From the Grave Clothing Company

The most frightening moment is when you see – with sober eyes - how your addiction struck terror into the hearts of your loved ones. Mother smiles. Her warm joy dances on her face like sunlight. Father’s nod of approval jolts glee into his walk. Behind Mother’s smile and beneath Father’s strut is terror. Unadulterated fear. Attending to a sober life, repairing the damages done, paying the money back; making our own way on our own feet is good, indeed. However, the stark reality: the harm we’ve wrought upon others – spiritually, emotionally, and physically – we are scarcely aware.  Years ago, an old sponsor said to me:  “I’ll probably never be aware of the full measure of my wrongs done others. If I knew, I may not be able to bare it.” How appallingly true. Most loved ones  remained petrified for years after the addict recovers. This diseases affects loved ones at a cellular level. The disease takes its toll in active addiction, during convalescence and w...

“But if you will seek God earnestly, and plead with the almighty, if you're pure and upright, even now he will rouse himself on your behalf and restore you to your prosperous state. Your beginnings will seem humble, so prosperous your future will be”. ~ Book of Job From Darkness to Light....~ At a very young age I felt a disconnect spiritually. A lot of times I felt less then or that I didn't quite fit in. I would use sports to compensate or lose myself In collecting baseball cards. I started experimenting with weed and liquor in middle school. When I was a freshman in high school my step father passed away. That crushed me. The disconnect I felt as a child got worse and there was a void inside me that I could not fill. The pain led me to use drugs and alcohol on a regular basis. I was addicted by 16 years old; selling to support my habit. During this time I put myself in some horrible situations. I was robbed at gun point with a shotgun put to my head; not something ...

A Pilgrimage Back to Peace Tipasa is a ruined Roman city. It sits forty miles west of Algiers, atop cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. It is a place, sacred to the author, who wandered there as a young man through its ancient overgrown architecture. “Return to Tipasa” , the essay by Albert Camus , follows the author’s thoughts and feelings as he revisits the city after the Second World War. He is not the same man that had experienced its beauty before. His once uncorrupted perspective has been robbed of him, he is jaded. He longs to see and feel as he used to be able. He returns to this magical place, Tipasa , that is a monument for him to the purity and strength within that he longs to regain. The city itself stands as metaphor for what once was beautiful, for what has fallen, and for what has since been made beautiful again, with the help of nature’s encroachment and viewed through the lens of the innocence of youth. After lifetimes of pain and separation, through the...

It just came. It was my first treatment center in South Florida. I say “first” because I was to shuffle between many more after my discharge. I was standing in the “Med Line” at said treatment center – I have no clue what sparked this thought – however, the thought came. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we had t-shirts that carried a spiritual message?” Not the corny recovery slogan bullshit that you see in A.A. halls. A message that you have to ponder. A design that everyone will wear. Simply spiritual. Open to all denominations. Never exclusive. I imagined a white T-shirt. The bottom half of the shirt design would be blue ocean water carrying a silhouette of a diver. Hugging the crew neck – congruent with the curve of the neck – on the front of the shirt would read “DIVE DEEP.” Across the back of the neck would read “WITHIN YOURSELF.” Neat right!? Haha. Looking back, my inner critic screams “corny!” The critic can be very loud sometimes. I digress. The thought came. The seed was pla...

GRAVE THY COMPANION Fiery shadow claw deep the surface of life  Life wrought destructive taste – embraced by a boy destined to slay the man   They all preached oh how he could be – he could be - he could be; fuck them all They see not thy reflection gazing back predatory eyes gleaming Slavering for the throat – ambiguous strain for life we yield Hushed thoughts that scream Relief is isolated Gallop good companion – if thy reach me -  penny these tortured eyes I have but to accompany thy self To the gates of hell we stride forth I march in line trembling detour He screams; I abide the order It is just that; disastrous order Hollowed prints of those before me, embrace the gravel with a silence all could hear The gates call – I lend my ear The movement is breached – we find our eternal sleep Thy grave is my companion – the silence none could hear I’ve lent this demon all future years ~ Submitted...

Isn’t it pretty to think so? Grandpa thinks with his hands folded behind his head Isn’t it pretty to think so? Yes, it truly is – pipe packed with tobacco as smoke rings cloud his head The wrinkles were earned. He does not wish them away or wish them to be They’re simply enclosed within the urn of eternity Yet, isn’t it pretty to think so? Just for awhile and a while will come The body plays it role too die - his soul will rise through the tobacco-scorched sky Before this dawn of truth, thine eyes have pondered much – he sits in awe and wonder of the life to come by his grandchild’s touch. Isn’t it pretty to think so? The porch creeks a beautiful melody as he rocks in his flawless chair – “isn’t it pretty? This music to my ears, what pleasure my calloused torn hands brought to the here , introduced to the now . This farm is my field of harvest. My spirit rich in reward to what it has sown. Isn’t this….” The porch chatters, interrupting his pure thoughts, more musi...

For the person seeking recovery from addiction or alcoholism, the term “ spiritual awakening ” can be unpalatable and enthralling at the same time. Consequently, the spiritual life grabbed me by the throat the same way addiction did—with a lighter touch, of course. The spiritual life is a 180-degree turn from a life driven by the disease of addiction. “Driven,” in this case, doesn’t mean merely “nudged” or “pushed.” “Driven” means to sit in the passenger seat and let go of the illusion of choice. And so begins our progressive descent into the Darkness. A spiritual disease So it’s by circumstance, rather than virtue, that I was driven to recovery. Then and only then did I discover the fatal nature of what I was truly up against. The juggernaut of a “spiritual disease” controlled my every thought, word and deed. Before I could accept that a spiritual awakening was, in fact, my solution, I had to first accept the stark fact that I was suffering from a spiritual dise...