In the morning, when I rise, I sit before one
of the little altars I have made up around my place. The items there are not to
worship as idols. They are there to bring my mind back to the task at hand if my
mind strays. These items are things such as family pictures, perhaps a shell I
found on the beach, a pinecone in the woods, a picture of someone that inspires
me (like Mark Twain or Jack Kerouac) and a statuette or icon of an Enlightened
Saint (such as one of the Buddhas or Christs).
It
is often here, where I sit, that my day is laid out before me. I then get off
my cushion and do the dishes; go to my desk to write, go shopping for my daily
provisions and get myself to a meeting where I sit for another hour. But,
because I sit, I am ready for whatever comes down the pike to leave all my
plans for the serendipity the day lies at my feet.
When
I lay my head down on a pillow at night, my day is complete. I thank the Heart
of Compassion for another day sober. I don’t say this to boast of my spiritual
discipline but to make apparent how alcoholism made my life such a mess that I
need to be to go about these things religiously in order to do more than to
merely survive. I am grateful for that too. If it weren’t for my alcoholism I
might have never explored and found the spiritual foundation of a life consumed
by the miracle of recovery.
geo, 4,632
No comments:
Post a Comment