An old tramp’s reminiscence

You all know that feeling?  The moment when the needle slides out of the vein, just after the plunger has delivered the mixture of crack and heroin into the blood stream.  You don’t know whether to open the window and fly away, or to blend into the warm, brown fabric of the couch.

The sensation is intolerable.  In the same instant you wish you’d never done it but want to do it all over again.

The addict doesn’t lie down and give up without a protest, even after 18 years of abstention from substance abuse the urge is still there.  I don’t mean the urge to break my skin with a needle.  It is a hard habit to break, desiring the rush. 

I made the commitment to quit taking drugs when I was shown the door that led out of the world where injecting in the stall of a public toilet was the norm.  Perhaps it’s not surprising that, from where I sit now, there is no desire to return. 

My fear that I could blunder through that door, has led me to believe that I should avoid shaking things up too much.  Let sleeping dogs lie.

That fear has made me too timid, and not making changes has made me accept chains that weigh me down.  Now, I want to fly.  I have a burning desire to share, to enjoy intuitive communication with another on the same wavelength as me. 

There is a door to that place, the other is waiting for me there. 

In me there are depths of which I have always been afraid, scared even to look, but recently I have been visiting that place.  The universe sent me a guide, and I surprised myself by being a very willing student.  Now I wonder, that wasn’t so bad, I want more of that.

It seems I already have everything I need to explore, a sense of excitement and wonder that I thought had died when I was five years old.  My life’s companion has been a level of cynicism that wouldn’t be out of place in a world-weary old man. 

I stand on the brink, right now is the time.  Right now is the only thing that exists for me.  There’s some admin to be done.  There’s a gordian knot to unravel, but I know the secret to solving that type of conundrum, I did it before when I was offered an alternative to the life of shame and degradation referred to above.  Back then, I drew my sword and made the vital stroke that opened the new world to me.

There is trepidation, the blade is half in and half out.  The world I would leave behind has elements I am loth to desert, but probably, as happened before, the universal plan will make a world containing the best of the old.

Faith in my guiding principle will steer me true.

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