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Nothing aggrieves the psyche like disease, destruction of property, desertion, divorce, or death. Such losses, of whatever magnitude, shade the psyche for indeterminate periods of time—in their wake, steaming pitch burns useless dross from unlived lives.

At the onset of loss, thick soot obliterates identity and greases confusion into riderless barreling skateboards. Impenetrable night shrouds the spiritual faculties, rendering them inert, colorless, and isolated. Kettle-black metal chains bind imagination and fog memory. Tears moisten lead pieces of “what used to be,” which further stab throbbing hearts. Shadows of reality trick ill-formed decisions necessitating correction and more change, perhaps dislocation. Panther-like, anger blazes, then subsides and hides until its next surge.

Such are the shades of grief as sufferers pick up the pieces of their lives and move on. Many have already perished; many wounded; many homeless.

Such is the painful plight of Haitians and Afghans and countless others. For them, we continue praying: “We ask Your protection and care with complete abandon.”

The Light of Life will return–It depends on where you look.

May, too, has its own snow, in the form of white seeded-fluff outside my study window; whispering breezes inch it along until lost in the grass or shrubs. Such transient beauty reminds me of long walks along the nearby creek where cottonwood trees flourish, the females yielding their seeds along the moist bank. Their heart-shaped leaves formed dense shade that often hushed me for the expected communion—It happened, amidst soft insects heralding life and tangled vines, immobile, from overhanging branches.

As spring’s cycle wanes the cottonwood seeding continues, littering the shredded seeds of oaks, maples, tulip trees mashed in gutters and sidewalks. From such destruction, greenness now wears a fresh fullness that will mature until stifled by harsh temperatures during the long months ahead.

Despite the stressed appearance of the natural world, new seeding, though buried, will again restore color to winter’s world. This remains our hope, and never has it been frustrated. 

So, too, with our bodies’ waning and death. Within it, we carry the seed of Eternal Life.

We asked His protection and care with complete abandon.

Taken from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous

Available on Amazon

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