Maybe I should go back to that spot where healing is supposed to take place. Or maybe the special dirt that I collected did not take. Maybe I need to grab another sample from the blessed Earth behind the church in old El Chimayo or pray more, like I did that afternoon in the old chapel where I watched an old woman weep and her son wheel her chair to the nearest candle.
Maybe . . .
Maybe the answers I sought were not the answers I prayed for. Or maybe my requests were denied for reasons that did not present themselves until now.

There has to be a time when we say to hell with it. There has to be a time when we say life is life death is death and all we have is this moment. Understand?
All we have is this, which is right here and right now.
There has to come a time when enough is enough and so, now becomes the time to make a difference between the definition of what it means to live or die.
Living is far more than just existing
And dying alive is far worse than dying alone.

There is no more time to waste.
There is no more time to give in or to give up and there is no more room for excuses and doubts.

There was a big storm last night. The wind picked up and there were trees down on the street.
I can hear the wind and the rain are still blowing around but the storm has mostly passed and all that’s left are the remnants of a northeast storm that devastated the weekend.
I sit here now and I have my trusty companion with me.
Ah, thank God for trusty companions.
And no, this is not a person or an animal but instead, I have my cup of coffee which is what I needed this morning.
Or wait.
No.
I have other needs which do not need to be mentioned at this time.

I say the same thing all the time. I tell everyone if you don’t know, then you just don’t know.
And to act like you know or to insinuate that you do can be seen as an insult or counterproductive.
There is something to be said about the act and the process and the actual motions of going through something.
And I get it. Everything is subjective.
Everything is left open to interpretation and of course, fiction can become facts and facts can become fiction.
True things can be disagreed and be false and lies can become truths, at least from a personal standpoint.

We are fools at times. We are all subject to the deception of our own perception and in the case of us against life or me against me and I against I, there is a real world going on around me. There are so many things that I have not seen or experienced enough to understand and again, there are times when the fact remains.
If you don’t know, then you just don’t know.
And that’s okay . . .

I do not waste my time and tempt fate or dare the odds of my unforeseen destiny anymore.
At least, not like I used to.
I am too far gone now. I am far from the person I was and growing farther from the distant shadows that used to remind me of what took place on 3rd Avenue and 54th Street.
I am grateful for this, however, so please understand that despite my past and my mistakes; I am aware of who I am now and in the end, awareness is the key which can open the door to a brand new life.
Or, at least, so I hope.

So, you want honesty?
Okay, Let’s take it from here
Shall we?

And you know too. You know all about it.
You know about the ground beneath you and how it disappears. You know why everything you held dearly is gone and you know why the bottom lost hold and the fall is going to be far greater than any fall you’ve ever taken before.
You know.
You know all about it.

Maybe you have one or two options. Maybe there are a few choices.
Maybe.
But whatever the choices are, neither of them are attractive. None of your options are what you wanted and yet, this is it.
There you are. Alive and unwell and living pout loud while being consumed in the belly of the beast.

There was a video of a young woman who was asked why she wrote so many love poems.
The young girl responded honestly and with an answer that made sense to me.
She writes love poems instead of suicide notes.
Well done, I say.
Her answer is excellent, I tell you.

I am the same.
I write about love
or you
and I write about my love because the adverse or the opposite is unthinkable to me.

I understand what it means to feel lost or elsewhere and what t means to be or believe as if to be out of this hemisphere and more, I get how it is to seem like a stranger while alive and well and living here in familiar territory.

My best memory of times when I was supposedly well or fine enough to be welcomed is when I was alone or by myself. I chose to break free like a lion or a tiger who escaped and broke free from his cage. I chose the separation between myself and the crowd and so, I decided to go and find myself by walking around the streets of New York City.

The sun is later today. I looked up at the sky to watch the clouds moving overhead. and I can see the rain wants to let go and take a break for a while.
I can tell.
The sky has a different feel to me this morning. Maybe too many changes took place at once.
Or maybe everything is different now and the rain that came only served to wash away the remnants of my crazy yesterdays.

But dig it . . . 

It is strange to think that today marks 54 times that I have spun around the sun.
I have somehow managed to survive 54 trips.
54 birthdays.
54 times that I can say yes, I managed to pull off another year.
And yes, age is a funny thing.

Age is neither kind nor unfair and at the same time, age is one hell of a trip.
My body went from very small to bigger than what I expected. Also, my life has changed more times than people change sides with their political views.