead me away, or free me; from this point onward, I have to remove myself from the people, places, and things that rip at my soul or tear me apart.

I think about this. I think about the intrusions or the lines that were crossed. Or what’s more, I think about the means of reversion or the slingshot effect.
Do you know about this?
The slingshot effect is when we draw back so far to prevent something from happening, we fly ahead too far and cross the lines in another direction.

I cannot have this happen.

I cannot be mad or too outraged or lash out at anyone. I cannot blame anyone. No.
In fairness to the truth, for me to call out or point at other people will only remove the focus from the truth, which is that I am where I am.
I am angry.
I allowed things to happen without sticking up for myself. And I cringe about this. Seriously. I do.
I cringe when I think about the times that I allowed myself to stay quiet instead of saying what I thought or stating how I felt.

There is no one to blame anymore. When there is no one left to blame, the focus has to shift within, which it is. I see this now, and clearly too.

I wanted love.
Did you know that?
I wanted a good life.
I never asked to be here, in this cell.
Again . . .

I wanted you this whole time. I always have.
I understand what fate does or how destiny brings us to where we are supposed to be.
I understand that not all dreams are intended to come true, which is why I am here to face my own demons, or let them have me, whichever comes first.
All these years and all the miles, all the mistakes, the trips and all the times I wished I was somewhere or someone else; the truth is, I always wished that I was enough.
I wished that I was enough for you.
I wish that you thought of me as much as I think of you.

Do you know that I wanted to feel the rush of someone like you?
I wanted this to be warm and unstoppable?  I wanted your kiss or to explore you, as in all of you.
There is not a piece of you that I could ignore, even if I wanted to.
I would do anything with you or for you.
And more, I wanted all of this to go from now, and until the hour of my death (amen).
I wanted to feel wanted and drawn to you the same as I know that you were drawn to me.
I wanted this so much that I would arrive to the point where nothing could stop me.
Nothing could soften my body or my intention.
Not an atom bomb, not a nuclear missile, not even the  apocalypse or end of the world could prevent me from loving you.

At the same time, I would never let myself feel this way. I would never allow myself to fall this deep or be this true because as true as this felt to me, it was also true that I would be in danger if I allowed you to be anywhere close to me, like this, like you, like the way your skin feels like a soft, wet dream . . .

I hate this part. I hate the feeling of my weak submission, which is humility in the raw or rare form.
And I?
I have nothing to hide behind. My masks were all destroyed in the explosion.
I have no way of dressing the wounds, which are invisible to the eye.
Ah, but I know where they are and I know they are here.
I hate these confessions. I hate the truth behind them which does not free or liberate me.
No, they only pointed me towards the gates of hell, which I assumed was all I could achieve, or at best; I could only be here, in jail, also known as Purgatory, and fighting for my life with hopes that I am granted leniency –
Ah, to be absolved.
What an idea.

I have to do this.
I have to stand at my trials.
I cannot let another day go because day by day, I see myself in different places, different ways, and in a different atmosphere.

I have to defend myself.
No one else will.

I don’t know if the courts are ready for me nor am I sure if I will win my case or my freedom.
I don’t know if I am ready for the prosecution.
But I have to try.
I have to fight back.
I have to offer my plea because I know that I am not guilty, guilty, and in some cases, I will plead no contest and pay for my sins, repenting, even if I have to do this repentlessly.

What is a sin?
To commit a regrettable act?

But what if there are no regrets?
What if I took a shot, just to feel alive?

What if sin was not meant to sin but to feel something better than the past or the present?
Does anyone ever defend themselves with this question
What if I wanted more than time and space?
Is this so wrong?

What if we were taught wrong or we believed the wrong things?
What if all of this is or was a lie?
What if?

What if this is just a dream and when I face the courts, my freedom comes when I wake up and find myself next to you . . .

Free to touch you
Free to make you mine
Free to love you
Free to never be afraid or to worry that one day, I will be without you, or never see you again. 

Win or lose, I promise the jury has never seen anyone like me before.
And to be clear –
Neither has the judge.
And neither have you.