Ah, The East River.
New York City
Early at sunrise. Thursday.
Come to think of it, the sun is coming up earlier now, which means that yes, the winter will slowly give way and thaw of springtime will be here before we know it.
You have always been beautiful to me. And I have seen you throughout the years, always moving, always quiet, and always watching the world around you just like the Ever-loving Mother, and Mother of All, full of grace, Holy with attitude and generous with your judgments.
You say nothing, but you see everything.
You have seen me grow.
You have seen me move from either side of our city and yes, you have seen me change.
I have worn different faces and dressed the parts with different dress codes.
I’ve put on different hats, so-to-speak, and all the while, you move the same as any river moves in the early morning.
You: The East River in wintertime.
Beautiful.
Amazing
Mesmerizing too.
God, I love this.
Today in particular, you move with a slick top, which is icy this morning, and you are moving quite slow today, as if to allow yourself the view of this morning’s sunrise.
And trust me.
I can dig it.
The quarter-moon perches like a glowing crescent, off-center, and hanging in the morning sky.
The colors of dawn’s reflection are ranging from orange to soft red.
The colors splash against the tall glass buildings in Long Island City.
I love this view.
I love the quiet sense of warmth and introspection, as if I can breathe while driving down the FDR and think to myself, somehow, I am still here.
I’ve survived (somehow.)
Life changes.
I know this.
We all face tragedies.
I know this too.
We all go through life and no one among us will ever escape unscathed or without a scratch.
Everyone knows this.
But yet, the cuts and scrapes hurt, same as the bumps and bruises.
And, so?
Who can heal us?
Blessed Mother, please . . .
look over me.
Let me face myself differently now.
Let me breathe.
Let me notice the scenery that shows itself, like this, like the colors across the horizon and a sunrise which is so beautiful that even the moon needed to standby, just to see the birth of a brand new day.
Heavenly Mother,
I come to you, weak, hurt, broken, and in need of rest.
I need to be healed in the way that only my Loving Mother can do.
Blessed Mother,
Favor me this morning.
Heal my heart.
Feel my truth, which is often deceived by my own misperceptions which teach me that somehow, I am unfit, misshapen, or misfitting for the world I face around me.
Mother of All,
treat me like a son who has returned home
teat me the way a child seeks the comfort that only comes when a Mother wipes the loose strands of hair away from her child’s eyes.
Only a Mother like you can do this,
as if to say, “Don’t worry, son. Everything’s going to be okay.”
I understand that you and Father Time weave in ways that we are unable to comprehend.
And I know there is love out there for me.
I know the life ahead is unwritten, which is why I’ve sharpened my pencil.
I know that my dream has curves and swerves and a smile that is (and will always be)unforgettable to me.
I have seen great things, Mom.
I’ve done bed things too.
But not today.
I wish you were here to see how I am regarded in some places.
I don’t know if I deserve today’s spot.
But I’m here to take it, no matter what.
Not everyone loves me, Mom . . .
. . .but not everyone hates me either.
Like Jim Carroll wrote.
“I just want to be pure
Well, Mom
I just want to be pure
Help me
please.
The Written Addiction 