The convicts and I, a volunteer, sit in a circle in the prison. We do this every Thanksgiving. Eyes closed, we imagine sitting around a table in a clearing surrounded by a woods in which the parts of ourselves we have exiled live a furtive life.

We sense inside for any exile who might feel safe enough with us now to step out of the woods and join us at the feast. ...more

We who are in recovery and those who are just beginning are all good people. None of us prayed to be sick, none of us asked God for addiction.
   
The first gift I received was intervention. For some time, I had been drinking before going to work—fighting the nausea and gag reflex at the smell and taste—and drinking at work as well. My boss called me into the office—there sat the Rector of the parish, my Bishop, and our senior elected Lay Officer. My Bishop said, “I want you to go, do not worry about the cost, I want to see you well.” ...more

With the shift changing, the nurse was identifying us to her relief: "She is the social worker…the mother…the doctor from the Jimmy Fund…” Turning towards me, she said, “I'm sorry, I don't know who you are. Are you the father?"

"No, I'm just a friend."

“Just a friend”—what pitiful words. The girl lay dying in the intensive care unit of Children’s Hospital, surrounded by an awesome display of life-saving equipment. ...more

Some of the most difficult yet profound experiences of my 65 years transpired during the course of five journeys I made to Africa. Four of them took me to Burkina Faso, where I spent many weeks among the Dagara people in the remote tribal village of Dano, near the border with Ghana. Because of its remoteness, the essential elements of the indigenous world had survived in this area despite some 500 years of European colonization. I went there with a teacher, Malidoma Somé, to immerse myself in the rudiments of that world. ...more

The atmosphere at CAB Health & Recovery Services and other holding facilities for people facing alcoholism and addiction that I have been in is full of fear. A “waiting for death” syndrome engulfs the people there. Call them patients, residents, inmates, or detainees, take your pick. There is one that reflects the perspective of your choosing. The experience is the same regardless of the label. I saw fear and dependence often during the six months I was in CAB in 1997 and 1998. ...more