I keep these notes here to keep my sanity. Sometimes, I keep them to remind me of who I was or who I am. Other times, I remind myself that this is all live and on stage. This is a process and this life, unfolding. I keep them to keep my heart intact and to let my soul know that I have not forgotten the light inside of me, and that despite the quarrels or the fights and disagreements, and despite the insults about me or my character or the way I am, the truth is I’m not so bad.
I’m learning.

But . . .
If I only knew then what I know now.

Afternoon, and the sky takes on the last dance before sunset. The colors from the horizon begin to glow with an orange grace, peaceful and gentle, as if it could only be during the quiet reprieve of a Sunday evening.
The hues of golden lights beam down from the sky across the landscape and I am calm. I am like a child in a grown man’s body, excited, turned on by the view of something so beautiful and extraordinary that I am assured, that yes, there are such things as heaven on earth.

I find myself at the edge of land as it borders the coast and, of course, I love it here. I love it where the land meets the sea.
I love the feeling I get at sunset when the day ends and there I am, looking outward, and watching the pleasure boats that return from the sea.

What do you say to someone who saw everything? Yet they were never there. But somehow, they knew, or they saw without seeing, and more, how does the Universe know to cross our paths or how to keep us together, even if we are too stupid to follow the light?
How do people like this exist?
And somehow, they know. They know everything by instinct or perhaps by some kind of divine light, or if their soul is kindred or intended, or if time refuses to cease or desist and the overlapping connection proves to keep a connection that is unbreakable, what do you say as a witness who never saw, but yet, somehow—you just know that the stars want more for us, and still; I wonder what do you say when life turns crazy?
How do you let someone in or let them know who they are or how they make you feel?

And then?
One day became two and two became four. And the more I moved, the farther I was from what happened and what took place. I have been here before, at the base of my own rebuilding or reconstruction.
No one asks to have to go back to the beginning.
But no one realizes that life is always subject to change.
This is true.
However, time can be a friend as well as an enemy. Time can linger and drag and time can leave us to the solitary isolation of overthinking our way into depressive ideas or worse, time can tick away and we can do nothing except become a prisoner to our thoughts.

The world has a way of putting us where we are supposed to be. I really believe this. Or, at least I want to.
I know this has to be the case.
Otherwise, the randomness of meeting someone would be nothing else, but happenstance, and in the case of fate and destiny, I choose to believe that there is no such thing as happenstance because deep down, I believe that everything happens for a reason.

i think we go and we stay or we turn around and open our eyes, because time unfolds and life has a way of making us aware that this is, or is not, what we want our life to be.
And me?
I want more.

There are times, like now, when all I can do is let go of the tasks and the thoughts. All I can do is unwind or surrender; and more to the point, sometimes, I can redefine my sanity by unleashing my thoughts in a form of streaming consciousness.
Then again, sometimes, we have to go crazy, just to realize that we are not crazy at all.

We are simply part of something bigger, like fate, which has both a purpose and ends that justify the means. Or, so I hope.

There is nothing better than an early sunrise. I see this as a valuable moment in time, awake, and away from everyone else in the world, and to sit here, like this, and be a witness to the start of a brand-new day. I love it when the sky changes in the morning.
I love coming here too.
I don’t have to listen to the insults anymore. I don’t have to be mindful of the disapproving scowls or pay attention to the accusations or the misdirected blame.

No, not now.
Not here.

I hit the blue button on my coffee machine twice already . . .

I am told that life always puts us exactly where we are supposed to be. I am told that there is a lesson in everything, every mistake, every turn, and every breath.
I have also had the faithful people tell me, not to worry, because God only gives us what we can handle.
I hate when people tell me this.
I have also heard the rebuttal from the faithless who say this is nonsense. I have heard from those who have faith, yet they struggle to believe. More often, I have heard from the tired, the poor, and the weak who respond, “oh yeah? Well, I wish God didn’t have so much faith in me!”
I get that too.

In fairness, yes,
there are times when we see or speak to someone or walk away for the last time. There are times I have said, “I’ll see you later,” but later never comes.
So, in keeping with the spirit of this journal and the notes that I kept in a box beneath the bed, I go back to the times when I swore that youth would never die. There would always be another tomorrow.
Why wouldn’t there be?
I swore that I would never grow old or stand in line, and I would never become ordinary or common.
Not me. Never.
No way.

Here’s an example of what my notes would be like and this entry would otherwise be something unknown, and placed in a box somewhere, for no one else to see.

I have to go back to the thing behind the thing, or better yet, I want to start with my core, as in the box beneath the bed or the tiny secrets that I would keep in my little notes. These were my special treasures, but no one ever knew about them.

This came from a time when I was young. This goes back to when my urge to write began – when life started to unfold in ways that I could not understand.
I was always too aware of myself.
I was uncomfortable. I was small and thin and weak and gullible. But worse, I always saw myself as vulnerable to bullies or perhaps I assumed I was like prey for the social vultures who preyed upon the weak or the easily beaten.
That was me.