Recovery Writers March 2021 Prompt
Margo Brodowicz on Unsplash
Capturing a Spiritual Experience.
I had a sponsor who suggested that I list the places where I had had a spiritual experience and “visit there regularly.” Initially, I got caught in the burning bush scene—where, I wondered, had God been speaking, even if I defined God as a voice within me? I have found that if I ask and keep asking, the moments will appear. They lend themselves beautifully to a “list poem.”
Here and There
My hospital room, my first baby wheeled in, her tiny baby face aglow with mystery—the mystery of me and not me, who she will become, and I think, God, yes. There you are.
The Mormon Tabernacle Choir, a man, the single black face in a sea of a white, singing: God Be With You Til We Meet Again. And I think: God.
The window with organdy curtains, outside white fences, horses grazing. The grandfather clock ticks, ticks, chimes. I long for that clock like our puppy, her first night bundled at our hearth, nestled with a clock, to remind her of her mother.
The doctor’s scale that said my anorexic daughter had gained 10 pounds in a month, impossible. My daughter, returned to the living, her desperation to be thin outweighed by the demands of marijuana. Thank God for marijuana.
At my tenth wedding anniversary, my husband whole-heartedly recited vows before a God he privately called a maggot. For me. For our two daughters. For the third, who unbeknownst to us was even then, stirring.
The hymn in church, “Is it I Lord, I have heard you calling in the night. I will go Lord, where you lead me. I will hold your people in my heart.” I don’t know yet who these people will be. The call a mystery. I’ll find it years later in a church basement.
Fern Brook, the perfect peace of a perfect summer afternoon, children chirping among smooth stones, the minnows, the waving leaves. Everybody flowing in the same direction.
A sleeping granddaughter, nestled near my neck, breathing in her baby smell, of soap and milk and skin, her tiny fingers grasping one of mine.
My dog Belle, never more than ten feet from my feet. Dozing, waiting, leaping at the jangle of the leash. Always at the door when I return. Yes. There you are.
The first violets of spring when I am eight. I reach down each tender stem and pinch, gather in a silver urn, a surprise for mother. Each year. A surprise.
The Madonna of Justice, a painting with Mary and a giant book, a Latin inscription. She calls to me. Mystery. Law. Rules. Books. Babies. Angels. She wants my help. She wants to help me.
Three kittens, all black, using me as a playscape on a sick day, the delight of kitten fur, pink tongues. Suddenly, they tire, drop, sleep. And I think: Yes. This is what you feel like.
Prompt:
1. Write a list of the different places or situations where you have had a spiritual experience.
2. Consider odd coincidences. Consider music that has affected you deeply. Consider moments in nature that felt profound. Consider both moments of high drama and what seemed ordinary, but looking with the eyes of recovery, perhaps profound.
Connection to Recovery:
I need to write down places where I have felt the spirit or I risk forgetting them or robbing them of their power. My disease wants me to "forget" or to say "it's no big deal," "how important was it?" My naming those places and writing them down, I see that I have been a spiritual seeker all my life. I also see that the spirit of love, connection to others, and the natural world are all connected.
Taken from "Beneath the Steps, A Writing Guide for 12-Step Recovery", by Christine Beck (available on Amazon.com)
