Everything procreates after its own kind. My thoughts became actions, actions became habits, habits carried me towards a destination, and whatever it was I truly knew not. I hoped that this destination would be the ultimate one, and this was my disease; I hoped it was, instead of believing it would be — this was a subtle, insidious fear…but ever was fear, all the same.
Fear drove me deeper into addiction. At times it was alcohol in whose embrace I shuffled off into oblivion. At others, it was a different kind of substance, depending on who had what at the time. Religion entered into the mix, and became a new kind of sin. There seemed almost no demon in hell that would not have liked a turn keeping me from my Father’s love. Intoxication delivered a reprieve from that heavy, awful awareness of my own existence, all the while just pushing it down, though, burying it with wasted time, time spent in various modes of toxic recreational pursuit, all of them, rearranging my brain matter until I could no longer stand to do anything of value. Fear turned me into a zombie, and from there the terror of the Law drove me yet further down.
All of this was nonsense, but it was convincing to me, and it fastened itself to the bedrock of my false core beliefs, and became basically permanent.
Love showed up unexpected.
Love marched bravely into the fray, and I assaulted it with all of my misplaced angry ignorance, expecting it to morph and transfigure into another manifestation of…
What did I expect? I may never know. That part of me is healing so quickly now that I hope never to find it again, before long.
Love remained steadfast and endured every injury. Love could not turn away. Love could not change. I became prisoner to it. I became her slave. At long last, I wanted nothing else but the good of all, no matter what their condition, state, behavior… At long last, it had happened. I had died, and God had grown up in my place.