When there is no room left between your back and the wall;
I am me and you are you,
undressed and undecorated,
then we are us
in true form.
When there is no room left for blame or shame or guilt
or the need to point a finger
to find accountability for things that are far beyond our control,
then there is rest.
Then there is peace, if we so choose
Stream of Consciousness
And the world, I swear, this is such a random, crazy place. The way we are, the way things happen, the way we separate from each other and fall back into place somehow—I tell you it’s all crazy.
I swear it is.
We spin around here on Project Earth and find ourselves, in full circle to be exactly where we’re supposed to be.
Some call this cosmic, some call this fate, and some say this is all just consequence.
Know what I say?
I say this world is a random, crazy place.
Your Mental G.P.S.
The thought machine—
That’s what I call it. The thought machine is the stations of our mind. This is where survival mode comes from flight or fight, eat, drink, breathe, seek shelter, and sleep.
This is the oldest part of the thought machine, which only thinks about basis function. There is no fear or concern here. There is no worry in this station. All is simple in this part—it’s like wash, rinse, and repeat.
That’s all.
The Better Pathway
There are things which can heal us. These are simple things, like the touch of a hand or the sound of a voice. Believe me. I know about this, first hand.
There are things that can warm us during cold times. For example this sight of a smile or to hear the laugh of someone we love. These things are important.
They cure better than any medicine, which is not to say that medicine is unnecessary. But still, there are simple things around us, even on gloomy days, which if we utilize—these things have healing qualities like no other. I’m sure of it.
A Birthday Letter
It is May 5, 2019.
I can hear the raindrops falling upon the roof of my house and spattering on top of the skylight above my head. I am in my loft, cozy and quiet at the time of daybreak. The sky is a dark gray but the leaves are bright green. The lawn has returned to life and spring is here. The streets are wet but the roads are quiet. And for now, I am listening to the lullaby of the rain, which has been going on for days now.
To Recover
The truth is everyone is healing from something. All of us have either gone or will go through something tragic in our life. We all go through loss. We all experience fear. We feel, we live, and if we’re lucky, we learn.
Our life is our story.
This is us every day.
We wake up and begin our routine. We walk along this big conveyor belt we call “The World” and weave through different patterns and meet new people. We separate from the pack and create our own lives. We walk along paths that twist and turn, overlap, and interconnect or run parallel.
Love and Love’s Frustrations
I think the hardest part of love is the part we cannot control. These are the circumstances beyond our control, like say, the happiness or the health of the ones we love most.
This is true.
This is especially true when we see the people we love and watch them struggle. We want to “Fix it” but we can’t. We want to change the circumstances, but again, due to circumstances beyond our control—there is nothing we can do but watch and feel helpless.
The World On A Rocking Chair in 909 words
I remember the most honest thing anyone ever said to me. I was about to enter a new chapter in my life. I was afraid, — or worried is more like it. I was afraid of the people I would see. I was afraid of what people might think or say. I was uncomfortable with my anticipation and uncomfortable about the things I would face.
The chapter was new and so was I. I had to make changes both physically and personally. I had to stop much of my previous behaviors and stay clear of some of my previous relationships because the road they led down was not a road I was interested in travelling.
Distraction and Replacement
Back when I was a kid, I had to go to the dentist to have a cavity filled. I was scared. I knew there was a needle involved—and I was petrified of needles. I mean really petrified, as in, run away petrified, and catch me if you can petrified.
I was petrified of the whole scene. But of course, the dentist says the needle won’t hurt. They all say the same thing. “It’s just pressure,” they always say. “This won’t hurt.” But I knew this was a lie. It’s a needle. Needles hurt.
A Story
There was no hiding from myself.
This was it.
There was no way I could deny who I was or what I did. The sound around me was the humming of overhead fluorescent lighting. I could hear some of the drunks howling and retching their dry heaves and vomiting sounds into the mouth of the stainless steel commode, which is a stainless steel toilet in the back, left hand corner of their little holding cell; no seat to lift or shut, and statues up to a small basin with a drinking fountain for water at its top. The lighting was dim. The aroma was damp and reeking of body odor, bathroom function, and cleaning solvent. The place stunk from regret. Then again, so did I.
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The Written Addiction 