Chapter 10
A man can only rise, conquer, and achieve by lifting up his thoughts. Man is made or unmade by himself.
I hear him speaking these words and I feel them.
By the right choice and true application of thought, man ascends to the Divine Perfection
I feel like saying "Amen". In fact I feel like shouting it Baptist style.
by the abuse and wrong application of thought, he descends below the level of the beast
Ain't that the truth.
Between these two extremes are all the grades of character, and man is their maker and master.
He speaks these words as if behind a pulpit. He is a massive black man with a powerful voice. He use to play pro ball and he is a recovering addict and alcoholic. He is the same man I met my first day here. He was the reason I didn't give my intake coordinator anymore attitude. He is huge.
His spirit spits truth.
He reads to us from a book called "As A Man Thinketh" by James Allen.
It is the first time I have heard of James Allen. His words penetrate the very core of my soul.
Hearing it read to me like the Gospel makes it all the more compelling.
This is men's group. All of us.
One giant circle of addicts and alcoholics that seem to hang on every word from his mouth. Such a gentle soul inside of a body that appears to be created for destruction and pain.
He is a gentle man. A thinker.
He talks to all of us about the power of our minds. How our thinking molds our actions. He speaks of a mind being like a garden. No matter what you do it WILL grow. If no good seeds are planted then it will run wild with weeds.
If cultivated it can produce more beauty then you can ever imagine.
I see the garden.
I smell the flowers.
I am having a moment. Sitting in a giant circle with criminals and addicts and lost souls, listening to a very large black man paint a beautiful picture with only words. I see his passion on his face. In his eyes.
I know he wants for all of us to have that garden.
Roses.
*****************************
Bryce and I sit in the courtyard and smoke. We talk about what we just heard. Both of us felt the same power.
Man did he spit knowledge or what?
Bryce gives me a look of complete and total agreement.
I want that peace. I want that garden.
We sat and smoked and we talked about our lives and what we really wanted. It all came back to the same words.
Happy.
Peace.
I talk to Bryce about my love for songwriting and music. He is a rapper like no other. He was the only white guy in a group of brothers that kicked it. They called him Cozmo.
Love it.
I call him Cozmo from now on.
What kind of music do you play?
I look at him and I pause.
I was in a Christian rock band for a number of years.
No shit. How did that work out?
I laugh.
Not so good. Tough to be in one the way I am. What about you? Do you believe in God?
Cozmo sits on that one for a while.
Yeah, I do.
I think that is our only hope. Faith...
I hear ya my brother, I hear ya.
******************************************
They were there that evening. Beautiful. They were an amazing contrast of color against the white walls of the nurses station.
Roses. Beautiful red roses.
They were sitting for all to see on the front counter.
The card was also still attached.
I am sorry for the names I called you guys. Please understand that guy wasn't me. With Love and so much Thanks, Steve
It was the start of my new garden
I hear him speaking these words and I feel them.
By the right choice and true application of thought, man ascends to the Divine Perfection
I feel like saying "Amen". In fact I feel like shouting it Baptist style.
by the abuse and wrong application of thought, he descends below the level of the beast
Ain't that the truth.
Between these two extremes are all the grades of character, and man is their maker and master.
He speaks these words as if behind a pulpit. He is a massive black man with a powerful voice. He use to play pro ball and he is a recovering addict and alcoholic. He is the same man I met my first day here. He was the reason I didn't give my intake coordinator anymore attitude. He is huge.
His spirit spits truth.
He reads to us from a book called "As A Man Thinketh" by James Allen.
It is the first time I have heard of James Allen. His words penetrate the very core of my soul.
Hearing it read to me like the Gospel makes it all the more compelling.
This is men's group. All of us.
One giant circle of addicts and alcoholics that seem to hang on every word from his mouth. Such a gentle soul inside of a body that appears to be created for destruction and pain.
He is a gentle man. A thinker.
He talks to all of us about the power of our minds. How our thinking molds our actions. He speaks of a mind being like a garden. No matter what you do it WILL grow. If no good seeds are planted then it will run wild with weeds.
If cultivated it can produce more beauty then you can ever imagine.
I see the garden.
I smell the flowers.
I am having a moment. Sitting in a giant circle with criminals and addicts and lost souls, listening to a very large black man paint a beautiful picture with only words. I see his passion on his face. In his eyes.
I know he wants for all of us to have that garden.
Roses.
*****************************
Bryce and I sit in the courtyard and smoke. We talk about what we just heard. Both of us felt the same power.
Man did he spit knowledge or what?
Bryce gives me a look of complete and total agreement.
I want that peace. I want that garden.
We sat and smoked and we talked about our lives and what we really wanted. It all came back to the same words.
Happy.
Peace.
I talk to Bryce about my love for songwriting and music. He is a rapper like no other. He was the only white guy in a group of brothers that kicked it. They called him Cozmo.
Love it.
I call him Cozmo from now on.
What kind of music do you play?
I look at him and I pause.
I was in a Christian rock band for a number of years.
No shit. How did that work out?
I laugh.
Not so good. Tough to be in one the way I am. What about you? Do you believe in God?
Cozmo sits on that one for a while.
Yeah, I do.
I think that is our only hope. Faith...
I hear ya my brother, I hear ya.
******************************************
They were there that evening. Beautiful. They were an amazing contrast of color against the white walls of the nurses station.
Roses. Beautiful red roses.
They were sitting for all to see on the front counter.
The card was also still attached.
I am sorry for the names I called you guys. Please understand that guy wasn't me. With Love and so much Thanks, Steve
It was the start of my new garden
posted by steve at 3:55 PM
8 Comments:
Beautiful. Like seeing the first clean spot on a dirty area.
Makes me think of the poem "After a while" by Veronica A. Shoffstall.
Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul.
Jubal, I just read all your chapters. Wow. I just spent the weekend with people that are recovering drug addicts and this made it all so much more real. I wish I could give you a hug. I'm sorry for your painful memories, but I'm thankful to God that He has spared you from that type of pain.
God bless you my friend.
Thank you. Maybe some day I'll share my story with you...it's the same, but different...you know what I mean. May you always be wrapped in the comfort of God's grace.
Makes my heart sing with praise. And gives me hope for my little brother struggling though a simillar battle with alcohol and drugs. I'm going to send him the link to this blog. Pray that he reads it.
I have been sitting here for awhile now reading. I started at chapter one and I am glued to the computer. I love your short one word lines. I feel like I found a little gold mind on the blog.
In this garden God has thrown in his own seeds, those which give you the power to influence others with every good work. There along this garden is a stream where mighty shading trees will grow.
Wow! I have me hooked. I cried, laughed, and felt sad. Wow. You are an amazing writer. I will continue to read... It takes someone brave and filled with the Holy Spirit to tell ones life like you did. Wow.
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