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A letter

Dear Mr. Moonlight,

I know you don’t know me very well, but I needed to at least try and get this message to you.
Somewhere, way up beyond your stars and past all the planets and all the galaxies is a place where I think about.
I dream of this place. It is someplace where all my lost toys are found. This is where my first dog lives.
Her name was Tammy. She died when I was only 7. Somewhere up there is a farm where my dog Sheba runs around. She was a big black lab. She plays in the field because she has so much room to run around and be free. I know this because when I was a little boy, Mom told me this is where Sheba went after she couldn’t live with us anymore.

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Christmas Eve Morning 2018

There used to be a graffiti sprayed on a construction partition over on 46th Street near Madison Avenue that said, “This moment is more precious than you think.” I used to see this when I would drive in on Saturday mornings, earlier than the sunrise, and I always noticed the words which hit home.

I swear we take too much for granted. Take this day for example. Today is Christmas Eve. Today marks the evening of a great day. This is a day of giving. This is a day of family. This is a time when all are gathered together and trust me; this moment is more precious than you think.

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An Explanation of The Process

There is a very real and very tough thing that happens when we think too much. Suddenly, the world closes in and everyone can see or “Everyone knows,” those inner secrets, everyone can see the pains, which are only apparent to us, and the weakness is obvious, the thoughts are like poison, or more like cancerous, and then the anxiety machine in our head spins into overdrive.

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Motivated

I remember that early morning when I stepped out onto the lawn of a main house on a farm where I lived for a 11-months. I had just completed my time in treatment and was about to return to the world.
It was the month of September and the sky was as blue as I could possibly imagine.The trees in the mountains around me were changing color, which made the mountains colorful, like weaving hills that ranged from shades of orange to yellow and red.
All of my past was behind me. I had friends in my life. I had love in my life.
Most of all, I had my family back in my life. I had pride and I had purpose in my heart. I looked around at the farm. I looked at the big red barn where I had spent countless hours, working hard, and learning what it means to actually work for a living. I looked up at the sky and watched the outstretched wings of a hawks, turning in big circles, hovering and flying high in the heavens above me. I looked at the hills behind the main house and thought about the memories I will have from this place. I looked at the dorms and I looked at the view, which I grew to depend on because the view was always there for me. In the toughest times and hardest of losses losses, I underwent change and felt the aches of my growing pains.

I looked around to see this place that I originally saw as a place of regret punishment. And I saw myself there. I had survived. I had grown. I had overcome certain demons that I never dared to talk about and more; I looked around and felt the success of my achievement.I rebuilt myself from the ground up. Although I had help and although there were others around to push me when I wanted to be still, I looked around and saw my accomplishment,I was 18 years-old at the time. I looked around and I thought to myself: This is my best accomplishment.I remember the time when I went backwards and fell back into my old routines. I found myself in bad places doing bad things. And it was true that my blood was clean from any substances. But I was not living a clean life. I was tainted in some way. I had given in to the inaccuracies in my head. I found myself wrapped up in my insecurities. I was lost in my own thoughts and once again, I volunteered to become a victim to the disorders that nearly ruined my life.I remember going backwards and hearing someone tell me, “Sometimes you have to go backwards in order to go forward.”
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Dear Pop

Just about an hour or so before sunrise and the rainfall has not let up. Safe to say that I am only on an hour of sleep. It is also safe to say that with the hour being what it is, it doesn’t look like I will sleep at all. But such is life, I guess.
The days are moving closer now and soon enough, the day will be here. Christmas Day. And now is the time for the last minute dashes to the stores. The lines are long and the shopping is certainly intense.

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The Smell Of It

I once told you that sound is something that gives depth to our memory. Even the tiny memories from our youngest mind can be triggered by the sound of something familiar.
For example, I was too young to remember much, but my Grandmother had a bungalow somewhere upstate when I was very small.
I have tiny pictures of this in my head that I can only link to little fragments of memory, —but if ever I hear a small single engine airplane flying in the sky, somehow, I go back to this memory I have from that time in a large field with tall grass, the grass almost golden tan in color, topped with thistles, and half-bent and moving in the direction of the wind.
I associate this with the sound and feels of summer.
I associate this with warmth and although most of the details from that time are only fragments—the sound from a small plane reminds me of then. And I’m not sure why. I’m not sure what the significance is. I suppose this is what I heard at the time. I suppose that without the sound, this memory would only be two-dimensional. But add sound and the memory has a third dimension.

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Swimming To The Surface

There is this thing we do to each other. And I’ve never been quite sure why. Maybe it’s just a thing. Maybe it’s just something we do, like a mental crutch, and we use this because we either lack the things to say or the ability to say them. But meanwhile, beneath the crutch are feelings and thoughts that remain trapped.

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Damned Kids

I ever tell you about the time I was used as a patsy?
There are things that we do as kids that go down in the record book as the craziest thing of all times.
There are things that happen during our young lives that we swear we wonder how we got away with it. In the same regard, there are things that happened, which our parents never found out about —and this was a good thing.
God bless him as he rests, The Old Man never knew the story I am about to tell you. In fact, he went to his grave believing that what I’m about to tell you went differently. So going forward, the details of what I am about to tell you will have to be kept between you and me.

Deal?

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My Belief System

I was never one to be able to describe my understanding of God, least of all, I never had that yearning to understand a man behind the pulpit, preaching The Word, and meanwhile, with religion being what it is and creating different forms of righteousness; I never felt a strong association with any religion.

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