Addicts Anonymous and Me (Short Story)

Addicts Anonymous and Me (Short Story)

“Hello, my name is Eric, and I’m an addict.”

“Hello, Eric,” they answered in benign unison.

“Eric,” the leader started with syrupy kindness, “we’ve all been there. We understand.”

How could they know, really? They haven’t been afflicted like I have, no way. The leader continued. “Eric, I can see from your face that you don’t believe me.”

So the dude’s also a mind reader, I thought. He still doesn’t know anything.

“Eric…”he started. I couldn’t help myself.

“Look, bitch,” I said in a growl with the intensity of an MMA fighter, “you don’t know. You don’t. And stop calling me by my name every time you talk to me!”

“Well,” the leader started, pushing his luck with faux patience. I could see in his eyes he didn’t like to be challenged, and he’d had no one challenge him for a long time. “What would you like us to call you then?”

“You don’t need to call me anything, because I’m out of here. My addiction is the first thing I think of when I wake up. It’s the last thing I think of when I sleep. During the day, my mind reverts to it. I dream of it. You understand me? YOU…CAN’T…HELP…ME!”

Now I was yelling, standing. I caught a glimpse of myself in the plate glass window behind the leader of the group. Hell, I scared myself. His face remained calm, but I could see something in his eyes that made me realize that maybe he was beginning to believe me.

To his credit, he composed himself, cleared his throat and said with that same bullshit sweetness, “Eric…er…I mean…friend, we’ve been here for addicts of all kinds.” The others nodded. “We’ve seen meth addicts, heroin addicts, sex addicts, gambling addicts, even workaholics come through our program. Not one has failed permanently. There is no addiction that we cannot cure.” He paused, smiling condescendingly and continued. “You’re new here. Please, won’t you tell us the nature of your addiction, and put it in the hands of your Higher Power, and let us support you in your full and complete recovery? Hmm?” The others nodded, hopefully, smiling.

I glared at him. Fine. He asked for it. “Her name is April. April Theisen.”

A man screamed and someone dropped a glass as the Leader’s face fell. Silence ruled the room with an iron fist for several seconds. The leader, his eyes wide, swallowed hard. In a hoarse voice he muttered, “Well you’re fucked.” 

--Eric Marley
July 2012

Observing Reincarnation - Prose

Observing Reincarnation

Consider with me this morning

This moment
In your mind’s eye:

A still, misty mountain lake
We are there
You and I
Only as observers
Not even as bodies…
We are Aware of one another’s Presence

We are there together

Not sitting on the bank

For that implies

Bodies

Remember

We are there
Only as Observers.

There is a tree on the bank of this lake
A willow
It has been there for a very long time
It’s trunk is gnarled
Its roots clutch perilously
But with solid firmness to
The sweet Earth

That gives it sustenance.

This willow has a beautiful, full canopy of leaves

That hang over the waters of the still lake this morning
And the mists

Rise off the lake

With the coming sun.

Can you see this?

The sun is a perfect orb

We can actually look at it
The mist is so thick
As it rises towards the clearing sky

As the sun rises higher, so does the mist.

We, as observers, situate ourselves

Under the tree
Hovering over the water

As we have no bodies
(We are only observers)
We can look close up
At some of the particles of mist
That are ascending
Rising up towards the leaves
The leaves of the ancient willow
That hang over the water
Of our still mountain lake. 

You see me
And I see you
And we smile
At one another
Floating here
And then return our attention
To the mists.

We observe that
The particles of mist that once seemed identical

Are really very different

On a subatomic level

And this makes all the difference;
It makes each one
And individual portion
A small particle
Of the whole
The Whole Lake
That with the rising sun

Gives each particle its birth.  

You and I pick one

One tiny particle
A tiny Being of mist
That has just now
Been released
From the crystalline waters

By the encouraging warmth

Of the rising sun

We smile at one another again

As the observing parts of ourselves
Hover over the water

“It’s like watching a birth,” you say in amazement
“It is,” I agree with a reverent whisper.

The particle of mist rises
With constant speed
Not in a hurry
But progressing on this windless morning
Towards the leaves
Of the overhanging ancient willow.

With some grace
And some collision
The particle of mist we are watching
Stops on one leaf
One tiny, emerging vessel
Of one branch
Of the great tree.

It stays there
Resting comfortably
Home, for now.

You and I return our gaze

And ourselves
Back down to the water

We see other particles of mist that rise

Some go higher, into other leaves
Others rise still higher
And become part of the air itself

But we also see others that
With some grace
And some collision
Merge with
Our original particle of mist.

With wonder
We see that original particle

Appear to begin to grow.

The leaf

That is holding this communion

This gathering

This commune of individual mists

Begins to bow

Towards the lake

Under their weight.

“Did you hear that?”

You say to me in wonder.

“Was that laughter?”

I say in amazement.

It was!

It seems that the coagulated mists

Just moved

And as they did

They laughed

Like we remember laughing

On roller coasters

On snow

On water

In our bodies-

So we understand

That kind of joy.

Where are they going,

This little pool of coagulated mists
That now form a drop?

Approaching the edge of the leaf

(That bends with increasing attitude
Towards the water)
The drop laughs
With anticipation!

And...

Finally…

The Drop lets go!

As it falls through the air
It is another thing entirely.
It is no longer a commune of mists
It is now a Drop
Apart from the leaf
Apart from the water
Of the Great Pristine Lake.

Even as it falls,
Weighted through the air
Through the other rising mists
It is whole
With physical boundaries
A New Thing
Definable

Able, with others

To quench thirst

To nourish plants

To wash wounds

To reflect light

Like diamonds,
Laughing as it falls!

And as we watch
In awe

This process
We see
The lake open

And with a crown receive

The Mists

The Drop

Back home

To merge once again

With itself

The Great Whole.

Joy is in your eyes

And adventure

I see that yours are eyes
Of a three-year old child
At the bottom of a slide.

Simultaneously
You and the original particle-
The tiny particle of mist that we at first observed
Speak from your deepest, happiest, most joyous selves:

“Let’s do that again!”

--Eric Marley

July 2012

Post Ceremony Blues - Prose

Post Ceremony Blues

A week ago I lived in the trees

And the animal spirits
Spoke frankly with me…

But now I have bid them a tearful goodbye

And as they watch from their invisible cover
Solemnly, with serious demeanor
(So different from their natural state)
I step towards the great mechanical platform,
And take several deep breaths
Of laughter
Of resolve
Of memory
Of something I knew
In my depth
As a child
And, standing on the platform
I am lowered into the poison of the culture
Into which I was born.

As long as I breathe in what my forested friends gave me

As long as I breathe in their memory at the back of my mind
(If not the front)

I am safe.

For around me float the carcasses

Leprous

Cancerous

Living-dead

Of those that breathe in the culture-

Having a faint form of godliness

But ultimately denying the power of their own Creator

At every turn

They look me hard in the eye

And bid me join them, but…

I will not.

Not this time.

My freedom from their illness has come at too high a price.

I see others, too
Similarly removed from their homes
Masks and regulators affixed
Smiling in front of displaced eyes
Souls partially extinguished
Swimming the polluted sea
Looking for land in it's midst
Knowing it's there somewhere
As long as they also remember
What keeps them in remembrance's course?

For me, the price of readmission are scars
My scars remind me to retrace my steps and then...

The memory of my wilderness laughter reminds me.

The memory of the moonrise reminds me.

The memory of my prayers remind me.

The memory of my vision reminds me. 
The memory of my peace reminds me.

The difference between the saunter of the forest

And the maniacal idiocy of the paved-over fields

Is far too great to ever return to them.

I see it all clearly, and this is my air.

So I swim here

For now

A stranger
With my air tank full of dreams and memories
Of connections made initially so long ago that they reside only
In the memory of the memory of my bones

And with my regulator firmly affixed

I breathe
In and out
In and out
In and out
Laying low
Waiting to come back to the surface
Of where I belong
To the company of my family
The family of All That Is-
Represented to me this time by
Owl
Ouzel
Rabbit
River
Bear
Berry
Sky
Skunk
And myriad other Beings

For we are all together
Somewhere in the future
Somewhere in the past
Somewhere in the Now

A spider’s silk attaches us
All to all
And it glistens
Smiling in the teary dew.

--Eric Marley

July 2012