Hi. My name is Gil. I’m a writer. Unfortunately, I am not in recovery. Admittedly, I am addicted to writing. I crave it. Need it. Must have it. When an imaginative word, an artfully woven phrase, or a delicious sentence appears on the page, I get high, flush with the bliss of another emotional dimension. I’m a writer because I write. I’m a writer because I throw myself into the cosmos. For good or ill, I’m a writer because I secretly desire the critique of others. As a confession, my soul is always giddy when I see my work published. True, I am still depressed when I add another rejection letter to overstuffed box. But, I will never give up this addiction. Why would I?
But, I have another confession. Hi. My name is Gil. I pray. I’m addicted to prayer. I pray when I write. I pray when I walk. I pray when I give my dog a bath. I pray when I drive (of course so does everyone else). I’m a person who prays because I pray. I am also one of those weird praying people because I throw my prayer into the soul of God. Then I wait. I ache to hear a response from the Divine. When there is a whisper, a word, a sign of recognition from the Holy, I drift lightly above the earth, riding on the clouds of the Spirit. Though, mostly, I hear nothing. Then I am soul sick. But, despite the wrenching of my heart caused of silence, I cannot give up my addiction to prayer. How could I?