Thursday afternoon or closer to the evening.
I am not sure what the time was.
I stood with my coffee like the others who await a train to take them home after their daily grind to make their daily bread. I live and I die and in-between, I work for a so-called living so that I can pay my taxes and I can pay my way and I pay my share.
I was thinking about the lopsided and the unfairness which seems apparent at times.
And then I stood there . . .
I waited for my track to be announced so I could go home, shower, eat, exercise, sleep and then repeat the same thing the next day.
I stood contemplating the days ahead of me> I considered things, like the life I have. I thought about the places I’ve been to, the life I’ve lived, and of course, I thought about the money I’ve spent.
I thought about the time I’ve wasted as well as the love I gave and lost. Then I thought about the love I never deserved or the waste of energy and the wasted times and life and all the hardships and the sadness that came from all the above.
A man walked by me in the rear section of Pennsylvania Station.
He was wearing a shirt with words on the back
The shirt said, “Clock’s tickin” across the top with the words, “Start livin.” along the bottom.
I thought about this. I wondered if I can do this.
Live, I mean.
Or am I too lost in the rearview mirror to see forward and enjoy the ride ahead of me?
I ask this because above all; this is a valuable question. And this is a question that deserves a good and honest answer.
I agree . . .
The clock is ticking.
I need to start living.
I agree with the song and the lyrics that go, “Enjoy yourself. It’s later than you think.”
I know it is.
And here we are now, Friday morning.
I am going to be 54 years old
It would be dishonest for me to say that I am innocent and yes, I understand that at some point, we all have to pay the piper. We all have to face the facts and like a stack of bills that add up on my desk at home and pile up, the nature of my wrongs and the fact of my sins are alive and well. same as bills never go away, the truth never goes away.
The outcomes and the results and the facts of our truths are all inescapable and unalterable.
I fight with this.
I fight with myself.
I fight with the terms of forgiveness.
I fight with the ideas of what happens when we explore the healing and the benefits that come when we talk about the forgiveness of self.
Forgiveness of self
man, what a great concept this is
I am not who I was and nor am I the way I used to be.
No. Not at all.
I assume that age, time, life, death, and loss, and on top of the changes from the powers that be and also; I changes of the guards throughout the years have altered my perspective.
Or maybe the numbness and the arrogance and the rage from my resentments wore off and so; the impurities boiled to the surface until my truths spilled over.
No one can hide from their own reflection, which is why I often struggled to look in the mirror. I never liked my reflection.
This is also why I struggled to look at pictures of my Mother and my Father.
I struggled with this because their afterlife and the photographed memories can somehow see through me as if I am too transparent to them and they can see me, down to my soul.
It’s like they can see everything . . . .
It’s like they can see my lies and they saw my deceit.
I say this because, in fact, if there is an afterlife and if there is such a thing as the eyes in Heaven; then in my belief, I know the eyes in Heaven never blink.
We blink because we need to.
We blink because our eyes need moisture.
We close our eyes to envision things or to imagine or dream.
The eyes in Heaven see differently and as it was written; that which is of the flesh is of the flesh and that which is of the spirit is of the spirit.
I am of the flesh.
The eyes in Heaven or of the spirit.
The eyes in Heaven can see clearer than anything that I can comprehend.
I say this as a man of the flesh. I say this as a man of shame, of guilt and of regret.
I say this as a man who battles with my own truths.
I say this as a man with a full understanding and knowledge of what I have done; and too, I know what I have not done.
I know that lying is the same thing as lying by omission or pretending and acting “as if,” just to go along to get along.
I have done this.
One cannot deny themselves and nor can one deny the exact nature of their wrongs.
Well, I know that I can’t.
We excuse and we justify. We rationalize and we explain and we haggle and we negotiate, as if a deal or an explanation solves the problem. But no.
None of this relieves the shame or satisfies the consequences of guilt.
No . . .
I remember something from years ago.
I stopped and walked into a church after a sin against my fellow man.
I have true sorrow for this sin as well as an understanding that some things cannot be replaced and some thefts can never be amended or resolved.
Sometimes, an apology cannot undo an assault or correct the damages of an attack or an action so grave and aggressive that violence is purely an understatement.
There are battles and fights and angry aggressions, and more; there mean-spirited memories that make me shake my head.
There is an understanding and a rationalized pastime that I recall and yes; I clench and squeeze my muscles with rage against myself. I grind my teeth with resentment before sinking into my own regret.
And I find that I wonder and I ask myself “why?”
I wonder about this with shame and an understanding that accountability is irremovable. Everything comes with a cost and the avoidance of paying for our mistakes only mount and come with an unfortunate interest.
This adds and compiles when it comes to truth in the soul.
I struggled to believe, and so, I sat on a bench in the church.
My head bent forward a pew and with the fullest concept; I knew that I did not deserve forgiveness.
I sat as a sinner and pleaded for redemption from the back row and sought some kind of forgiveness.
I looked up and felt the shame and the hostility and how this caused me to become a terrible man who did terrible things. I had to live with the terrible excuse that I was done wrong; and therefore, what goes around comes around. And to me, I was just the moving force in the underbelly that churns the cycle of justice.
I was the evil side . . .
I looked at the cross.
I saw the purity and felt the sting that happens when purity burns the infections. I could hardly look. But I did anyway.
I looked up at the statue that represents The Son in the form of a man. I began to weep. I looked up and thought about the promises I was told.
The Son of Man had come to give sight to the blind and to take from those who can see.
However, I could see clearly, which meant that behold; I was the one who sinned.
He died as a man, and too; He is the one who willingly died for all of man’s sins
I was not deserving of His love.
My sins are weighty and many and my sins were mounting and I?
I am the representation of evil in many ways; however, evil men do not regard their evils.
I offer this the same as crazy men do not believe their crazy; and same as this is true, stupid people never believe they are stupid because to them, they are the smart ones.
And this is what makes them stupid.
If I were evil, would I care?
Would I shed a tear?
Would I weep or feel the way I do?
Would I realize that amens fall short and therefore; i have to continuously amend for my sins and leash my tongue on a daily basis, and last, would I think about the purity that comes when I follow the word if I were evil?
No . . .
I am only a man. Or at least, I am this from a biological perspective.
My term of being a man and manhood is why I fail to have the confidence to look people in the eye.
My shame is why I cannot look at pictures of my Father, The Old Man. And this is true too with my Mother.
This is true in many regards because deep down; I know that I know better and so, I know that I have betrayed myself more than anyone else has ever betrayed me.
Today, at the time of 8:48am marks the 25th year and the anniversary of when the first plane hit The Twin Towers.
Am I better than I was then?
Am I worse?
In some ways, I am both.
I have lied and cheated and stolen and hurt, and in some cases, I have maimed and spiritually murdered and assassinated characters. I have persecuted and punished good people for crimes they did not commit.
I have been hurt too
But this is about me and my wrongs
Not anyone or anything else
My burdens became burdens to other people and so, my traumas were infectious, like a virus or like a social disease to which I saw no cure, aside from death or until death do us part.
I thought as I was told, which is (and was) that I was going to die the way I am, hated and alone.
I am not so hated.
I am not so alone.
At the same time, I know what it feels like to be alone in crowds or alone when I am around the wrong people.
I do not want to see the world this way.
I do not want to live in regret.
I know that I have to face the truth.
I know that I have to face what I have done.
I know that I have paid back but some debts cause the payment plans to be ongoing
And so . . .
sobeit.
The sins that soil my hands are thick and the red blood and the dirt beneath my fingernails seems more permanent than anything else.
There was a time when no one would talk to me or care or spend a minute to ask and see if I was okay.
I lost that person on this day, 25 years ago.
Father Mike.
Casualty #0001
I saw the pictures of him on the news.
I just got home after leaving the City.
An old friend of mine called me and as he told me, “Benny . . . they got Father Mike,” and just then, I turned to the television and watched the firemen carrying the body of the kindest man I have ever met.
I heard from some of my union friends,
I heard one of my buddies report, “Man, I remember hearing that if you jump from a building that you die before you hit the ground.”
Then he told me, “Benny, I heard them screaming all they way down until I heard them thud and splat on the concrete.”
I know what evil is.
I have seen evil in different places.
I have seen evil in jail cells.
I have seen evil on street corners.
I heard how evil things explode when gunshots rang out and a bullet hit flesh.
I have met the so-called good people who carry themselves properly and wear their suit and ties and dress wealthy for their high-paying jobs.
Some of them were more evil than the stick-up kids I met at the crack spots.
And all of them in the highbrow land were more ruthless than the shooters who killed people. And somehow, the special suit and ties and the highbrow lifers sit and eat their caviar while ignoring the bloodstains and the dirt beneath their fingernails.
I am not them.
I come for myself.
I come because I know.
I know better.
I know I can see and so, I know I have sinned.
I know that I am not a good man or as good as a true man.
But I know that I am not forgotten and I know that I am capable of better, which is why I struggle.
I struggle to see my reflection in the mirror or look at the photographs of my loved ones.
I am just a stupid man at times.
At the same time, I know I can be better.
I wish I was more.
But I am what I am
I can’t believe it . . .
25 years ago and I am still here.
What would you tell me now, Father Mike?
I wish I could hear you.
But today is the remembrance of more than 3,000 souls whom you guided into Heaven.
So, perhaps you might not have time for me, which is okay.
I can wait
All I ask is that you remember me
Wherever you are
I will always remember
I will never surrender
United we stand
Divided we fall . . .
Until we meet again,
Sleep well
. . .my friends –
The Written Addiction 