Somewhere, there’s a little unknown town with a diner that serves an amazing slice of pie. I imagine this place.
I imagine the people are friendly.
They say things like, “Hello,” and “Good morning,” as they pass each other.
Strangers are welcomed like family and smiles are like currency. This place is the kind of town where everyone knows each.
I ever tell you about the dream I have of Mr. Golden’s 5th Grade classroom? It’s not much really. It’s just a dream.
There is something to it though. There is a meaning behind the dream but sometimes, it’s hard to put my finger on it.
For some reason, I find myself in the back of the classroom, which is empty.
The room looks exactly as I remember it. The walls are covered in 5th Grade artwork. There are pictures on the wall, letters of the alphabet, and rows of desks which in fairness, for the life of me, I cannot recall where I sat.
I only know I was there.
I go back to a walk I never expected to take on a coast I never thought I would see. I go back to the beach and the sign on the hills, which said, “Hollywood.”
I go back to the way the Pacific looked and how the sun felt upon my skin. I think of this trip and the doors it opened. I think of its consequences and the doors which closed behind me. But I was fine with this.
You and I have talked about this before but I think it’s important that we talk about it again.
The word “Friend”
A friend is a feeling. It’s a person. It’s a relationship that helps us find balance in this crazy thing we call life.
A friend is a source of comfort. It’s a meaningful name that either puts a smile on your face or a feeling in your heart.
That’s what a friend is.
I want to find myself somewhere (with you) now, beside a tree I once knew in a different life. I was younger then. But of course you already knew that. Everything that happens to us before now is something that happened when we were younger. This means we are constant. We will always be constant (So help me God) so long as as we believe this way, we will always be allowed to grow.
I want find myself here (with you) beside this tree on a hill at a place where I store my memories. I was young at the time. The hill was behind a big main house on a farm I once knew. The tree was not so much unlike any other. The tree is just a tiny part of this place. But yet, at the same time, this tree is symbolic of something so much bigger.
Everyone has a dream . . .
The way I see it
there is only one thing between us and our dreams.
That is the beast within.
And everyone has a beast within them
Everyone has that inner monologue
That inner demon
That’s the beast I was telling you about
My beast speaks too
He whispers . .
But I know it’s him,
which is why he changes his dialect.
I swear this is to trick me,
My beast changes the way he speaks,
always disguising himself,
always trying to make me guess myself,
and always looking to maintain my attention
so I won’t look anyplace else.
And sometimes . . .
Sometimes I listen to the crazy laugh of my inner animal.
Every wonder why the devil never dresses himself in anything fancy?
It’s so you never see him coming . . .
And the moon was full. The air was cold, like the kind that makes your breath smoke when you breathe in and out. The farm was quiet and the hour was early, —it was the time before the rest of the world wakes up. I recall these early morning runs. I recall the moonlight beaming down across the pastures. I remember the mountains around me and the sight of the bog old red barn.