It was advised to me that I be aware of my company.
I was also advised to be mindful of who I listen to.
Else, I might listen to a fool
or that I might be so foolish to listen to the advice
from someone who I’d never turn to.
I was told that my story belongs to me
and that by sharing my story,
I am offering myself to those outside of my control
because of course, intention and interpretation
are seldom the same things.
And, if I survived or if I made the climb up
or if I find my way out of despair
and when I managed to regain my composure;
or if I lived through an episode
which is closely related to Hell, or lastly,
if I lived through the worst and survived death,
even by a longshot or a near miss;
then I should not share how I survived
with the people who tried to kill me.
I have heard this more than once.
I have read quotes that share a similar thought.
However, these thoughts come from me
and therefore
this is all me
and this is all mine.
I have been told that whatever doesn’t kill me,
makes me stronger.
And maybe this is true.
Maybe I would be fine to be weaker
and somewhat happier than I am now
after being tested, of course
or surviving
what didn’t kill me.
Maybe I can relate this to Fulghum’s story about the cicadas
and how they need the struggle of breaking their shell . . .
this is what happens when they hatch
and become ready to spread their wings.
Fulghum wrote how he helped one of the cicadas
escape from its shell
and then a bird came along and ate the bug
because the bug was too weak to spread its wings
and fly away and save itself.
It turns out the struggle for the bug to escape
is necessary to build the necessary muscles
to spread their wings and fly.
You need strength to live
but more
it takes strength to survive.
By the way,
Robert Fulghum is a hero of mine.
He is a hero for reasons too long to list
and for an emotional rescue
that I fear my words would fall short to describe.
In any case –
I remember when I said the words out loud,
“my redemption has nothing to do with your response.”
There is no one coming to save me
or you . . .
There are no enemies at the gates anymore.
And even if they were,
then I have to adjust a realize that my enemies are only as real
as I allow them to be.
I think it would be best for me to defy myself
by realizing that I can be anything
of course, if i choose to be
And no, I do not want to fly so high
that my wings melt from the sun, like Icarus
who defied his Father’s warning
and wasted the blessing
of what it means to fly.
The rain should come later.
Or, so I am told
The winds will pick up in the afternoon
and the summer storm is supposed to be wild and angry.
or again . . .
so I am told.
I know this is what the weatherman said
But the sky does not agree
at least, not yet.
No, the sun is young in the sky and the hour is early
but the heat is thick
and the tension is mounting and about to build up
to a new proportion and be thick,
like soup.
Humidity is a bitch
then again
so is the tension between people
who supposedly
love one another.
The rains will come later and hopefully
this will break the pattern
and wash away the remnants of our tiny aggression.
I cannot speak for the losses I’ve had
or for those who voted against me.
Then again, as for those who tried to kill me . . .
there’s no need to celebrate or growl in return.
No . . .
That would give them too much attention.
There is no reason for me to tell them
or anyone how they missed
or how I surived.
no . . .
My old friend Jack used to tell me
The best revenge is good living.”
I understand this.
But sorry Jack . . .
I respectfully disagree
The best revenge
is living a good live
and not needing revenge at all
Amen.
The Written Addiction 