The patient with alcoholism knows it well - either on the path of sobriety or, in some mirage of drunkenness or crude: Evil is accompanied by Lies, Laziness, Pride and Dementia. It only serves to get off the train, get off at the station that says "Fund" and take from your soul the renegade obstinacy of thinking that one can get back on the wagon or drive the engine of delirium and equalize the riotous ethyl riot as if you were a god. The alcoholic clings to a light between verbal and epidermal that becomes a mantra for life: deserving an increasing serenity to accept that there are things, circumstances and facts that one simply cannot change; therefore, it helps us to advance in sobriety, to really seek courage, tireless determination and quiet eagerness to deserve the courage to change facts, circumstances and things that are mutable, but above all so that these two forms of karma fit into the soul requires wisdom to recognize the difference.
There are those who do not find out that they do not find out that the time to get to the missed appointment cannot be changed, that Scotland exists and that the dive of Robben dressed in Holland was not criminal. Then, there are those who believe that you cannot correct a lack of respect or assume to ask for forgiveness or alter the bad habits that are staining the face ... and yes, not everyone cultivates the search for a wise discernment that allows us to differentiate the ungraspable from the impossible and the futile of the permanent.
There is a kind of drunkenness in the innocent dementia of those who share false news, dazed in the Feis filfas sharing unverifiable notions and there is a kind of delirious drunkenness among those who take lightly global warnings of palpable storm clouds and there is a party that seems funny in lengthening the comedy of tragedies until the coffins begin to parade and neighbors or close friends or outstanding characters disappear. There is a desire to get involved in the confinement of the quarantine and shout recklessness, vent complex through uncontrollable anger and yes, there is an almost uncontrollable craving to numb the hypothalamus even with a dose of eggnog ... but we appeal to serenity, exhort to the sanity of silence, respect for the dead, the tribute deserved by ambulances and doctors, nurses and stretcher-bearers, those who guard order in the midst of disorder, the quiet resignation of those who can hardly breathe again and pain indescribable thousands of families who have already lost someone loved by the grace of a flu, a virus that goes from mouth to mouth.
To be silent is to get away from the stupidity of the politicians who take advantage of the whirlpool to pay the confusion, justify their walls and reveal their deep racism like never before. Shutting up is a pretext to read not only books but all the imaginary pages of what we took for granted: walking through the streets of centuries and hugging the friend who just two days ago took an eternity without seeing him. To be silent is to kiss now that you cannot and to be silent is to sleep next to Her, now that she is far away and to be silent is to think that all this - pending explanations - is an unforeseen bubble that may well shake the heavy laziness of those who have postponed everything and always, to shut up and face so cocky with face masks that he always believes he is right in everything and always. To be silent is also to change for those who have done nothing but echolalia and tarabilla all their lives; To be silent is a neighboring vehicle when observing and not only to look at screens into the hollow and to be silent is to walk through a room like someone recreating the walk that remains pending.
The alcoholic is silent for weeks in a humble propedeutic that precedes speech as catharsis. The entire trajectory of his alcoholic career must speak through his mouth; The soliloquy must be released through the mouth (where we swallow so much poison) and among anonymous peers from all the drinking that confirms not only his disease but the very slow process of recovery, all that distinguishes him from the healthy, from people who they do not have this disease, they live a happy continuous quarantine of sanity and moderation. Awareness that can be contagious ... but above all, a slogan that I suggest sharing eight days or at every sunrise: Serenity to accept the irremediable or unalterable; Courage to try to change everything that is mutable and surmountable ... and Wisdom to distinguish the difference between both endeavors. As a wise boy said, this is difficult: it seems easy but it is difficult and it is so difficult that one can feel easy. If not, I would say that almost twenty years have passed since I avoid drowning and I book constant shipwrecks with that trinomial at the helm. As if it were yesterday.
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