STORMS ON THE ROAD WE CALL LIFE

 I so miss the sea.

During my youth in Saint John,  New Brunswick, I would spend hours, sometimes days, sitting at Courtney Bay or Tin Can Beach.

Especially if there was a raging storm. For no matter how severe the storms may have been they were much calmer than the storms in my mind.

Often I would be under the influence of LSD. The ‘acid‘ enhanced the spiritual grasp of the oceans mighty clutch.

Perhaps it was because I was shuttled from foster home or institutions over thirty times during my first ten years of life.

I never felt like I belonged to anyone. Especially not with my real family.

I never uttered the words “Mom” or “Dad” until I was an adult. They were never there for me during my adolescence. My formative years. The most important years of a child’s life.

I spent a couple of years residing with my father, my stepmother, stepsister and stepbrother.

However, I could not assimilate into their nuclear family.

I felt distant from them.  Much like a watcher in the woods.

Their lives played out in the distance as I watched from the dark confines of the shadows of my mind.

My birth mother’s role in my life was short but very sweet.

I first met her for a half hour when I was twelve. I had hitchhiked from Saint John to Toronto and found her in Regent Park.  Unfortunately the Catholic Children’s Aid were waiting for me and immediately put me on a plane back to Saint John.

I met her once again upon my release from Federal prison at the age of 22.

We developed a loving relationship.

Then, eighteen months after having her in my life, she was brutally murdered, butchered with a boning knife, by an ex-boyfriend.

(But, that is a story that I have already spoke of in previous writings. So, back to the topic of me and the sea.)

Sadly I found solace in the drugs of the day.

Specifically LSD and Heroin. I knew how to shoot up Heroin before I even had my first penile erection.

I would chase the dragon as I hid from life amongst the shore’s rocks. Just the three of us,  the sea, the drugs and my mind. It was the only place I felt alive.

Taking a page from Simon and Garfunkel’s song I would sing to the sea, “Hello Darkness my old friend.  I’ve come to talk to you again.“

Often I would cry. Not knowing the reasons why.

I still cry at times.

The ocean is a mighty whore. If you cross her she will put you in your place.

She demands respect.

I have the utmost respect for her. I always shall for I owe her. She brought me comfort in the storms of life. Her coldness warmed my soul.

As I sit amongst the concrete jungle here in Toronto I miss her still.

I always will.