The heart of an addict/alcoholic is a very unstable and highly fragile thing. We’ve come to a point where we have beaten such a tender muscle into a state of numbness. Callouses that turn into scars over time harden and soon all emotion is lost and none is received. The small fragments of light that once shone through the cracks have been shut out. In this sarcophagus lives the addict/alcoholic who knows only the bitterest of feeling or emotion. Encapsulated in this prison is the soul and spirit of all that once was. Peace, Love, and harmony have been cast out.
At this point the mind attempts to take over and exert all efforts to obtain the things which can only enter through the heart. Obsessive frustration at all attempts to gain control slowly fatigues the mind of the addict/alcoholic. Tranquility and happiness are never found at the bottom of the bottle, the end of the pipe, at the point of the needle, or stuck clinging to a baggie. The heart and soul, so tightly locked away, unable to reach out to the mind and comfort it. The cycle continues relentlessly as the mind pursues various avenues of obtaining even the smallest iota of joy, only to fumble and smash it all to pieces. Yet the mind and heart share one commonality, the last chances at any hope, the bond of conscience, the small still voice that attempted to persuade the two to work together. Unfortunately the mind has adapted to the idea of control, and like a tyrannical dictator clings to it slapping the conscience away at what it perceives to be right and wrong. This continues while the addict himself is driven mad as seemingly easy everyday circumstances become surmounting boulders in which he is unable to move with any sufficient force. All hope is now lost and the mind succumbs entirely to the chemically induced madness which fuels it, only now it has fully crippled it.
In his despair amongst the brimstone and sulfur stained air of his hell, a voice is heard. With the raise of a brow and the turn of the head, a figure is seen near the delimitation of this inferno. The steps are so sure, so definitive, that with each step the blaze is extinguished. Then in the midst of this psychotically fashioned Hades, the voice cries out, “Freedom!!” What is this? A quake in the heart forms a fissure and a sliver of light pierces the bastille. Then a hand reaches out to the suffering. The aftershock opens the crack wider, and for the first time in what feels like forever, hope returns to this antechamber. Grabbing the hand and being stood up, the flames start to subside, “My friend, your woes are over if you so choose.” the figure says. The wounded man nods and gazes at the ground. The figure reaches out, lifting up the chin of the addict. “Your answer, my friend, is up there.” explains the figure, with a finger pointed to the sky. With tears streaming down and eyes upon the heavens, the mind surrenders control. The light that invited hope burst apart the walls of the tomb, leaving rubble piled high. A smile and a joyous laugh are shared amongst the new friends. The once lone victim, of his own foolish thoughts relieved, attempts to go on about his way, yet the guide replies, “Dear friend, much has to be done. Clean the house of your heart so God’s resting place is free of debris. And when you’re done, we must walk through the ashes back into the blaze to rescue another who is just as you were.”