Giving Birth to Sobriety

Giving Birth to Sobriety

My life is so varied and rich
There’s always a but/ a glitch.
Like I’m looking for something I had,
That in itself wasn’t bad,
But it was not what I needed and when I conceded
That in fact it was keeping me sad,
I looked for a new way
A way of recovery…

When I drank I thought drink was my friend –
Daily I brought “work” to an end –
I opened the bottle , turned down my brain
Played music, lit candles
And danced in the rain;
I’d cook and have friends round
Would chatter and play –
Felt duly rewarded, every day.
Thinking and doing seemed to be done
And now I considered it time to have fun.
Having the sense of completing my duty,
Then I allowed me to enjoy all the beauty –
The senses, emotions, creative and free –
This was Dawn-time, time just for me.

It was time to relax, to be warm and more giving
A time to feel like I really was living;
But the key was the bottle that I used as a switch
From duty to pleasure – herein lies the glitch!
For the truth in my case, the complexity I face
That emotional sobriety is new;
Alcohol and romances
Mingled their dances
And this was the state that I knew: –
Equilibrium to feel alive
To sooth myself and sense Dawn thrive;
Feeling comforted and needs caressed
Content, relaxed and greatly blessed…

But ancient wounds had festered deep
Despite these blindfolds, they would weep;
Despite these crutches, my limp grew worse
Men and drink had become a curse.

So, nine months ago, I made a decision
With romance severed, I planned with precision
What was for me an alien vision.

I had to trust my Higher Power
My God who is my strength and Tower
And trust that he would show me how –
To nourish this precious, arid flower.

So what do I do now the bottle is dry?
I can’t switch the brain off, but why do I try?
God’s Spirit is in me, healing my soul,
But I still feel a loss, a big gaping hole!

I really do love being sober from drink
And I certainly long to be free,
But I struggle to pray and struggle to think
Of a way just to chill and be me.

“It’s the truth that will set you free”
Is the scripture that beckons to me –
It’s freedom and truth that I’m seeking
Specially when I feel such a weakling,
Embracing sobriety.

I rejoice in the freedom, the joy and the gains
The reward for long-suffering, labour and pains
And I will not give up, though the journey is tough
One day at a time, grace alone is enough.

I’m reaching a place where addictions are beaten
My Lord has replaced what the locusts have eaten.
I am gratefully sober and know I can cope
With new life ahead of me, full of real hope.
Knowing forgiveness for what I’ve done wrong,
Growing in strength I’ll sing a new song!

Elusive Excitement of Newness

The new toy, bike or friend as a kid,
The new job, car or painting that I did;
The brand new dress with matching shoes
The latest sensation to hit the news;
A husband or wife – vowing never to part
Salvation, new life – we give all our heart…

We reach our goal, a dream fulfilled
The yearning of our heart is stilled
With treasured pearl and joy we shine
Full of promise now it’s mine

Initial vigilance, adoring and keen
We want our treasure by all to be seen;
We display, protect, polish and gaze
And use every moment to offer our praise.

But often having thus acquired
The prize we had so long desired
We imperceptibly grow tired,
And the thing which once was pride of place
Unguarded hearts may swift erase –
While something new attracts our gaze…

For what is it now we long and thirst
That supersedes what once was first?
What fickle nature quenches fire
Now igniting new desire?
What rose-stained lens do we peer through
When captivated by pastures new?

The heart is swayed, lust and greed deceive,
Despite good counsel it receives…

But when it seems that depths are reached,
Or find dismayed that vows are breached;
Or maybe usefulness to self has ceased,
Therewith the need also deceased.

When disillusionment squeezes out hope,
We harden our hearts in order to cope;
We shelve or discard what we thought we needed
And bury our love with dreams now receded.

(But as for myself, I hoard my treasures,
Stored on the shelf, I remember the pleasures
And gratitude often compels me to peep
Into the souvenirs I keep.)

Dawn 11/11/15