All For More (Or Less)

I like to think about myself in other places and doing other things. I see this more as something that I do for medicinal purposes, which helps restore my mental stability.
I say these are the things that keep my soul alive.
I dream. I see. I breathe and I hope.
I close my eyes and ready myself for departure.

I like the idea that the mind can somehow slip-away, and if we allow it, we can go anyplace or anywhere. We can go and dream and then we can return, just fine, and in good shape and ready to face the day.

There are times like the present, to which I find myself standing on the verge of some kind of deliberation.
I have chosen to defend myself on a fixed budget.
My wealth is gone.
Many of the people in my life are gone.
Much of my time is behind me and so, now I am fighting for what’s left so that my past will no longer define me.

I breathe in.
I think to myself and let my dreams go free.
I think about the years I have spent in front of so many people yet, there was something about those years that caused me to believe that I was living in solitary confinement.
Being alone in a crowd is an odd, sad feeling.
I’d think to myself, “why is this happening?”
Why am I like this?
Why is life this way?
I have thought and wondered and questioned but the facts remain. I don’t know why this happened. I don’t know why I thought that I was so different or that something about me was either odd or simply, off-center.
I tried to fit in.
I tried to sculpt my sides or fix my edges so I could slide in, seamlessly, and fit without sticking out. At the same time, I wanted to be noticed and wanted or admired and regarded.
I wanted to feel that feeling of satisfaction, as if I am good as I am. Or at minimum, I wanted to believe that I was “enough.”

Was it me?
Was it my body?
Was something wrong? Or did I do something?
I often think that maybe I didn’t read the instructions properly, or maybe I missed a class or that I never got the memo.
But why?

Was it the way I looked or the way I laughed?
Was it the reflection I saw in the mirror?
Maybe it’s my smile, which is crooked to say the least.
Maybe it’s the fact that my eyes are shaped differently and one ear is different from the other.
Maybe I am ugly or maybe I’m just mediocre or average at best.

Maybe it was the influence of those around me. Or wait, no.
Maybe I listened to the wrong people and believed the bullies who swore that I was the one who deserved the worst.

Or maybe I fell for the tricks that other people pulled.
Maybe I was conned or swindled or tricked and so, I took the bait, hook, line and sinker.
I took the bait when meanwhile, none of this was real.

There is no jail that can house me.
There is no prison.
There are no walls that can contain my spirit and there is no darkness when I dream.
I can see the light of day. I can recall a morning out at sea.
I can feel the revival of the sunrise and the settled aspirations which were comforted at the sunset and thus, I was satisfied at the end of the day.

I have to think this way now.
I have to let myself go. Otherwise, the alternative is unthinkable.

I have to rewrite my script and re-script my ending because the years behind me are all gone. None of them are real anymore. All of my past are nothing more than earmarked pages that stand out in my story of a life that seems like it happened to someone else.
To be honest, the clock is ticking.
I don’t know how long I have left.
I don’t know whether I will make it to where I want to be, or not, but I know that where I am needs to improve, which means there is work to be done. That work has to start because otherwise, another year is going to pass and all that will happen is I will look back with regret.
I do not want to live according to the calendar of “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve.”
Therefore, if I have to dig or tunnel my way out, or if I have to do my time, or face my executioners, then let me do this and show my chest to the marksmen.

I don’t know what the end of the day will look like.
I don’t know what promises will come.
And I don’t know whether today will be glorified or horrified.
But I know that I cannot sit still.

I have to defend myself.
Even if I’m my own client, and my client is a fool, I cannot stop or lay down.
Not now, and not another day.

All I have is this.
All I have is right here, right now, and this tiny moment, which I have chosen to come and spend with you.
There is something about you too.
There always has been.
One could say this is fate’s gift or that destiny has always destined you and I to meet, face to face, regardless of how the world splits us apart and turns us back around again.
There is (and there will always be) something miraculous about you.
This isn’t just a skin-deep thing, which is your looks or your physical beauty.
No.
There’s so much more to you than this.
From head to toe, from the top to bottom, I knew the minute I saw you that there was something about you.
I know that I am alone, for now.
I know that you are elsewhere for the moment.
But somehow, I always knew you are mine.
Fate and Destiny had to step in to show me.
But deep down, I already knew the first time I saw your face.
But before I digress again, I need to solidify my escape.

There is no truth to insecurity. There are no truths to the whispers in my head. I know all about this from an intellectual standpoint. I know that logic is kinder than emotion, which I understand that this might take some convincing to my emotional side.
But so be it.
Let me convince myself.
Let me be free.
Let me let myself go.
Let me let go of all that held me down or held me back and dragged me backwards.
There’s no more room for regrets and therefore, there is no more time to slide backwards. 

I see this journal as something which I like to call, “real fiction.”
There is truth to this. There are real stories here and real facts, yet, I am not in front of a judge or jury — at least not in the legal sense or either in a criminal or civil case.
Life is split between figurative and literal.

And literally, I mean most of this in a figurative sense.

At the same time, I see how we are to each other. I see how we look at one another here. I see how people love to persecute when, meanwhile, they have their own dirt in their fingernails.
Certain filth can never be washed clean. It may hide well or be invisible, like most germs.
But the truth is always the truth and no amount of lying can deny the fact that we have all been rotten, at least a few times. 

I suppose I have come to this point, no differently from other crossroads that I faced in my earlier years.

Each crossroads have similarities, yet none of them are the same. I am split.
Which way do I go?
What if I stay as I am? Then what?
What if I make an effort to change and nothing works out the way I’d hoped?
What if I give it my all and I come up short again?
Then what do I do?

I understand this all too well.
I know all about the differences in the effort business and the result business.
We can’t be in both.
Only one business is controllable. The other is just a way to make the gods laugh. Thinking we can control our outcomes is the best way to make fate and destiny giggle and say, “Oh really? Watch this!”

Man cannot serve two masters, yet I have served far more than two masters, or three, and perhaps more than even four.

I say this is the prison of self.
This is what happens when we look to please others around us, and when we fail, we become outraged. We grow angry or resentful. Then we become someone else. Some become inward and implode, some explode and burst — like when I become the demon, or when I lose to my thoughts and grow angry.
I can be evil too.
I know.

I think about how the beast, himself, looks at me and thinks how I’ve grown insane and become too excessive. This is not far from accurate. However, my aim to impress is not to impress the beast. Yet, pleasing the beast seems easier to manage at times.

Then again, I used my anger and my outrage as my protection. This was my guard and my weapons of self-destruction.
I have come to find my place in this world and looking back, I see too much destruction.
I see too much distance between you and me. I see too many obstacles and too many barriers and too much damage, too much pain, and yes, I have too many fears that the ruins will never let me home again.

Yet, the drive and the urge is incredible to me.
What is it?
And why is it?

If we have desire and if we have passion, or if we want something so much, then why do we pause at the moment of greatness?
Why do we allow our demons and insecurity to collect their arrows to shoot down our dreams and keep us stuck.

I think Socrates was right, “the mind is your predicament”
I agree. My mind is my predicament.
Whether I get what I want or not, either way, prison is prison, jail is jail, detention is detention, punishment is punishment, and for the record, I have punished myself enough for one lifetime — or maybe even two.

I know who I am. I know what I have done too.
I was there, despite the reasons I’d love to deny it.
I know who I was.
I know who I want to be.
I know where I want to be, which is not here. If I don’t want to be here, then I must prepare and work and make changes to be where I want to be.

It’s time for me to take a trip.
Even if only in my mind.
It’s time for me to close my eyes, especially now, before I go and stand before the daily judges and jury.
It’s time for me to set up my greatest escape, which is free of charge and equally as limitless.

It’s time to close my eyes.
Breathe . . .
in through the nose,
out through the mouth.

Nice and slow, deep breaths.
You can do this with me, if you’d like.

Each inhale signifies the freshness of life.
Each exhale removes all the toxins and impurities.
I see this like the soft waves that curl against the white sands at the edge of a turquoise bay.
The water comes in to quench the earth and then the water recedes to take away the unwanted sediments of our everyday existence.

I see myself here, and suddenly, I am on an altered pathway, like a straight line that extends outward, or lengthwise, like the endless beach where no one else can find me
(except for you).

There is no one else around.
The sky is clear and blue.
The sun is high and brilliant.
The sands reflect the sunlight and the winds are gentle, like the feeling of a lover’s eyelash fluttering against your cheek.
I believe we call this a butterfly kiss.

The water represents hope. This place is my representation of freedom. There are no complications and no manmade interruptions.
There is only me, you, and the sound of small waves that fold onto the sand.
I can feel the sun on my body.
I can smell the air, which is salty and sweet.
I can see the ripples in the turquoise waters that reflect the sun, and me, I am happy.
I am fine to do nothing.
I am fine to think nothing or feel nothing.
I am fine to enjoy the sway from my peaceful hammock and sip from a drink in a coconut shell.
I am fine to stand in the sands at the ocean’s edge.

There are no pressing moments.
No impending doom.
There are no judges or angry prosecutors.
There are no imperfections about me or my body or my voice.
There is nothing wrong with my smile, and nothing about my life is off-putting.
Instead, I am relaxed and enjoying another outpouring episode of the horizon ahead and the waters that surround me.

There are no aches and pains here.
There is no rejection or body shaming or need to compare me to anyone else.
I am fine as I am.
No. I am my most beautiful self here.

I can feel the warmth from the sun on my skin, which is bronzing now, and I am tanned to perfection.
I can feel the calmness of the winds that flow past and blow through my hair.

God, I love it here.
Can you see it?
Do not stop until you see it.

There are no unwanted sounds. No angry references to our general civilization.

And why would there be?
We are in paradise. . .
Remember?

I approach the water.
You can come if you’d like.
Walk with me, if you want to.

I stand at the edge between land and sea.
I can feel the waves coming up to my feet.
The overhead sky is kind and clear.
I move in to feel the water at my ankles.
I walk forward to let the waters rise to my knees.
The sea feels cool but inviting.
All of this is refreshing.
I wade further, up to my thighs, and then up to my waist.
I look up at the sky to feel the sun on my face
and then I dive forward and plunge and bury myself in the wealth of the cool blue waters.

When I resurface, I can hear the splash as my head breaks the surface and I let out a breath, as if to say, “ah!”

I swear to you this: the day I earn my freedom is the day I book my trip to this place I’ve only seen in pictures.
There is an island known as Isla Espiritu Santo, which is down in The Sea of Cortez off the coast of La Paz, Mexico.

Even if I never make it there in the flesh, at least I can go here anytime I want in my dreams.
With you.

There are no prisons or jails or bars.
Just people who impose their will, like the unwanted guards who walk the corridors and the judges who bang their gavels and the jurors who do no better.
There are the prosecutors who share their suits with the skeletons in their closets. And then there’s us.

No one holds the key to my prison cell, but me.
So, let me do this.
Let me open the door to this place and remove my comfort with my keepers.
Let me let my arguments and my anger scatter like the salty spray of deceased waves — and let me let this go someplace where all of this is unobjectionable.

Let me keep my dream because people can take my time away from me, and they can take my space, and some have managed to take my money and my freedom, but by any means, I can never allow them or anyone to take the freedom in my mind.

This is why I chose to defend myself.