Pink Cloud, the Old Timer’s say you exist so you must. That mysterious place floating at the intersection sobriety and spiritual bliss. Yet so many times it seems you elude me. Perhaps you are more like a wicked game of Mario Brothers, jumping from pink cloud to pink, hoping to land safely when more often than not it seems I fall off, only to land hard on my back left gazing up into the sky as you quickly float by. Sure you are a cliché but you must be there somewhere.
I’m familiar with other clichés and they all seem to be true. The first being the Skeleton in the Closet. That wretched thing, bleached white with the dryness of reality. The shame, guilt, anxiety, hopelessness and dismay that alcoholism brings. The fact that I knew it was out of hand and yet still tried to hide it.
Speaking of hiding I happen to know the elephant in the room quite well to. That lumbering beast leaving its filth and stench everywhere yet nobody mentions or engages it. Instead they just look away, whistling quietly to themselves, “Move along, nothing here to see.” There is nothing to see because it is all you can see and you bump into constantly as it roams freely around every event imaginable. Trampling everyone it’s path and leaving destruction in its wake.
Speaking of destruction, I know the bull in the china shop as well. That large bovine of a beast that bumps into, knocks over and breaks everything in sight in its drunken stupor. Wrecking fragile and delicate things such as relationships, finances and a few not so delicate things like furniture and personal property (including one ironing board and a new pair of glasses) as your nostrils flare and your horns swing to and fro like a pendulum of drunken destruction. You are another cliché I could do without. Yet you are real, and therefore you give me hope the Pink Cloud is to.
The Book mentions another cliché as well. The open door of serenity that sobriety brings. They say once the door of faith and will is open it gets easier and easier. What they don’t tell you is that sometimes the hinges to that door are rusty or maybe the key breaks off in the lock. Still the door opened and it wasn’t all rainbows, unicorns and pink clouds like they described but it is nice. It is good. Very good in fact.
So Pink Cloud, I know you exist because I’ve seen you floating by overhead. I know you exist because I’ve ridden you for the briefest of moments. So Pink Cloud one day I will catch you and ride you blissfully into the sunset. I know you exist, you have too, because they say you do, right?