It wasn’t all bad. The crazy stuff, I mean. I admit that I still find humor in the antics of my youth. While I admit to shaking my head in disapproval, I also admit the guilty pleasures and the laughs that were had at other people’s expense.
This is terrible. I know.
But true nonetheless.

I have never been much of a fighter. I’m not tough nor am I a threat or intimidating. I am not terrible nor tragic, and nor am I the beast which was predicted, and nor am I the loser which I was accused of being.

I am nothing more than the current phenomenon, which is called being human and alive. I am here, sitting in my little place, which is on the second story of a small home, which is rented and not owned.
Here I am, thinking about the places I have been to. I am thinking about the things that I have seen. I am thinking about the rise and falls of life, and how life can move up and down, just like the inhale and exhale of the Great Mother’s chest.

She breathes in and she breathes out, no differently from the Heavenly Mother, life rises and falls, until finally, there is stillness and rest.

I say this enough for anyone who knows me to remember that sometimes, I like to remind myself that you have to hit the panic button. You have to blow the escape hatch and get away. You have to do this.

No ifs and no ands and no buts.

I have funny memories from when I was younger and less-responsible and, of course, I have funny memories from back when I was younger and did less-responsible things too.
I remember the times when I’d pass a little pipe around in a circle of friends to make my eyes red and expand my mental horizons by killing one million brain cells at a time.

We used to laugh about questions like, “why do people drive on the parkway and park on the driveway?”
And there were more questions like this.
However, I am far removed from that time of my life. I seldom talk about these things, unless, of course, I run into someone from my youth—but in all fairness, I never run that much at all, and I mostly keep to myself these days, which means I rarely see anyone from my past. Except for you, of course.

I suppose the question I ask myself is do I believe? Do I believe in the afterlife?
Do I believe in the spirit?
Do I believe that perhaps there’s energy out there, somewhere, and that this energy surrounds or protects me and somehow, do I believe that there is a connection between me and those who have passed away?

I always go back to what Einstein said about how energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it can only change forms.
I can understand this.
I can see it this way because life is energy. So is memory. So are the ideas and thoughts and feelings we have, and so, I can see how we keep our friends and loved ones alive in our hearts.

I have been told that I should “put it all out there,” and give it up to the universe. I was told that I should say what I want, and that I should say this out loud, which is not so different from prayer, that is, of course, if I believe in prayer. And sometimes?
I’m not too sure.

Early morning, Monday.
I heard rain hitting the roof last night. I could hear the wind as well. I have a mind that spins with too many thoughts about the life behind me.
Then again, I have a life ahead of me, a mystery of course.
The great unknown.

Today is a good day to let go.
I swear.
It’s a good day to let go of my history. I can let go of my story and the mysteries of my past. I can say goodbye to the weights of life and the heaviness of all that needs to be dead, gone, or buried.
I can rid myself from the burdens of misused communications or I can let go of the wasteful conversations and the records from my previous fights that put me smack, dab in the middle of nowhere.

I can do this.
I can start now, as in right now, and make my way.