The tide moved in early to show the face of an old memory. I
feel the sands surrounding my footsteps, and moving closer to the edge of an
ocean, I am me between the land and sea, hopeful as ever, dreaming, thinking of
the time I was a small boy and placed my footsteps in the path of my Old Man.
This is for you:
Once upon a time,
there was a little girl that had no voice.
But it’s okay, little girl.
You can come out now.
It’s time for us to talk.
Do you remember the first time you were really hurt? Do you remember the first time you fell off your bicycle and skinned your knee and then felt the sting after Mom sprayed something on it to keep the scrape from being infected? Did you ever fall or break a bone or do something so silly or stupid or idiotic and as a result, you learned your lesson through physical pain? Have you ever felt physical pain and someone told you, “Oh, come on. it’s not that bad!” but to you it was that bad?
Way back, years ago when I stood in the doorway of a small apartment and looked around, the rooms were emptied again, the furniture had all been moved out. The couches were gone, cable television was disconnected, and all the photographs from the wall had been removed. I stood here in awe of my change. I lived here. More accurately, I transformed here. My world became mine again.
When there is no further left to fall, then there is no reason to worry about the long list of inestimable tragedies that may or may not take place.
This is it, here and now, the bottom. This is where there are only two choices, which is to remain or rebuild.
That’s all . . .
I think about the places I have been to and places I have never seen. I also think of places that I’ve only dreamed of and hope to visit someday. I imagine myself elsewhere, at someplace that I’m not even sure if it truly exists.
Perhaps this place only exists to me. Or maybe I pictured this from a piece of literature, read from one of the great poets, like my favorite, Kerouac, or someone like him.
Either way, I see myself somewhere far from my usual routine and visiting an unknown crevice of the world that has not been been bordered by some man made boundary . Maybe I could be near the border, between reality and my dream. Perhaps I can see is the Gulf of Mexico from where I’d stay and the shoreline to a land of a country I know so little about.
There was a decent sized meeting room next to a bookshop in a Church over on 31st Street and 7th Avenue. As a matter of fact, the place was called the book shop. I used to go here, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at noon. I went here to get my share of help from a fellowship of men and women that share the experience, strength, and hope with each other, so that they may solve a common problem.