For a little while now, I have not been feeling myself. And I knew something was wrong some time ago. And I spoke about being a little on edge and moody the other night.
Yesterday I went to my first summer doctors appointment with my Diabetes doctor, Doctor Vanessa. She was glad to see me. We spoke a bit about what happened after my body burned from the inside out and how I’ve never felt pain like that before, especially, for where the pain was …
Men are not supposed to burn like fire in their genitals. But that’s what you get when you fail a Diabetes drug miserably.
She looked at my labs and asked if I was feeling a bit off and moody. And I was like, “Well YEAH!” Actually.
Seems at the tender age of fifty two, in a few days, my hormones have been MOANING ! All of my numbers were low. My testosterone and my other important hormone numbers. She said that was odd for me, since I have not bottomed out hormonally before.
Ageing with HIV at 25 years later, and Diabetic as well, I am in a new bracket of research, because I have survived so long,
(read: I did not die).
So doctors are treading new ground with me because nobody knows what my body is going to do now, now that I’ve hit the opening decade of Fifty. This is new territory for all of us.
We are learning on the FLY.
Some time ago, I read a book on Ageing with HIV, but I had not quite hit the target age group yet of fifty. I got the book a couple of years ago, because another friend in the states read it first. Mark is a few years older than me and longer on the survival line.
Now, in a few weeks I have to go for a full Hormone Research Blood Panel. She is going to check my brain chemistry and get a full hormone work up and some vital internal organ test numbers to make sure there is nothing going on with my organs, if my hormones are off by that much, they would affect organ output and hormone generation in my body.
HIV at Fifty Two surviving more than twenty five years is new territory for medical research, since I am in a generation that really did not make it. Out of the entire grouping of over 600 men, Mark and Myself were the only two survivors from that period of time.
I see my HIV doc next month on August 15th. He should be able to give me more information, since he is one of the best HIV docs in Canada.
The month of July, this year, has been a month of reflection and thought. It is like I have been working through a personal inventory of myself, and what I have learned about myself. My good points, and my bad points.
I have a particular Gay experience to draw upon. I have said, in the past that, things were not so easy, in the very beginning.
Living with AIDS, was not easy. Watching other people CRACK UP in front of me and my friends was disturbing. Loosing everyone, I thought would be in my corner, was a terrible by product of getting sick.
Ignorance was rife …
I learned early on after that, that it was not so important what people SAID, what was more important what people DID.
Living on the edge of society, well under the poverty level, procuring services that decided life or death, was paramount. I learned what were Cast Iron Panties, and how to put on those Cast Iron Panties very early on.
Several times I actually had to use them. Let me tell you that, if you said you’d do something I needed, on any level, and you failed to do that thing …
Hell hath no fury like an AIDS sick man.
A very TRUE STORY…
Back in the late nineties, after I got sick, for years, I had tried to get disability Insurance from the Government and I failed several times.
At the last, I stopped taking my medication for a month, I did not shower, or change my clothes, once. About a month in, I had a disability appointment with someone who could sign off on my application and grant me much needed financial support.
He, in the past, denied me that financial support.
So unwashed, sick and dirty, I walked into his office and sat down in front of him. He started talking to me. I took a deep breath and I coughed on him.
He stopped talking right then and there, and signed that application with not a further word of argument.
True Story …
You learned the character of the people around you, by their words, and indeed their actions. This piece of advice still applies today.
I know how alcoholics treated me when I came into the program twenty five years ago. Had that experience been more positive and supportive, this year I would have reached twenty five years sober.
Alas, that was not my experience.
Todd knew more about humility, honesty, and love, than any man or woman I know, to this very day.
Had he not stepped in and took me into his orbit, and taught me all the lessons he had, I would have surely died.
I spoke about this tonight, in my Step Group Study. In this meeting are a handful of LONG SOBER men whom I like and trust.
When I returned to the rooms in 2001, it was people who first hugged me and welcomed me into the SOBE room. They really cared about me, and that meant the world to me, and kept me IN the Room.
When I moved to Montreal, I looked for those same attributes in the people I met when I first arrived. In the first little while good people were Hit and Miss.
When I found the group I would HOME in for twelve years, the way I got sober and stayed sober, was by watching everyone else around me. I listened to them talk, lots of talk. I watched them make decisions, good and bad.
Most importantly, I paid attention to my friends who drank again, and again, and again.
I stuck and stayed while masses of people were drinking again.
I knew what NOT to do. I knew who to avoid, and who to stay away from.
Alcoholics are fallible people, we know this. Bill said as much in many of his talks before General Conference Meetings, for years.
None of us are perfect, none of us are better than another. Least of all ME.
Many years ago, I entertained a long sober man and asked him to sponsor me. An NDG man. For all intents and purposes, I stay away from NDG Men.
Why you ask ? I’m Gay.
Nothing turns my stomach quicker than a heterosexual man who needs to talk to hear himself talk, the pussy loving, hockey fan, who just has that air of heterosexuality about him. Men who overcompensate for being straight. Pissing contests are usual. And the size of their penises.
For a few years, I hung out with these men, because they were sober longer than I was, then. I did not go to their meetings, BUT I did attend several Twelve Step Retreats in Vermont with these men.
Imagine being the only queer banana in a car, driving to Vermont with overcompensating heterosexual men.
God give me strength.
At the very first group meeting, at the very first retreat I was at, in Vermont, I came out to the group of men. Because I was the only queer member in that group, for several retreats.
I quote …”Oh we accept you and we love you and we want to be your friend.”
That was all well and good. All that changed when we hit our first communal meal together.
I went through the buffet, got my food, and found a seat at an open table. I sat down, and I waited. And I watched.
I watched every single man, who said they accepted me among them, grab their own food, walk by my table, and sit somewhere else, not one of these men chose to break bread with me.
This happened at every retreat I was at, over and over.
Right then and there, the nails in their coffins were hammered.
Some time would pass, and my NDG sponsor having witnessed the worst painful experience I had ever experienced in Sobriety, spoke to me and he humiliated me in front of our group.
I swore I would never share space with any of those men ever again.
After the shooting at the Pulse Club in Orlando, I was devastated. Because as a kid in my twenties, I drank in that building too. I knew the story of the kid who did the shooting. I knew that he scoped out both Pulse and the Parliament House, where I had my Coming Out Experience.
I wanted to drink so bad. But I knew I could not.
I turned to meetings to save me. Most importantly, a Big Book Reading Meeting. I knew that if I read the BIG Book through, I would NOT DRINK.
There were 45 men and women in that meeting. All the Queer men in the program on the English side, ALL OF THEM, sat in this meeting.
I was a wreck for eighteen months. Emotionally and mentally.
Not One Man or Woman, GAY or STRAIGHT wanted to know me. Not one of those men or women said one single word to me, personally, at any time, before or after any of those meetings over eighteen months.
Not One Alcoholic said those words to me… “I Know How You Feel, Let Me Tell You How I Dealt With That.” NOT ONE !!!
I’ve NEVER heard those words come out of ANY sober mouth, in all the years I have been sober, EXCEPT from Lorna Kelly who came from New York to speak at a Round Up. She spoke those words in front of everybody.
I think I was the only who who heard her. To This Day.
And in the end one of those queers, who read the same book I did, got to the last chapter of the Big Book, and we read HOW to stay SOBER and NEVER drink again, HE DRANK AGAIN.
Because he IS constitutionally incapable of being honest with himself.
Now I am not, in any way, stating that I am better than anyone else, but I do know the work I have done in as many years to stay sober. I know every man and woman who participated in my sobriety TO DATE.
Todd taught me about My Place in the World and in the Universe. I know my place in the world. I know, that as long as I serve others, to the best of my ability, I can maintain some semblance of humility.
I commented tonight, at the meeting that last night, I had a visceral reaction to some folks who came into the meeting last night.
I just don’t have any desire to be friendly with some of my heterosexual counterparts, because of the way they treated me over the years. They walk in the meeting and announce their presence, and I’m just like:
SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SIT DOWN.
I was SO uncomfortable sitting in my chair, that at one point, before the meeting, that I actually got up, and walked outside, to sit with my friends who were hanging out, outside the church on one of the benches.
I had no desire to sit there and listen to people I have no desire to want anything that they have. I stayed sober, by watching and listening to everybody else. That may be a good thing, or a bad thing.
I am a Gay man who survived AIDS.
So I am a bit more judgmental of people, in a way that other queer men are not. Not that there are NO QUEER men in the rooms who want to be my friend, so when we sit in the same room, they have nothing to say to me and I don’t have anything to say to them either.
I know who my friends are, and who I take solace from, and those men and women who contribute to my sobriety.
It just struck me odd last night, that I had that kind of reaction sitting in a room, I regularly sit in on a weekly basis. And I brought that up with my old timer friends tonight at the step meeting.
People are not apt to speak to me about anything I say in meetings, and old timers rather keep to themselves, and they don’t usually offer counsel, or criticism, or tell me to just shut the fuck up and listen.
I find that odd. That people won’t call you out, or say anything when we share in meetings. It’s like I am having this particular sober experience, and nobody is playing pin ball with me, there are no bumpers on the side, banging me back into play.
It’s like I am running on my own.
If I don’t ask someone directly for advice, nobody offers advice.
My friend Jacob, in his Rocket Tights from LED Queens. I have a pair myself.
Tonight we had a great discussion about One Day at a Time.
And I thought to myself, how crazy my life once was. This being July and all, and I reflect on my life, as it turned out. From what it began as twenty five years ago. Then I was age 26.
When I got sick, I could not focus my thoughts, until I learned how to do that, thanks to Todd. I relate this story, as it happened.
The week I was diagnosed, I had gone to the store and bought poster board squares. I plastered them to my kitchen wall, and drew out a calendar, for three months. I numbered the months, as usual. And I began counting the day until I was supposed to die.
I had 576 days … according to my doctor.
I was waiting to die. This was even before I got suicidal. And that episode go me into recovery, at Todd’s insistence.
His lover, Roy, was my first sponsor. He came over the house one day and saw my calendar on the wall, and asked me what I was doing ? I told him, “counting the days until I die…”
He stepped into the kitchen and ripped the calendar off the wall and tore it up into pieces. He then said, You are not going to do this.
When he left, I went out and bought more poster board, and did it again, the same reaction happened. I then did it a third time. And once again, he ripped them down off the wall.
Over the next eighteen months, Todd taught me focus and control. He gave me a method to cope. And it worked famously.
But, for the longest time, I was living with one foot on the floor, and the other on a banana peel. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, because, I was still waiting to die.
I was sick for a long time. But I felt that my suffering was salvific. And that if God has a sense of humor, he would not let me die, miserably, like all of my friends did.
The change happened, I reckoned tonight, about the ten year mark, that would have been in 2004. I was already living here in Montreal, and my doctor treated patient Zero, the French Flight Attendant.
He promised me life. A good life. If I followed his direct orders, which I followed dutifully.
I guess, at some point, in this sober time period, I was more consumed with staying sober, and not thinking about Dying.
My Higher Power was working for me. God, that is …
I stopped waiting to die. Finally.
In the last eighteen years, my life got BIG. And my life got good. At the thirteen year mark, going into fourteen, all 12 Promises had come true, Albeit, very slowly. But they did.
A friend said, tonight, that the main ingredient for a good life in sobriety, all has to do with one thing… GRATITUDE.
He said that if you can be grateful every day, you will stay sober. Despite yourself.
Spiritual awakening happen at the oddest times, and we don’t necessarily realize what they are until they are in the rear view mirror and you have some hindsight behind you to look back and say …
Here is the story of that week from my journal. If we are to start anywhere, here is the best place. Today is July 4th 2019. Twenty Five years have passed.
July 4th 1994
it was a nice day. Josh and I prepared the house for company; we were hosting a “friendly” BBQ in Ft. Lauderdale. Alan and his hubby and other friends from the complex were coming, a veritable who’s who of my social circle back then. It was a great day. We cooked and ate at the picnic table out back – the drag queens in the adjacent area were entertaining, and the conversation was light and campy. The day wore on into night, and fireworks were going to be shot off over Ft. Lauderdale beach. So we piled into the convertible and headed out for the five-minute drive across the bridge to the beach. Parking was a nightmare, but eventually we found a spot to sit in. I remember that things were happy and there were no worries; we were out celebrating the holiday. After the fireworks we came home and imbibed a great deal, and sat down to watch the new film out on video, “Philadelphia” with Tom Hanks. Little did I know how much life would…?
Imitate art that week?
I watched with a certain attention, as if saying to God, “I know what’s coming so please be gentle with me, because I am not sure I am ready to do this or die.” It had been a year since the first time I was tested at “Planned Parenthood” and that test came back negative.
The second test was done in a city hospital lab, and those results came back negative as well, but six months later we found out on the news that the lab had switched our (100 gay men’s) HIV tests with a retirement home lab list. It was freaky when 100 elderly folk got positive HIV tests back from the lab, OOOPS – someone made a HUGE mistake.
Anyway, that was that.
Around 8 o’clock I called my parents to wish them a Happy July 4th; there was another piece of information I needed to get across to them, and this was not going to be very easy, I had been feeling pretty sick since January, and checked 7 of the 9 symptoms off the list from “If these things are happening to you — you might have HIV” wallet card.
The conversation started light and airy, then all the air left my lungs and I could not breathe. And this is how it went
Pleasant conversation, then I dropped the bomb!
I have some news for you.
Yes, what would that be?
I’ve been feeling a lot sick lately and tomorrow I am going to see a doctor…
I could hear the wheels spinning in their heads. My mother had been working in Home Health Care for a number of years and she had seen what AIDS can do to a human being; couple that with what they were watching on TV and she was having worse case scenario visions in her head!!
They were watching “Philadelphia” at their house at the very moment I called. Suddenly my mother must have looked at the TV and she screamed. Yes, that’s right, I am sick, and I need to go get tested tomorrow, it’s time. My father was listening in on the extension, and I am sure he was beside himself; his fag son was sick and putting two and two together led to only one conclusion.
Josh was sitting in the living room while I had this conversation, he didn’t say a word. I had to prepare him for what was coming; Josh and I would never see the end of the week together. In the end, I would never see Josh again.
After a bout of hysterics, I told them that everything would be all right and I ended the phone call. That night I did not sleep at all, and Josh was all over the place. He was such a quiet and calm young man; we were both young then. We had only been dating for a couple of months by that point. Tomorrow’s test was just a formality; I knew already the answer I would get confirmed in a few days’ time. I did not tell any of my friends that night. Todd and Roy were in Provincetown on holiday.
It is the last weekend of June. Monday is the 1st of July, Canada Day, and the beginning of my retrospective of July. As usual, I always post the tragic news of my AIDS diagnosis, because I get the opportunity to reflect on another year of survival. Who knew I would live this long, and live well, this long ?
July 31st is my birthday … Also Harry Potter’s Birthday too.
I am chairing for the month at Monday Central, and Chairing the men’s meeting on the Wednesday of my Birthday. Let’s just say that I do a lot of service. Because they say, Service will keep you Sober… It definitely has.
I’ve been hanging around with some long sober men, whom are my friends. I added a Wednesday meeting called Brothers in Recovery, a closed Men’s meeting that reads the Twelve and Twelve. July is Step Seven …
Humbly Asked Him to Remove Our Shortcomings.
June was an interesting month, as we discussed Step Six, and Tradition Six, this past Wednesday. The most important two words to come from the month of reading the Step were the words: Entirely Ready.
Hanging around with good people, who have good lives AND good sobriety is very important. The purpose of Sobriety is to live your best life, sober, and not to be miserable and just DRY !
Tonight, one of my friends showed up early for the meeting, so we had a good hour to just talk about anything and everything. I am uber early for Friday set up to make sure the coffee is perked and ready to pour when the first guest shows up.
We can grab a cup of coffee and go outside and sit on the stairs and just visit with each other. The meeting before the meeting is a very profitable two hours. And if someone shows up uber early that makes it much more enjoyable.
Usually I just sit outside and people watch the neighborhood. If you follow me on Instagram, I posted the pictures of that location.
This week was very eventful. After 17 1/2 years, I finally put down the cigarettes. On Tuesday I was at the mall grocery shopping and down on the ground floor is a Vape sales cube. The cube is a black cube that sits in front of The Canadian Tire store and houses a Vape sales point. You can’t get in unless you are of age and have valid ID. It is highly guarded.
The entire purchase cost me $30.00. For the Vape, that came with 2 bottles of juice, and the UBS port to charge. During the week I went back to buy the Berry Fusion vape juice, that comes in a cartridge that goes into the Vape.
That is the price of 2 packs of cigarettes.
Overall, I am saving more than $130.00 a week in smokes. Let’s just say that saving all the money in the long run is going to be very profitable.
Mental Health has been on the dashboard for the last little while. We have been touching on this topic here for a bit. Long ago, nobody ever really spoke about, or even cared about ones mental health and well being.
Last night we spoke about anger. Which leads back to page 417 in the book, about acceptance, and that if I have a problem with someone, that problem ALWAYS stems back to myself? I disagree.
Way back when, men were supposed to suck it up buttercup, and say nothing and bear our pain like Marines and Troopers. I did that for a long time, until it got unbearable, then I drank my pain away, and that was a disaster.
Now I am sober, and vulnerable, and raw, and honest, and truthful. I know my friends do not like when I express myself. Or have a feeling or an emotion. They just don’t know what to do with me when I feel something in public or to them. They usually run in the other direction.
A friend of mine and I agree, we are not doormats, or punching bags. I said last night that if I feel something and I am hurting or feel slighted or angry or upset for any reason, I will tell you, point blank that I am pissed ! I’m not gonna suck it up and believe that a problem with anyone stems back to a problem with me. That’s where I now disagree with the Book.
Men are not supposed to feel, or better yet, say anything about what we are feeling. But spend some time with Brene Brown, and you will change your tune very quickly. I survived emotional bottoms in sobriety, and I know the very few, FEW people who stood by me and tried to help. Many did nothing but watch me crumble under the pressure, because nobody knows or wants to be vulnerable. UGH.
I hear our women talk about certain topics in a group setting, a few of our younger ladies talk openly about their emotional challenges. But we don’t usually hear a whole lot of stories about mental health. But women suffer a great deal as well, and a lot of the time, men don’t really pay attention to them or their stories for that matter.
Women, like some men, suffer in silence, because of trust factors and that how could a man ponder what a woman goes through on any given day. Most of our women keep to a small circle of confidants. Women in Montreal, have their own meetings and spaces that are safe, and away from men as a rule. So I don’t want to leave our women out of the story, or say that they don’t suffer mental health issues as well. They do.
If you need help, get help. If you need to talk, there are ways around this to find people who will listen. There are a multitude of services in many city centers that offer mental health assistance.
Mental health is important to everyone. We must b able to say, Hey I am fucking hurting, listen to me forGod’s sake. We should not have to suck it up buttercup and be freaking VULCANS around our friends and family.
My first go round with mental health issues happened when I was in the eighth grade, when my father’s mother had had a stroke and he took me out of school, and flew me 1500 miles to her bedside in the hospital. The thought was that if “I” showed up, it would jog her memory so hard that she would wake right up.
Obviously, that did not work.
But I think about that now, and how I was thrust into a situation, not of my own making, and was expected to be the Golden Child to resurrect my grandmother, who was already gone.
She would never return to normal, again. ever.
My father resorted to the bottle. I went back to my “normal” life, school, friends, activities. Junior high was the best time of my life, better than high school. I had a lot of fun, and I did a lot of service, and got an award upon graduating in ninth grade.
I would not hit another crisis point for a long time. My alcoholism was going full bore at the time. And I was dating all the wrong men. Really, when are we ever really dating the creme of the crop when we were drinking?
In my twenty fifth year, I had broken up with the boy I was dating, who was a serial liar and cheater. Life then was pretty tough. My living situation was really precarious. But it was then that Josh decided to kill himself.
One weekend afternoon, my mother had phoned me out of the blue to tell me his mother had called her and that Josh was missing. And could I find him? I called the cops in Fort Lauderdale and my friends.
They found him dead in an apartment outside the city center.
I drove out and sat in a squad car with a detective, while they worked the scene, and later brought him out in a bag.
The next day the coroner called me to identify his remains. To this day, every time I close my eyes, I see him in my minds eye, or what was left of him by that point. And his mother’s curse: She said : “I hope for the rest of your life, every time you close your eyes, you see my dead son!”
Like I had anything to do with his suicide.
I ended up at the bar right after that chore, and I began to drink myself sick.
I drank for weeks.
At one point Todd and Bill stepped in and got me into a suicide survivors group. If you have never sat in a suicide survivors group, you haven’t lived.
That 13 week experience, made me drink even worse.
A year later, I got very sick and was diagnosed with AIDS, and told to go home, kiss my ass goodbye and wait to die.
There was no therapy.
There was no assistance programs.
It was just the Todd and the Bar. And the men inside of the bar, who all died, there are only two of us who survived that maelstrom.
The day I took my first, LAST drink, and Todd had stepped in to save my life, my job became my salvation. I did as Todd asked, I did not fight the process.
I got sober, and I lived.
After my relapse, and return to what was my life, I had a therapist who helped me re enter society and begin to live again, after the disastrous end of another wham-ban relationship from hell.
When I moved to Montreal, I got into an alcoholism aftercare program, and had another therapist who did wonders for me. She really set my life in order and got me on my feet in this new city. She helped me acclimate and learn about the culture and people of Montreal. While I counted my sober days. I had her through my second year of sobriety.
My husband mental health journey was a real eye opener for me, because I had to learn on the fly, what to do for a bi-polar human being. I took care of him, the best way I could and we navigated pretty alright. Albeit, we had a few hiccups and found that not every health care worker was the right health care worker, and not every insurance company was on the up and up, and not every human we dealt with was honest and kind.
We deal with mental health on a daily basis, because Bi-Polar is a life issue not a seasonal or short term issue. It is an Every Day Issue. So I have to be on point as best I can, but every once in a while, I need a breather too.
Being estranged from my family as I am, the death of my father was rough, because he went to his grave hating me and wanting me dead. I knew this because it was what my mother had parroted from him to me over the years.
I had a rough few days, maybe a couple of weeks.
That is what is is.
The rooms are not therapy per se, but we talk a lot, about a great many things. For the last eighteen years, I have been talking my way sober. And my life has gotten pretty big.
I don’t know whether you, my readers, believe in God. That’s not for me to know, or concern myself with. What you believe is entirely up to you.
For me, God has been a constant in my life, from my earliest memories. And I followed him religiously for a few years, even ending up in Seminary to follow Him. All for naught !
He has been constant in my life, even when I chose to ignore him. Taking paths, I knew were wrong, making decisions that were also wrong, and almost dying in the process, to feed my own ego and selfishness.
He was there. Just waiting for me to turn my will over.
Tonight, we talked about Step Eleven.
SOUGHT THROUGH PRAYER AND MEDITATION, TO IMPROVE OUR CONSCIOUS CONTACT WITH GOD AS WE UNDERSTOOD HIM, PRAYING ONLY FOR KNOWLEDGE OF HIS WILL FOR US AND THE POWER TO CARRY THAT OUT.
Over the last eighteen years, I’ve witnessed countless men and women battle the word God. People from religious backgrounds, Jews, Christians, Muslims, you name it. I’ve seen it, in the rooms.
The shares went around the room, and NOT ONE person, said the word Thank You or uttered the word Gratitude.
When it got to me, I said one sentence.
IF YOU WOKE UP THIS MORNING, THERE IS A GOD …
When I got deathly sick, AND, I was going to surely die, God was the last thought on my mind. I was too consumed with dying, to think about anything else.
Todd, had other plans for me.
He gave me latitude to work it out. He gave me a framework to survive. He taught me lessons, mere mortals on this earth, have ever learned, or will ever learn.
I have mad skills in the area of coping and sobriety, taught directly from the Mind of God. Voiced by Todd.
I will tell you, I met God. I know His voice. He saved my life.
For many weeks and months as I waited for the day to come, that I was supposed to be dead, arrive, then more days came after that, AND I was still alive, Todd – Read God’s words rang true to me.
I turned my will and my life over to Todd, as I understood him, improving my conscious contact and learning what God’s will for me really was.
I did not die.
I am still alive.
What was all this for ?
Mortals don’t know gratitude if it snuck up behind them and bit them in the ass.
We are all going to die one day. Mortals don’t worry about dying, until they know for sure the end is nigh… Then they pray … But not before.
People are too busy to think about Please and Thank you.
I learned long ago to say Thank you.
Old timers, really GOOD old timers tell you that before you roll out of bed, the first words out of your mouth, IF you woke up that morning, are:
The second thing you do, AS you roll out of bed, is to hit your knees and pray. The third thing you do, after you pray, is to Make Your Bed.
Not one person said the word thank you, even the old timers sitting in the circle, did not say those words.
I don’t know why I am still alive. And what I am supposed to be doing here. But I pray. I talk to God. The one way conversation people talk about.
The Vertical Conversation.
Then I sit and I wait. And I listen. Meditation.
If the answer does not come directly from God, via intuition, I know I have to go out and seek the answer among my friends.
The Horizontal Conversation.
But my ears must be tuned to hear what ever it is God is going to say to me, and let me tell you, that took a lotta practice and a lotta time too.
If you ask the right question in prayer, and you need to seek the answer out, then you know, you must actively listen to your friends.
ACTIVELY LISTENING is the key.
This is my nightly meditation, to come here and reflect on my day, and write it all down, when necessary. Because I will forget by morning.
If you woke up this morning, There Is A God …
Thankfully, I am not God, and my navel is not the center of the universe.