“Have you prayed and meditated about it?” my sponsor asked.

“Yes.” I replied. And in fact, I had. I had been religiously (<—ah, couldn’t help it) showing up for the past week full of passionate pleas to the Powers that be to bring me some small sliver of clarity.

“And?” she asked.

“Nothing.” I said. And that was also true. Even though I had a front row seat the stage remained empty. This was so strange to me—this absence of information. I still couldn’t believe nothing was coming through.

“Have you ever had something go unanswered?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“And what did you do?” I asked, hoping for a behind the scenes unveiling of a secret sponsor magic trick.

“Kept praying.” she said.

“Great,” I replied. This was not what I wanted to hear. At all.

I suppose I have been spoiled, to some extent, over the last several months. During this recent round of stepwork many uncertainties have risen up from the ether presenting large platters of deep and foreboding questions. But I’ve always been able to reach into my program tools: prayer, meditation, and outreach calls, and rustle up a combination that would crack the code and give me answers; shine a little light on the path of where I was headed.

Not so with this.

This all started last week after I heard something quite revealing. It was part of a Fifth Step, which is where someone shares their Fourth Step inventories while you listen. It is an honored listening, a way to be of service that is supportive and quiet. A listening without any attachment to the outcome.

But what I heard shook me up so greatly, I haven’t settled since.

No, it wasn’t what had been done or said, in fact, what I heard had nothing to do with said person, and everything to do with me. It was a feeling that deep within something woke up, completely unexpected, mid-surgery (or mid-life in time for the big birthday?) and my self-will has been running around wildly ever since trying to find a way to put it back under again.

I have a hunch that is not going to happen.

Rather than act on this unsettled feeling, this awakening, I have gone back to the quiet to listen. Almost like I knew from the beginning no matter how hard I tried I was not going to be able to ferret this one out. Whatever was at work was going to be a long, slow reveal—and it was going to happen in its own time.

“It’s all energy,” a friend mentioned casually when I told her what had happened and was questioning my sanity. “If you focus too hard on the outcome . . . if you try and push and manipulate . . . it pushes back.”

She wasn’t joking. The day after she told me this I lost my voice. Literally. It went from scratchy to irritated to hoarse. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say God was trying to prove a point and seriously wants me to pull up a chair, sit still, and wait.

I’d give anything at this moment to change my seat.

“Silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom.”
—Francis Bacon