Why Recovery?

Years ago, over a decade ago actually, my husband had a case which involved a mentally ill man who lived in a small high desert community.

The thing I most remember about this case, is that even after this poor man's dog had died, he would still attach a leash to Fido's collar and drag the dog's corpse behind him as he biked throughout his community on his old, rusted out Schwinn.

Wherever he would go, and whenever he would stop, whether it was to the grocery store or to the city library, this fellow would carefully tie his dead dog to the parking meters that sat all along the main street of his community.

I'm not sure why I was thinking about this particular man today. I suppose it is because I sometimes have days of my own where I feel as if I am dragging the corpses of old regrets and resentments, the corpses of bitter memories, as well as the corpses of loved ones whom I refuse to let go.

On those days, it's as if I'm peddling along in my own life, just as that man did in his own high desert community; and just like that fellow, I'm dragging all manner of the festering thoughts and behaviors behind me.

The regrets torment me. The resentments anger me. The bitter memories haunt me. The loved ones just smile sad, sweet smiles. And every time I stop to rest, or to eat, to work or to play....I make sure that I carefully tie each regret, each resentment, each memory and each beloved, to the same secure and stationary object.

I suppose dragging around one's painful memories, resentments and regrets is a sort of madness. Refusing to let go of loved ones, whether dead or alive is yet another kind of madness.

I'm certain that in my own way, I'm quite mad for tying myself to the very things that prevent me from living fully in my present and I suppose that I'm totally insane for dragging around the very things which disallow the possibilities of my future.

In the end you see, I'm not really all that different from the poor fellow who couldn't stop himself from dragging his dead dog through the streets. In fact, the only real difference between myself and my husband's former client, is that I'm well aware of what I'm doing.

My husband's client never really understood the stares, or the whispers, the tongue clucking or the disgusted looks that greeted him whenever he squeakingly appeared with his dead dog in tow. For him, his dog was still alive, running behind his rusty old Schwinn, with that lopsided, goofy gait that dogs sometimes have.

I, on the other hand do understand. I understand all to well that I sometimes choose to drag the dead and rotting pieces of my life behind me.

There is enormous pain in knowing that I've tied myself to the decay that doesn't belong with me anymore; but, therein lies my solution as well! Unlike my husband's client, I know that I must, and that I can let go. It's a simple process really: acknowledge, feel, release and heal.

This is what my recovery journey is all about. This is what I do in my recovery groups month after month. Tether by tether, I am freeing myself from the decay of my past to be transformed into the person God intends for me to be....a vibrant, unhindered and passionate woman!

I think we all sometimes tie ourselves to things that don't belong with us. Sometimes life itself ties them to us. Either way, we all have the power to choose whether or not we drag that wreckage of our pasts behind us. For myself, I choose to acknowledge, to feel, to release and to heal!

I choose freedom.

This is what recovery is all about, empowering ourselves and one another to live achingly vibrant, and passionate lives!

Why recovery?

Why choose anything less?

Got Soul?

Anne Sexton once wrote, "Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard."

It takes courage to put one's ear down to their soul and to listen hard. Most of us, myself included, have neither the time nor the inclination to listen to anything, much less the murmurings of our own souls.

These past few months, I've been reading and working through a study guide for Brennan Manning's book, "Abba's Child". Doing so, has inclined me to listen more closely to my own soul.

At first, all I heard was a roaring sound that resembled "white noise." To me, it was a sound that didn't make sense and that was displeasing to my ear. I was afraid to listen. I was afraid because I feared that all I would hear would be the nothingness of white noise.

In spite of my own cowardice, I persisted and I continued to listen just in case my own soul had something to say about me, or to me.

It has taken time for the white noise to settle; but settle it has. I can now vaguely hear soft whispers. They are whispers of tenderness, a tenderness that flows forth not as words; but as warm and soothing sounds for which there are no words.

I am beginning to understand that I need to take more time to listen, more time to discern what's real underneath the noise of my own life.

As I do so, I cannot help but wonder how it is that I have grown so out of touch with my own soul. How is it that the needs of this body, and the demands of this world have so completely closed me off from the very essence of my own being?

In the end, I suppose the "how" doesn't really matter. What matters is what am I going to do about changing things?

Me?

I think I'll follow Sexton's advice! I'm going to keep putting this old ear down close and listen hard!

The "New Colossus"!

The shock has worn away. America has spoken and this is what she has said:

President Bush,
Vice President Cheney,
We give you our tired, our poor,
our huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
We, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore
commit ourselves to four more years of
increased poverty,
education for the elite, health care for the wealthy,
a constitution infused with hate,
environmental devastation,
and tax cuts for the richest people in our nation.

Oh Mighty Ones, we give you our homeless,
and the tempest-tost.
Long may the lamp of your injustice
shine upon us!

Amen.