Mysteries in Motion

I have been alcohol free for 28 days now.

Not that I drink every night. But truly, in recent times, the bottle of vodka in the freezer and whiskey on the sideboard would not stand the chance of seeing light. And it is a reason to be proud of myself: I tend not to take compliments nicely, what more shower one on myself.

One might ask: Why this sudden restraint? Why this sudden heighten consciousness of self?

I don’t have the answer. I rarely do. But then again, perhaps it’s because I never dared to even ask myself the same question, preferring to bury the night and all its monsters in the closet with either a good shot of Canadian Club or a couple of the sleep-happy M&Ms.

And so for once, I am laying there in my big empty bed, watching the monsters do their song-and-dance before my eyes and bravely tell them to bring back Mr Bojangles once again. And you know what ~ I think they’re getting tired of the same request, so they have not been round for a few nights now.

I am sitting here and finding it a bit hard to think that not so many nights ago; I absolutely and utterly caved in on myself. Collapsed literally into a crumpled heap. I am pondering this cos the heavy feeling is almost gone. My clarity of thought is back but here’s the deal – I’m not thinking. I am refusing to think. Simply cos I know I am not quite there yet so anything I think would be skewed. And still skewed predominantly to the side where I do not want it to be.

I’m not sucking it up either as well. Which is what I would normally tend to do as well. Suck it up, bury myself in work and throw the whole lot in, substituting pain with the tipperty-tap of the computer keyboard.

I am just leaving it be.

I am just being.

Perhaps by being very still, I would be able to see clarity of life – get out of the question, and accept that perhaps life is filled with nothing but mystery.

And the point to living – is simply to keep on believing.

Believing that all things ~ good, bad and ugly ~ happen for a reason.