| A stream begins.
Somebody,
some things, life and you, communicate the idea to talk now, not to
leave it, stay and face the past, the places, the people, the pain, the
many reasons you leave home and family, many years ago, become a drug
addict, an alcoholic, a wanderer. Move nomadically, house to house, and
year to year, live inside a prison, real and imaginary. Meet hell. Meet
the devil. Meet the inside. Find out the hard way that humans imagine
evil easily. The path forward comes from the push to write, to deal.
Feel happy in between the miserable spaces. Family help you survive and
still do, even more so than before. Without them, do not exist; in the
darkest moments they authenticate breath. Want the virtual picket fence,
ideal partner, children and career; may or may not eventuate. Regroup,
look upon this you with sober, straight, clear eyes; you can have
anything. Walk to a lake, sense nature, allow the anxiety to live on
these pages, take shape, and mould into a form that speaks atonement.
Sit on a
bench inside a sheltered pier, look over the local lake and write
the thoughts that hanker for release. Many years pass; try to make sense
of locations in time and space. Cannot return home unless you succeed in this endeavour. The prodigal son performs a biblical return,
you have been wasteful, yet it necessitates understanding to recover and
find the right mental balance to move from the old life to an enriched
new one amongst the support and love that is not so conditional.
The moist
breeze tames the air as another body adds to the view, a jogger, young,
white singlet, black tights, white runners, headphones, like you, stares
at the glistening surface. She quenches her thirst, and rests. Look at
her and beyond, to black swans, many ducks, coots and heron that swim,
come, and go. The birds watch the girl straddle the rail to converge
upon their domain. Music steadies your mind; it pumps from the new iPod,
a present from your youngest sister, who appreciates that her brother
needs distraction. The last few decades create a blur, spend many
moments in revival mode, and aim to feel without pain. Another sister
recommends an autobiography, five hundred pages of an addict’s angst,
who rebuilds his young ruinous life. Obtain information from the covers,
the blurbs about the book and the author, always positive, a
preparation for the motivation of another literary engagement. The
jogger does not acknowledge your presence.
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