An Interesting Place to Be



I seem to be pointed in an interesting direction now, but this is anything but easy, in fact it seems to be a lot like work.  I seem to have a good sense of my Higher Power now but I seem to be weighed down by who and what I think I am. 

Time to begin to examine who it is that I think I might be. 

So, I find a place by a mystical stream and take off this metaphorical backpack and begin to examine whom it is that I think and thought I was and am.

My pack is full to overflowing with stuff.  Old stuff, new stuff, embarrassing stuff, stuff I wouldn’t tell anyone, even on my death bed, and stuff I don’t even know that I have done.  There is so much stuff, I cannot count it all.  So I reach in and take hold of some stuff, a shiny sort of thing, and I begin to examine it.  I have been told to catalogue what I find, just for posterity’s sake.  Not too sure why, other then it sounded like something I should do and one of my fellow travelers said may be it was a good idea.  Out comes the shiny thing and I see me reflected in it and I sort of like what comes out, it shows me off to be a nice, loving sort of a person. I am actually sort of surprised, but I catalogue it and carry on. 

Then out comes a handful of goop, and it is black and sticky and smelly, and I just know everyone is looking at it and I am so embarrassed by it.  I catalogue it too and then set it aside. 

I watch both of these items in the light of day and notice something unusual. First the goop, as it is exposed to the light of day, it dries out and slowly the smell lifts. I notice that it could be brushed off, if I wanted.  I acknowledge this, and as I do that the shiny sort of thing, the loving parts of me, begins to melt into the pores of my being and become part of what I know about myself.  Interesting.

I check in with my Higher Power and I ask what should I do with all this stuff in the backpack?  That Voice of Sanity tells me, with great certainty, to continue until all is examined and catalogued. 

What a task; I don’t think I can go through with it, but I know I have to. It is part of my ritual of surrender. It really is my first action I have had taken toward my own recovery.  I carry on into my future.

. . . Experience Has Taught Me That . . .

I am thankful for the opportunity to come to know me

Thankful for the opportunity to learn to trust.