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MOSEY DOWN THE ROAD
by Charles St. Francis
I had no choice but to strap my shoes on tight and walk. It was either that or call a cab, and spend money I don’t have on awkward silence and upholstery that smells like you know what stained rags! All set with that smelly cheese fat. Up goes the volume on my headphones as I walk the fine white line home…
Home, they say that is where the heart is. My home is a house of recovery, and man oh man if you could just look in the window and witness what goes on inside…it would change you…pure and simple. There is love: unconditional and completely unselfish. There is giving to total strangers when they first come in and don’t have a dime or piece of bread to their name. There is camaraderie like brothers-in-arms that are coming home after going through a war together.
There is truth and honesty that is spoken in house meetings and in-house AA/NA meetings: each individual sharing their pain, suffering and sorrow and turning it into something else. Something beautiful.
But there is also incredibly evil and horrible things that can threaten to bring the whole house down. I saw this happen. I caused it. I witnessed just how powerful the illness of addiction can be as it takes over people and turns them into maniacs, psychotic animals, violent criminals, and the worst part is knowing how good of a person they are when sober. The worst part is watching them fall and not get back up. It is enough to make your heart not want to beat anymore.
The cars rush by, where are they going? I mean really, where are they really going in life? Bunch of ants, I wonder to myself who these people are and what their lives are like compared to mine. Hmpf, if they live with a bunch of drug addicts and alcoholics, piss in a cup a few times a week while a huge puerto rican watches, and sleep on a bunk bed…I doubt many can relate.
It is a good thing that it isn’t about where I am from, or where I live, or how much money I have, or how I look on the outside, or what I drive or my occupation. Sure, to materialistic cold lifeless unforgiving judging no remorse society, I am less than…thank God and his silly sense of humor that all these things do not mean happiness.
To me, being content with what I have no matter how little or big is the ticket. How about the ability to laugh at anger and smile through tears? Maybe even patience when everyone else is flipping out over nothing. It must be tough having to go through life expecting people to do what you want. Since they never will, good luck! I love this one: Love.
Not the regular lower case type of love like the love you have for your mother or father or family or friends. NO I am talking about a bigger love…capital L ove
Damn that car almost hit me. What is that on my skin? Rain? Looks like it is going to pour any minute now. Dark clouds float by as I travel one hell of a lonely road. Cars, trucks, trailers of all sizes and makes, from Pinto’s to Porches they all fly by. Sometimes I brace myself and look inside the windshield at the driver or passenger. Some stare at me, our eyes meet for the first and last time ever, and just like that gone.
I am tired of being an ant.
Each step I take in the 10 miles I have to walk, I stamp my name on the pavement. My name is spirit, my name is God, my name is Jesus, my name is you!
Avitya Hridayam Punyam
“With a beam of love I touch the heart of ______________” (fill in the blank)
I touch the hearts of all the mothers and fathers who lost a son or daughter to unnatural causes.
I touch the hearts of all the young people who will use drugs and drink for the first time tonight.
I touch the hearts of anyone who lost a loved one to a powder, a drink, a pill, an accident…
I touch the hearts of those people who never felt loved, who want to give up and have no hope, so they shoot dope or sniff a line or take a drink just to cope without tying a noose in a rope and letting go…
I touch the heart of all the sick and suffering souls that don’t have a hand to hold as they walk these streets feeling so alone…
With a beam of love…I touch the hearts of all the people driving by me who judge me, who hate me, who like me, who are going through something hard, or who don’t know what to do next, or who don’t care…
Let’s stop the bullshit and put on some good music, and for all of you who want to take life and abuse it? Have fun, I will see you when you have had enough.
Anyone reading this we need your help. The magazine needs people, people like you. It is about real people, not the famous people who could care less about you, real people like you and me and paulie d…ahhhh got ya!
If you have ever been through something hard or difficult or witnessed or were challenged so hard it tested who you are or know someone and went through it with them…talk to us. If ya’ll need to talk about the horrors you have seen? Feel free to tell your story through us, THE ANONYMOUS ONES.