There is a parable about a magnificent bird that emerges from the ashes of a past, spreads its wings and ascends heavenward toward the sun, towards his creator.
I think of that bird from time to time. The ashes in my world would be the wreckage of the past, the bridges I've burned, the confusion and pain I have caused. The inability to repair it often causes me frustration and anguish. I try to let it go but it always seem to return.
I want to be that bird. I want to rise from the ashes, and stretch up to the heavens, as if by instinct towards my creator. I want to stand at the door shaking the last of the ash from my feathers, excited in anticipation.
When the door opens, I want HIM to be able to say: "Well done my faithful child, welcome home". I want him to reach out a put his arm around my shoulder. I want it to feel as familiar to me as the smell and touch of my own skin. I want to know that I am indeed finally home.
Every thing I do, every thing I have learned, suffered, achieved without praise, will be worth that one millisecond in time.
Original poems that are specifically recovery related
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