The Disciple of Experience
Part 1: The Manifesto Your life is your life And the darkness is not a trap. It's where the roots grow. It IS where the shadow is drawn. My fruits give me Grace, my roots create Grace. Don't allow them to tell you light is the only thing! The Night has its own grace. Part 2: The Physical Attack You can't beat Death. But you can look him straight in the eye! I understand the weight in his breath. I felt his finger poke me in the chest— In between the bone— Finding the perfect spot to collapse my lung. He whispered into my soul: "I can take you NOW!" But the Universe stepped up, During my time of despair. It shook its head and said: "NO! He has work to do!" Part 3: The Recovery So, I decided to stay. Props and pillows holding up a 33-year-old man. Leaning away from the plastic in between his ribs. Learning to breathe all over again, While the morning light hit the glass. Part 4: The War Zone My brain IS a war zone— Administered? Prescribed narcotics chasing the ghost of the liquor! "Oh, so frequent." I felt the immediate effects of withdrawals creeping into my skin. I was poisoned. I was confused. And I was dying! But the worst sickness... was in my heart. Part 5: The Instinct In that exact moment, My love for her shined so bright That it blinded me from the love for myself. The blade... was hers. But the instinct was entirely mine: Protect her! Cover for HER! Part 6: The Reality Call Then! Then! Then fuck this. I held the pressure and reality of my new life In the form of a cell phone. I had to make the first call That would inevitably be the reality of my "situation." I had to dial my boss— A stoic man, A noble man, A man of Faith and Wisdom. A mirror I respect. I had to force the words out Through my trembled, labored, lonely voice. It was a voice that I was not familiar with. Saying the words out loud felt As if it was the true stabbing. The reality is real? It's true? And that was the moment the blood began to dry, And the Exile was real. Part 7: The Conclusion Those dark thoughts will come. They will whisper that the dirt is easier than the grind. Let them speak. Then remind them— That you've already been Kissed by The Reaper. You didn't walk out of that room. You were wheeled out in a chair, Carried out on a stretcher, The choices taken completely out of your hands. And remind them of the Trinity that kept you alive: The immense terror in your brother's eyes on that floor— A look burned into my mind forever. My sister stepping into the fire, Saving my kids from the nightmare, carrying them away, Doing my job—the job I've done my entire life. Stepping into my room, my anchor— My mother. Oh, my mother, my mother and my father all my life, Holding the line so I could get to the grinds of sobriety. She started the path before me, and I have followed her. The pain is mine to bear, But their strength is what I stand on. The armor is buckled tight. The cards are on the table. Now, kick the fucking table over. Your life is your life. Live it in the deep, dark, beautiful soul That life has created.