Centuries ago, the psalmist proclaimed, “Be still and know that I am God,” a command that pierces inner roiling, that slays grasping, sucking demons, both within and without, that lays bare our humanness. Naked, trembling, we stretch into the Unknown. We clench our fists. We prostrate before Mystery and wait, sometimes for moments; at others, for years.

Another Voice compels our full attention. Substantial life-change is at stake and we know it.

How to endure this madness, mirrored in dreams — madness that scorches, madness that incises, madness that storms? The darkness, impenetrable; the bondage, like tangled knots; the exhaustion, total.

Indeed, this is a solitary war, a sweaty business of engagement and retreat, of binding up wounds and receiving new ones, of regrouping until learning to walk, upright, anew.

Such were the ten years spent composing my memoir, Elizabeth – learning to dress myself from the inside out. This process ripped out the faulty bedrock of my old life, only to reveal even deeper attachments and paradoxically deeper healing.

Daily dream-harvesting and meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous and Adult Children of Alcoholics keep this process fresh.

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