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Part 2 of a Memoir By Derek Abraxas: "And There I Was, Feeding An Addiction."
And There I Was Feeding An Addiction.
(continued)
Chapter 4: For The First Time, I Prayed.
One night, I was on my usual late-night walk to the gas station for a drink. As I passed a plaza, I noticed a well-dressed man sitting on a stoop. He looked out of place, almost too put-together for this part of town. He asked if I knew where the “fish tables” were, a question that lingered in my head. In Missouri, gambling was technically illegal, but there was an underground network operating in the shadows where these “fish tables” could be found. Small business owners discreetly allowed their buildings to be used for these illegal activities after hours, most likely in exchange for a cut of the profits. These buildings were lively and normal during the day, but became ominous, closed up husks by night with the sounds of slot machines echoing from within that you’d hear if you’d walked close enough.
Knowing that this is what the man was looking for, I decided to guide the man to a nearby spot, just a block away in the direction I was headed. We walked in silence, heads down, not a word exchanged between us yet I feel like conversations were definitely taking place between us in some realm somehow. As we approached the building, I simply pointed it out. The man gave me a slight smile, a nod of thanks, and disappeared inside. I suddenly felt off. Like I should've at least made small talk with him to see what he might say if given an opportunity. I wondered if I'd ever see the man again.
About a week later, I did. But this time, he was almost unrecognizable. I was on another one of my late-night walks when I spotted him in that same spot, standing next to the same stoop he sat on a week ago. But everything about him had changed. The man who had once looked so put together, now looked like he had lost everything. His suit was gone, replaced with tattered clothes that barely clung to his frail body. His hair, once neatly combed, was now unkempt. His shoes, the polished leather ones, were replaced with dingy cheap flip flops, and his feet were dirty. His eyes, once sharp and focused, were now hollow, empty as he avoided eye contact. It was as if the life had been drained out of him. He glanced at me with an acknowledgment of recognition, but as soon as he did he then turned facing away from me and begin walking into the darkness.
This experience chilled me to my bones. It led me to start writing obsessively, trying to make sense of these uncanny events happening just after my sudden epiphany. These writings would later form the basis of my original philosophy. I was now some reclusive addict, only venturing out at night, consumed by paranoia, anxiety and depression. I was scared, alone, and lost. Little did I know, another strange event was just around the corner, one that would further unravel my already fragile psyche. And I realized that my addiction was somehow tied to these spiritual experiences. I couldn't ignore the fact that in my altered state, I was more open minded, and that mindstate was being used to set me up to perceive these otherworldly encounters in a certain light. It was as if something divine was showing me something I needed to see. Thinking about it now, in hindsight, I most definitely did need to see.
It’s not just me, Many testify of finding belief while battling addiction. As if the most sinful parts of us aren’t to bring us damnation, but may be tools of some divine conscious force to steer you to a new perception and path. I...
(continued)
Chapter 4: For The First Time, I Prayed.
One night, I was on my usual late-night walk to the gas station for a drink. As I passed a plaza, I noticed a well-dressed man sitting on a stoop. He looked out of place, almost too put-together for this part of town. He asked if I knew where the “fish tables” were, a question that lingered in my head. In Missouri, gambling was technically illegal, but there was an underground network operating in the shadows where these “fish tables” could be found. Small business owners discreetly allowed their buildings to be used for these illegal activities after hours, most likely in exchange for a cut of the profits. These buildings were lively and normal during the day, but became ominous, closed up husks by night with the sounds of slot machines echoing from within that you’d hear if you’d walked close enough.
Knowing that this is what the man was looking for, I decided to guide the man to a nearby spot, just a block away in the direction I was headed. We walked in silence, heads down, not a word exchanged between us yet I feel like conversations were definitely taking place between us in some realm somehow. As we approached the building, I simply pointed it out. The man gave me a slight smile, a nod of thanks, and disappeared inside. I suddenly felt off. Like I should've at least made small talk with him to see what he might say if given an opportunity. I wondered if I'd ever see the man again.
About a week later, I did. But this time, he was almost unrecognizable. I was on another one of my late-night walks when I spotted him in that same spot, standing next to the same stoop he sat on a week ago. But everything about him had changed. The man who had once looked so put together, now looked like he had lost everything. His suit was gone, replaced with tattered clothes that barely clung to his frail body. His hair, once neatly combed, was now unkempt. His shoes, the polished leather ones, were replaced with dingy cheap flip flops, and his feet were dirty. His eyes, once sharp and focused, were now hollow, empty as he avoided eye contact. It was as if the life had been drained out of him. He glanced at me with an acknowledgment of recognition, but as soon as he did he then turned facing away from me and begin walking into the darkness.
This experience chilled me to my bones. It led me to start writing obsessively, trying to make sense of these uncanny events happening just after my sudden epiphany. These writings would later form the basis of my original philosophy. I was now some reclusive addict, only venturing out at night, consumed by paranoia, anxiety and depression. I was scared, alone, and lost. Little did I know, another strange event was just around the corner, one that would further unravel my already fragile psyche. And I realized that my addiction was somehow tied to these spiritual experiences. I couldn't ignore the fact that in my altered state, I was more open minded, and that mindstate was being used to set me up to perceive these otherworldly encounters in a certain light. It was as if something divine was showing me something I needed to see. Thinking about it now, in hindsight, I most definitely did need to see.
It’s not just me, Many testify of finding belief while battling addiction. As if the most sinful parts of us aren’t to bring us damnation, but may be tools of some divine conscious force to steer you to a new perception and path. I...
