Leaving the Abbey
Reflections on a Several-Year, Parallel Journey of a Christian Parish and a Group of Wonderful Women (Plus Monks)
Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, Personal Transformation
| Author: | Kathryn H-F | ISBN: | 9781449787967 |
| Publisher: | WestBow Press | Publication: | March 27, 2013 |
| Imprint: | WestBow Press | Language: | English |
| Author: | Kathryn H-F |
| ISBN: | 9781449787967 |
| Publisher: | WestBow Press |
| Publication: | March 27, 2013 |
| Imprint: | WestBow Press |
| Language: | English |
Like life, the [Labyrinth] walk seems pretty easy at the start when were kids. You decide what you want to be when you grow up and head that way, toward center. Then real life begins to happen. Some of us carry the seeds of a physical, mental, and spiritual malaise, one of the isms like alcoholism, for example. These explode, reach the surface, and sprout. Our straight path zings away to the side, we lose sight of center, and we circle around the edge of what others seem to easily obtain. At some point on the narrow path, I suddenly recall the day of my first marriages divorce, and I weep but keep walking. Around another tight curve on the path, I recall my first AA meeting, while I was still in the detox in South Amboy. Teasingly close to center again, the path zags in the opposite direction. In obeying the order for this second walk, I come to understand. Now I feel again the purposeful turning away from recovery that I chose time and again, running from salvation back to the slavery of bottle or line. My choices, mine alone.
Like life, the [Labyrinth] walk seems pretty easy at the start when were kids. You decide what you want to be when you grow up and head that way, toward center. Then real life begins to happen. Some of us carry the seeds of a physical, mental, and spiritual malaise, one of the isms like alcoholism, for example. These explode, reach the surface, and sprout. Our straight path zings away to the side, we lose sight of center, and we circle around the edge of what others seem to easily obtain. At some point on the narrow path, I suddenly recall the day of my first marriages divorce, and I weep but keep walking. Around another tight curve on the path, I recall my first AA meeting, while I was still in the detox in South Amboy. Teasingly close to center again, the path zags in the opposite direction. In obeying the order for this second walk, I come to understand. Now I feel again the purposeful turning away from recovery that I chose time and again, running from salvation back to the slavery of bottle or line. My choices, mine alone.
