I am awake again and at the same time at the same place in my bed. I am thinking about too many things and so, it is hard to ease my mind or rest my breath enough to sleep.
So much happens in the span of time.
Too much has gone on between the distance of you and I.
I would rather be somewhere or anywhere else, —preferably someplace warm, like say, far from the world we know and far from the old snow and the slushy pavement along the streets in Downtown, Manhattan.
It amazes me though.
I am amazed at the places I’ve seen and the person I’ve been throughout my life.
It amazes me still, to notice the range between highs and lows or when money was tight or my dollars seemed more like a plethora of chances, which I hoped would never run out.
I am in bed, thinking about distant places that I have never seen before. No I have only dreamed of them.
I am thinking too deeply and wondering if I will ever have my chance to see the sunset as it goes down above places in Europe.
I don’t need much anymore.
Then again, anyone who does not have much never knows what it feels like to lose everything or to go from business class to coach or economy.
I will be fine from now on.
I will be better enough to realize what it means to have loved and lost.
And I will improve this way because I will appreciate the world far more than ever before.
I was born simple and humble.
I was born in the working class and so, to be working “for a living” in my eyes is nothing more than carrying a lineage.
My Father would say that I should be proud.
“Never be ashamed to get your hands dirty,” is what my Father would tell me.
He would say this proves that I am willing to step up and do whatever it takes to be a man and earn a living.
This is what a man does to feed his family.
And ah, the word, “Family”
I know the word and yet, I think we seldom realize how deep the meaning can be.
I do not know where they are, my family or those who died and left behind a memory.
I hardly know if they were real now.
I suppose this is why we say our past seems like it happened in another lifetime.
Or say, like Grandma and her bedtime stories. Or like the softness of her hands and how they felt like rose petals when wiping hair away from my boyhood face.
I know this happened, but the distance between then and now seem as though it was just another bedtime story.
It is just as amazing to me to know that I was young as it is to be grown now or at the age which I have reached.
It is amazing to me to see where I am now or how I am regarded when walking through the doorways at my so-called “day job.”
I come here so that I can earn my daily bread.
And yes, this is my daily bread.
Yet, I have forgotten to learn about forgiveness and I have yet to learn the glory when it comes with The Lord’s Prayer to forgiving my trespassers—and of course, I wonder “why is it” that no one has forgiven me or my trespasses?
Why am I so guilty?
What about the wrongs, which I excuse, inestimably because I continue to sin, and still—the fact of the matter is this: I am me and you are you and neither you nor I will understand what it feels like to experience love or touch from one another person’s touch.
I am far from where I want to be.
I am too distant from my goals and yet I am much closer now than ever before.
I am closer because, at last, I have allowed myself the freedom to be aware that I have placed myself in my own prisons. I did this.
Therefore, it is only me who can pardon me from this place.
We are all imperfect.
We are all simple creatures who complicate the easiest journeys by overthinking and overcompensating and thus, we sink to the sad losses which come when we begin overcomplicating life before our eyes.
I am thinking of course because I am alive, which is accentuated and proved by my repeating breaths; inhale, exhale, my chest rises, pauses, and then sinks again.
I suppose times like now would be a perfect time for me to have a cigarette, which I have given up a long time ago.
Yet, my previous life would be like this: another sleepless night and another moment of overthinking and hopeful ideas of simple repentance which I suppose would allow me to be absolved so that I could resolve my sins and be clear with the house again.
I do have dreams, which are frightening to me.
Some would call them nightmares . . .
They are reminders of past abuses, which I imposed, both angrily and fearfully, because my times were terrible as ever.
I was equally brutal with grinding jaws, outraged that I am “as I am,” and too afraid to find myself to be the victim of someone’s unfortunate joke at my expense.
There is a face which I have seen in my dreams since the age of 17. This person was undeserving of such a thing and unaware of their moment of victimhood, which I imposed.
I stood with a brick in hand, violence at heart, and fortunately the terms of fate allowed a break in the tension, which was enough time for this person to drive away.
I was not me back then.
But then again, who else could I have been if not myself?
And while I understood the forgiveness of self and the “ides” or the middle of my moments; I hold myself accountable to the truth that once, I was capable of the unthinkable.
I think anyone can be capable of anything, depending upon the circumstances.
I am not that person anymore and nor could I be that person again, young and struck with an affliction and an addiction to a dose of something deadly.
And yes, deadly was my youth and somehow, I am alive.
I am alive, even if I thought I was only born to die.
I am amazed at how our youth shapes the roots of our adulthood>
And yes, I have grown.
And yes, I am not who I was.
I have matured and I have change.
I have improved too, depending upon who you ask.
I do not identify with my old ideas and yet, I wish there was some kind of social morphine or magic substance that removes the pain and broken glass from the windows of my soul.
I wish there was a way that we could narcotize the unsettled nerves and satisfy the overdue resentments that seem to weigh us down—or subconsciously, I wish there was a button to act as a healthy option. I want something or anything that helps as opposed to the plunger that pushes forward and shoves the dirty angels of the veins of addicts.
I want the erased pain in the best way and better than when the veins take the symptoms and my eyes rolled back, as if to be detached or disconnected and somehow distant from the world we live in.
I just want to be better.
I want to be present.
And yes, I want to be pure.
I understand the need for an escape or even a drink, which I refrain from and too.
I have not done this or that, or neither drink nor a recreational drug has been used for some kind of recreational freedom, which is only temporary.
I know that there are enemies at my gates.
I know that I am still in the gears and being churned by the cogs that spin in the gossip mills at the rumor factory.
Yet—how important am I?
Or is this self-absorbed?
Is this arrogance?
Is this fear or pride?
Or in other ways, even if it were true and all the gossipers was right about me and my imperfections were so great, —no one is watching or thinking of me quite as much as I assume.
No one is such an enemy that I consume their every thought, which I fear because I am afraid that I will let my guard down. And yes, I am afraid to somehow become victim to an otherwise victimless crime and so, Karma would smile an evil smile and take its turn at my expense.
I try.
Despite my disbelief.
Despite my doubts.
Despite my enemies or my friends.
I show up, despite the odds or the probability that I will make my way back.
I get up every morning regardless of whether I return or move upwards again.
I work and I reach out with hopes that somehow, I will find myself somewhere, unapologetic and free.
I want to find my place so I will be content to be elsewhere and at peace enough to allow my transgressions to be behind me.
Some might say that I should give myself a break.
However, some will mistake my honesty for weakness because of all things, it takes strength to be this honest.
It takes courage to empty yourself from your honest truths.
I am not tough.
I do not want to be tough or feel the need to face my enemies, sword in hand and blood on my tongue.
I am amazed at the ideas of peace.
It amazes me how we all wish for peace and yet, we seldom choose to abide by the laws of peace.
I have decided:
No one yells at me anymore.
I have made this decision.
No one yells.
No one will fight with me ever again.
No one will attack me because I will no longer allow myself to tangle with those who have desires to do this
I am up and awake and the hours have gone from 3:00am to 4:00am in a blink.
The day ahead needs my attention.
I need my sleep, but since sleep and I have agreed to disagree, I am empty for now —eyes closing, nearly sleeping, the alarm will sound soon.
(I always fall asleep, right before the alarm goes off.)
I have traveled far enough to learn that I’ve circled back to the beginning.
Perhaps I missed another lesson.
Maybe the Grand Teacher is making me stay after class so that I can finally learn.
Tomorrow has already shown up.
All I can do is to do the same
Show up.
The rest is unknown
The Written Addiction 