I went to an Al-Anon meeting last night in Lawrenceburg. I wasn't sure I wanted to be in one but I figured I needed one because of two events that were coming up involving family.

We talked about the events that went on at the area assembly. We talked about my home group. Jane made an interesting comment. She said something along the lines of what if Al-Anon needs to die as a whole to be reborn. It got me to thinking. I don't think the fellowship as a whole needs to die. Certain groups, such as mine, may need to but I don't think the fellowship should. I prayed about it and two things came to my mind. One is a song and the other is a poem.

One Voice

As Sung by Barry Manilow

Just One Voice,
Singing in the darkness,
All it takes is One Voice,
Singing so they hear what's on your mind,
And when you look around you'll find
There's more than
One Voice,

Singing in the darkness,
Joining with your One Voice,
Each and every note another octave,
Hands are joined and fears unlocked,
If only
One Voice
Would start it on its own
We need just One Voice
Facing the unknown,
And that One Voice
Would never be alone
It takes that One Voice.

Ba ba ba da da da da,
Ba ba ba ba ba ba da da da,
Ba ba ba ba ba ba
It takes that one voice

Just One Voice
Singing in the darkness,
All it takes is One Voice,
Shout it out and let it ring.
Just One Voice,
It takes that One Voice,
And everyone will sing!


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DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

~ Dylan Thomas


I went to my therapy session this morning and got a lot of food for thought. My therapist had given me the homework assignment about assertiveness. I showed her what I had worked on and told her of some other things that I had not written down. We talked about my job. She knows Q. I told her what was going on with him and she voiced that she was glad that I was in this child's life because she seems to think I have a gift of getting to the heart of things. She called me a seeker.

We spoke about family as Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I told her I had ordered a turkey and would fix all of the dishes at home and take it to my mother's house so that if I began to hypervenilate I could just leave and their day would not be ruined. She showed me some deep breathing techniques that I could do if I begin to feel like the walls were closing in.

We spoke about my friend Linda and her newest health problems. I told her I had been researching the lap band and the gastrobipas to see if it was something I wanted to do but that Linda's problems had pretty much stopped me in my tracks. I told her about finding the OA daily reader at the Good Will store on Sunday and that I had joined an online OA group.

We spoke of spitual matters as I have also been doing my RCIA homework. My assignment was to identify my spiritual gifts. The therapist told me about the following song. I include it here because I liked it.

Her Father’s Eyes

As sung by Amy Grant

I may not be every mother's dream for her little girl,
And my face may not grace the mind of everyone in the world.
But that's all right, as long as I can have one wish I pray:
When people look inside my life, I want to hear them say,

She's got her Father's eyes,
Her Father's eyes;
Eyes that find the good in things,
When good is not around;
Eyes that find the source of help,
When help just can't be found;
Eyes full of compassion,
Seeing every pain;
Knowing what you're going through
And feeling it the same.
Just like my Father's eyes,
My Father's eyes,
My Father's eyes,
Just like my Father's eyes.

And on that day when we will pay for all the deeds we have done,
Good and bad they'll all be had to see by everyone.
And when you're called to stand and tell just what you saw in me,
More than anything I know, I want your words to be,

She had her Father's eyes,
Her Father's eyes;
Eyes that found the good in things,
When good was not around;
Eyes that found the source of help,
When help would not be found;
Eyes full of compassion,
Seeing every pain;
Knowing what you're going through,
And feeling it the same.
Just like my Father's eyes,
My Father's eyes,
My Father's eyes,
Just like my Father's eyes.
My Father's eyes,
My Father's eyes,
Just like my Father's eyes.

I have my RCIA class tonight with the deacon. I will also be attending the Thanksgiving mass. Ordinary time stops and the special holidays begin. I want to take part in them.