making it all true again

Saturday morning. Returning from the dirt & grass “back yard” of my apartment building where I took Ruby down to do what she needed, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes as I let the sunshine & cool breeze caress my face, thinking of nothing as well as I could but instead thinking more of what’s to come in my life. If I let it. I get wrapped up in the past, the life of a young man that I created & was so deeply in love with, and… and I miss him.

I wonder where the person I was has gone, or if he’s gone at all. The memories of the magic come flooding back & wash over me as they so frequently do, when I would allow nothing to stand in my way & had the courage & motivation, when I knew that everything was possible and proved it to myself.

What has changed? Where does this fear come from? Is it even real, or just an excuse I tell myself in order to remain where I am, and gods, why the fuck would I want to do that? It’s known, but not comfortable. Familiar, but so is the insanity of a life where I didn’t know what would happen from day to day, sometimes – often – not even knowing where I would sleep. What has changed? Where did that young man, full of dreams and excitement for the unknown go?

Perhaps I’ve become jaded. Not to life and its magic, but to people. I’ve known the ones who are called “friends” for far too long now, and it’s time for new ones – ones who challenge me, who I look up to and who look to me when they are uncertain about things. People I respect & who respect me.
It’s interesting. The friends I made when I was travelling, wandering from place to place, city to city, and meeting people at random where I went – even when only met briefly, those are the people who are still strongest in my heart, who have earned a place and love there that will never fade.

I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be who I’ve become, and it is weighing heavily enough on my soul to change my life into who I can be. I’m doing something I love – creating art that I put my heart into, making people happy, and it is a gift that can change my life into the life I’ve always dreamed of… so it’s time to quit whining, quit wondering what happened to the broke vagabond whose adventure & excitement was simply trying to survive & eat, and chip away at the stone until I find the life that has always been hidden inside. There is a freedom waiting for me, just on the other side of these dreams…

The thing is, my biggest obstacle is that in order to become who I want to be, I need to get past the idea that the greatest adventures I’ve had so far have come from being poor and needing to be incredibly creative just to eat. Now, it’s time for me to turn that creativity into being… rich. Hells, even the word sounds strange, almost dirty, when I admit that’s what I want to be…

But I need to help others, and in order to do that, I need to help myself.

There are few things that light up my heart like bringing joy to others, and the only way to do that on the level I want to is to take care of my SELF financially, and to take this business of my art as far as it will go. I can already see how I can, already have plans, and it’s more possible than anything I’ve ever done in my life before.

It’s time to start making a whole new level of dreams come true. After all, this is what I fought so hard to stay alive for, what I’ve always wanted – and this life, right now, the only chance I have.

I’ve created an entirely new me before, and that brought more amazing things into my life – and more amazing people – than I ever would have dreamed being possible.
It’s time, now, to re-create myself again – to rid myself of what I don’t want to be & become, again, the person – the Warrior – who makes his dreams come true.

Advertisements

ritual

 

Friday morning. Just before 6am.

It’s a practice I’ve begun recently out of curiosity – yet another experiment on myself, though this one much more mental than physical (Though in trying to coax my body to get out of bed before 6am, I could swear that I hear it make the creaky horror-movie coffin lid sounds in complaint).

Stumble t othe kitchen, make coffee or chai or tea or whatever I have at the time that resembles a tasty hot beverage. If I have the mixin’s, make some sort of smoothie. If not, effectively pout for a few minutes then get over it. I have gotten pretty decent at making minimalist smoothies that taste halfway decent. I prefer not to pout, but I’ve decided it’s required for some reason, even if it only lasts as long as an extended sigh.

Crawl back into bed, prop myself up with pillows, pull up the comforter to my chest & close my eyes for a few minutes to clear my head and pull my laptop from the bed-stand to my lap, avoiding resting it on my hernia. I do my best (which so far, isn’t so fantastic) not to check emails, and avoid checking Facebook like the plague – which is surprisingly easy…

Then write. Write anything.

I’ve noticed that for quite a while there has been something lacking – or most likely, just slumbering, waiting for something besides the everyday commonplace to happen – but in going deeper, I realize that, even if I *do* the same thing every day – work, take Rubes out for a walk, work a bit more or run a few errands if I need to, then continue on with letting my mind fade into the evening until it feels like time to crawl back into bed & read – even if that never changes, the things swimming around inside my head – *they* do – and there is always something to write about. Always thoughts to untangle as they travel the path from this head of mine on to the paper or screen.

I’ve just gotten out of practice, that’s all.

Somewhere along the line, whether it was when I was in the hospice and my hands were blistering & it hurt to much to even tap the keys where the skin had come off and they would stick to the computer keyboard, leaving little smears of some sticky fluid and itching like 1000 mosquitoes were biting me from the *inside* – to the years of having so little energy I couldn’t even think right, to a multitude of other excuses that might explain why, somewhere along the line, I just stopped writing like I once did.

IMG_0112

After that, it was the fear of the words just not coming like they used to.
I kept comparing myself to the past – *my* past – the way I used to write, and only rarely saw me in the words anymore. When I did write, it felt forced.

Even with so many people still complimenting me, it didn’t feel like the words were mine to use anyore – as if I had to beg each one to come out in an order that made at least a little sense… like a lover giving me the silent treatment for neglecting them for so long…

Well, my dear words – I’ve stopped making excuses, stopped trying to find reasons why I wasn’t able to be there for you, and am working on changing my ways so that we can mend the rift that I created between us. Trust me – though I may feel a bit shaky & uncertain as we get to know each other again, I promise – I won’t abandon you again, for any reason.
I mean, hell – look at this morning! I could have so easily made an excuse not to write; my stomach is making me cringe in pain, the sleep I got was scattered at best, and it would have been so easy to say that I’ll make up for it later today or tomorrow, as I have – and failed to do, so many times in the past…

But I’ve learned something over time: I can’t make up for time not spent well. Once it is gone – it is gone, never to return.
And the most anyone ever gets is one morning each day.

With that, I say my brief farewells to my morning words – I’m fortunate enough to be able to lay back down for a couple hours right now & hope my guts quit being such whiny little pains in the ass.
I can’t tolerate whining.

Note to self: Coffee mixed with last nights chai to save on both – NOT a good idea… but hey, ya never learn if you don’t try…

was

it cannot be said that
I did not try
with all of my patience, understanding
and all of my heart

but as much as I could only see the present
and dream the possibilities in our future

you could not trust or
learn to see that
I was not your past…

so now that is all that I am.