I have never seen much more than what I have seen. But then again, no one knows and no one sees everything, and least of all, no one ever sees life unlived and never viewed.
I suppose that I am allowed to be fair to my truths. And the truth is . . .
I want to see more.
Ah, but the ideas that come to me.
The visions and the hopes and desires, wild and free, and like a child dreaming; I am of course, an old man who never outgrew the childish right to dream. No, I refuse to let go and so; I look to fight and maintain the rights I have to believe in things like the unspoken magic from teddy bears or the healing moments of a grandmother’s touch.
I have this thing, still yearning and burning inside of me.
I suppose I can call this life.
This is my fire, albeit dull at times; at least this fire has not burned out.
And no . . .
No darkness can prevail as long as a spark of light exists.
Therefore, and for whatever this is worth (to me or you) this is my light and my hope, my way, my truth and my path towards redemption.
Or . . .
maybe this is the spirit of my soul, which is both a child and the monster within, banging at the cage of its dungeon or cellar, and deeper within me; this is my truest desire, shaking the bars of an unfit prison, and fighting to break free.
yes. I like that and so yes, this is me too.
I have all the dreams, the wishes, and along with this; I have the tiny windows of brief, eye-opening experiences, which are the details that make me want to rush and run and get out now, while I still can.
I know that the clock is ticking and that life is fleeting.
The moment is all I have and the plethora of youthful tomorrows disappeared to an older substance of a man who is past the midway point or the halfway station of life
I am older now.
Everything that happened and everything prior is something that happened to me “when I was younger.”
I agree, of course, and I subscribe to the saying or the suggestion that recommends, “I have wanted to run away more as an adult than I ever did when I was a kid.”
I agree with this fully, truly, wholeheartedly and completely.
And so, I assume or suppose that in all honesty, we all run away in different in different ways and for different reasons and thus, we live vicariously through an imaginary idea of a life more desired.
I understand the reasons and the meanings behind our fantasies.
But now . . .
Now is the time to make fantasies my reality.
or die trying
I know what desire is.
I knew about desire then and I know it now. However, age has taught me some old tricks with new results, which of course; this is why the elders tell the younger, “You’ll understand when you get older.”
It took me years to learn how true this is.
And now that I am older, of course; I understand.
It is early in the morning now and another day pulls my half of the world in an opposite direction.
The summer sun is moving away and showing distance from my side of the hemisphere.
I know this is so because the noticeable sunrise is showing its face later now. The new morning sun was here earlier yesterday. But the dawn shows proof of a later start for the greatest star in the center of our universe.
Yet, I know the universe is an ongoing vastness that extends beyond our human estimation; and so, the center of our stars is larger than my contemplation and somehow, even the sun is miniscule and microscopic when compared to the infinite size of the universe.
We are only a pebble or more like a grain of sand which is third from the sun. We are smaller than a spec of dirt beneath the thumbnail of the Great Almightiness, or God, or Buddha or to whomever or whoever’s name one chooses to call their higher power or God, as they understand Her . . .
And still, as small as I am and as miniscule or microscopic, my heart bleeds and pounds beats and dreams. My soul weeps and screams and my desires cry out like an infinite orchestra that refuses to quit, even long after the dances are over.
There is, of course, the mix of good and evil or the yin and yang and too, there is something in me, deep within me, which screams and cheers for an ultimate justice of an otherwise dream come true.
And yes.
Yes, of course.
I have wished upon stars.
I have prayed and I have dreamt. I have repeated the words, “starlight, star bright, the first star I see tonight.”
And I wished I may and I’ve wished I might and I prayed to have this dream, which I dreamed that night
It is I, I say.
Or it is me, of course.
I am the dreamer and searcher and the hopeful.
Or in other words and to remove the uncertainty of misinterpretation; this is how I choose to reveal myself . . .
I am the hopeful and also the hopeless romantic, brave and afraid, and I have come for my wealth, albeit humble and poor.
I am here.
I am coming forward and seeking shelter from the storms and looking for warmth so that I can dry and warm my bones and be well. Or if at all possible; I am here to be a semblance of a better self and at minimum, let me be partially whole again.
Just partially and I will be fine . . .
I go
I venture outward.
I arrive.
I work.
I pray.
However, I work more than I play and now that I am older; I understand that playtime is far more valuable than we realize.
Time is our greatest commodity and time is ticking away.
My list of choices are split between the subject of attractive and unattractive; whereas, I know here will always be choices, there will always be options. Some are more attractive and others are less.
Therefore, and in the spirit of my quest, and as heavy as it seems, I swing my daily hammer to hit the nail on the head so that I can succeed and achieve another day at this thing I call, “my life.”
I have been given this day, my daily bread.
I have been given the right to rise up when others have been removed from us.
Some live elsewhere.
Some are less of the flesh and all they can do now is rest in their wooden coats and stay under the earth.
No one has the right to limit or pigeonhole me and keep me stuck.
No one has this right.
Including me.
Ah, but my God or to the God of my Fathers and to The Great and The Almighty Mother, Mother of all, Mother of Creation, Mother of Comfort and to all above or below or to anything otherwise helpful and healing:
I work. I come home.
I eat. I sleep. I wake up.
I work and I come home again.
And so, until the cycle is broken and until my seas part and the freedom of a better life shows its face; this is me.
I am him.
I am the one who has the right to change.
I am the one who can switch my stance.
I can change my opinion and my viewpoint.
I can change or improve my perspective.
I have the right to breathe.
I have the right to dream.
I have the right to live.
I have the right to learn.
I have the right to grown
And so . . .
The devil turns his head and the demons speak their mind.
The angels say less and God speaks in riddles or uses analogies.
I understand analogies, like stories about The Sabbath or how The Sabbath was put here for man and not man for the Sabbath.
I want to see myself elsewhere.
But for now, I am here.
So, like it said in The Book of Isaiah, Chapter 6, Verse 8, I say the same thing.
“Here I am. Send me!”
I cannot be afraid.
I cannot allow my weakness or my weaker fears to gain strength
(and keep me stuck.)
So, therefore, send me.
Let me go.
Let me be.
I saw the early morning sun through the clouds.
I felt the sprinkles of rain on my face today.
I felt the feelings and the stir and the hope and the desire.
Feelings are great.
Now, all I need is the action
To do what I can
And make things so!
“Keep chopping away, kid!”
Don’t worry, pop.
I plan to.
The Written Addiction 