The mind is the trick.
I know.
And as for thoughts?
Our thoughts are just thoughts and feelings are just feelings.
Emotion is emotion and life is life.
We both understand this.

I know that we are all involved in this big project which I often call Project Earth.
And therefore, what i tell you is something that I have to tell you.
I have to say this because leaving this unsaid would be another sin for me to face.

Dear Mom,

I know it’s been a while since my last letter to you. I suppose so much has happened that I don’t know where to begin. Then again, I find myself like I often do. I am a stranger in a familiar territory and here I am once more, facing a new beginning and another learning curve.
But like you always told me, this is life.

December, and the year is moving towards the end. So much has happened and yet, I am in the same place and doing the same things, and somehow, the year is about to change. I have seen more than my share this year. I have lived as much as I have died. But then again, this is life, which is what I always say.
This is life. We live a little and we die a little.

The world is turning right now. So much is happening as we speak and yet, the oddness of being still or waiting for something to come can be enough to drive someone crazy.

I had to stop for a moment and take a day off. It’s been a long time since I felt this sick. But a promise is a promise, and a commitment is a commitment. And so, here I am, defending my life and placing my thoughts in another entry.

Suddenly, I am thinking about the times when there was someone there to care for me. Then again, no one was there. Least of all, someone else who cares for me.
And fevers?
Fevers are a bitch . . .
I know.

I see this as the morning after. This is just another page of real fiction and so, life keeps moving like the pocket watch that’s hidden in the inside pocket of the watchman’s jacket.
Or to be more precise, the word “after’ means to follow the preceding rank of either time, people, places, or things.
And this is after. This is a moment before the next aftermath, or known as a moment of clarity and a spiritual awakening.
I can learn from this too.
You know?

This too.
This is a moment after the morning of awareness or as I see it, this is a pivotal moment which took place beneath the eyes of The Lord, and so, I see how we follow like a convoy and travel in single file.

They decided to let the workers have a day off today, which means purgatory is closed for the day.
I am told this was done so that those who choose can spend the day with their family, friends, or whomever it is they prefer to spend today with.

They say the purpose of today is dedicated to being thankful.
Thankful for what, you ask?
We are to be thankful for what we have. Even if we don’t have much, I am told that we all have something to be thankful for.  
Although, I am sure there are people among us who believe otherwise.
Just ask some of the other inmates and you’ll find out pretty fast.

The dampness in the morning is rough on the joints. A man can only see what’s in front of him. Yet, the darkness of morning before the light is hard for me. I’m not sure if it is darkest before the dawn.
I see myself where I am. I know the courts await and the cell, although not ideal, has become somewhat understandable to me.

I know what I am. I might not know who I am to anyone else. But I know who I am to me.
And who am I?

What does it mean to stand up and shout? Or better yet, what does it mean to scream out at the top of your lungs?
Could you imagine?

Imagine climbing up to the highest peak of a mountaintop. The sky is blue. The sun is bright. The air is cool and thin and everything is crisp.
Imagine the outfit you’d wear and how this would look to you.
Think about the last few steps of this climb and how you made it after all these years; finally, you made it to the top.

Imagine what this would look like to you.
Imagine there is no one around.
Now, scream. . .
What would you scream?
What would you say?

I remember being asked by someone, “What if I told you that your prison cell has no bars, no walls, no ceiling or roof?”
He asked me, “What if the guards were not guards at all, and the judges, or your accusers, and the prosecutors were not real?”
Even my warden was nothing more than a figment of my imagination.
What if this were true?

What if my challenges weren’t even a challenge? What if my room was not a room as much as a place or a momentary location, to which, what if there is far more to this world than I have ever seen?
What if the answer to this is simple?
If it is, am I ready to find out?