Being Honest With Fiction

And ah, to you dear Freedom.
I love you so . . .

I am here to separate myself and disconnect from the powers that be. I am here to break away from the captors, and down to the mild to moderate the thefts of service, and all the way to the wardens who have mutually imprisoned me, I am here to create distance from the weight and the heaviness that holds the spirit down.
I am here to let go and rid myself from all the above, like the sandbags to the hot air balloons which signify the hopes of my brand new life.
I am here to use this as my springboard and like the launchpads in the wild and vast clearings, I am here to let each baloo go, one by one, so they can fly.
Lift off . . .

America,
I am here.
I am awake now, early in the morning too, and perhaps I am too late in the game to make a change that I would find satisfying. Maybe I lost the ability to pull off my trick and my magic is no longer strong enough to free my soul.
This could be true,

“Too little too late,” is a real saying.
I can see how the saying is true in many regards, and if this is so, then I can easily go back to the first words I wrote down at the beginning of this commitment to reach you.
My redemption has nothing to do with our response. 

America,
There are too many fronts and too many fights within, too many battles and too much strain, pain, weakness and fear for me to contend with all the enemies at the gates.
And the worst of all enemies start from within.
I know.
Traders . . .

I can no longer shake my fists or masquerade and pretend to be strong. I cannot fake this anymore or pretend to be tough enough to face an infantry who march with their posing smiles and declare, “behold, I bring you peace.”
Not so.
The daggers in my back and the sharpened smiles are too cunning to banter with; and thus I have chosen to surrender to win and therefore, I have come to an understanding that is time to lay down my weapons.
They are of no use to me..

And to you, my sweetest Freedom,
to you my work, my hope
and to you my art, my love and my strength –
I have chosen to lay down my precious weapons and instead, I plan to use truth to fight the battles ahead of me.
No more thinking errors which confuse the truth and no more cognitive distortions, which is the exaggerated ideas and beliefs that cause us to confuse, misperceive, and misinterpret an accurate reality. 

We do more damage to ourselves than we think. . .
I admit to my faults and flaws and leave them lying on the floor. Or better, I submit them like those who submit their prayers of healing and wish for the blessings in good old Chimayo, New Mexico. 
I leave them here like those who leave their crutches, bloodied bandages, and their hopes at the shrine in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

Chimayo . . . I have not forgotten you
El Santuario de Chimayó
My loving Lady of Mercy
(pray for me)

America,
I offer up my faults and confess with my mouth and with my heart and the fact that yes; I am only a man.
I am only small and growing and I am only weak, like the broken spirit of old and hobo Indians, drinking their moonshine, firewater, which was supposedly introduced as a curse to sway them from their gods and their truths and drown them in sorrows with double-distilled whole grain alcohol.
I suppose this was a curse that backfired on one too many people.

There are no victims.
Only volunteers.

Do you recall when I said this to you?
This was long ago while I slung my own cross which was mine to bear.
I had blood in my mouth and on my hands, with pins and needles in my eyes because I had seen too much and swore too often that I would quit before I was ahead.
But no one ever does.
No, we sink and we drown and we lose to the sunken fallacy that if we invest more, we will return more.
And so, we lose to an idea that says the more we invest, the more we will return what we have lost. 
Untrue. . .

Most are too shortsighted or too hurt and too emotional to realize that there comes a time when all we can do is cut our losses.
All we can do is reinvest someplace else, namely me or invest within.
The hardest thing to admit is being fortune’s fool.
Just like Romeo after he killed Tybalt.

Most people are not  honest about their captors or their voluntary suffering,
Most are not honest about the otherwise emotional terrorists whose suicidal bombings leave behind the questions of doubt and all the while, most never stop to realize how it was “me” who let them in

America,
I never realized how i betrayed you.
I never realized how my need for instant gratification killed me
(or us)

All the warning signs pointed to a terrible fall –
And we stumbled
And we bumbled
And we fall.
And we try
And we slip
And we manipulate and coerce
But needing and wanting and loving someone or something harder cannot make their lies true.

America,
My love for you is unending.
My sins are great and my crimes are weighty.
I am as imperfect as they come.
I stand before you a changed man, and I am constantly changing, growing, and looking to advance.

And ah, sweet Freedom.
I love you too.
I just hope this is not too little too late
And if so,
If this is all I’ll ever have left
So be it.
But America and Freedom,
neither of you have ever given up, no matter ow fallen you seemed.
And so
I promise
Neither will I