The intersection
Traveling west on Vine Street, I ran a red light at the corner of Broad at about 9 p.m. on a Thursday night. Halfway through the intersection, I knew I was in trouble. The terror of such a mistake, in the moment before an impact, is hard to describe. Time slows down and speeds up simultaneously. The impact is expected .
There wasn’t an impact.
I sailed to the other side of Broad unscathed. Cars going north and south narrowly missed me. Pursuant to the time warp, the vehicles never slammed on their brakes or honked their horns. It all happened too quickly — everybody was safe—never having time to react.
Suspicion
Before I made it to the other side, I knew I had a problem with alcohol. In fact, I’d suspected a problem for about six months. My suspicions were confirmed as I crossed the double line on Broad Street.
I’d had two drinks, so I wasn’t blind. One’s accountability, however, is the same whether one drink or one fifth is involved. Drinking and driving had never been a problem to that point in my life— it just wasn’t my thing. Doesn’t matter.
A needle was awaiting thread.
Grace, karma, luck, coincidence, nothing or being ferried by an angel?
For the previous seven years— perhaps more—I’d done little to earn favor from the universe — always taking more than giving. And, while I understand that the idea of karma is much more than cause and effect, I fundamentally believe in cause and effect, especially since the negative effect caused by a negative action can bring considerable suffering. Simplistic, I know, but it works for me.
Looking back, I wonder why I didn’t kill somebody or myself. We were saved by inches and physics. The experience begs questions. What were the karma profiles of everybody involved? Those driving north and south? The pedestrians? Was it grace, karma, luck, coincidence, nothing or being ferried by an angel?
I threaded the needle.
When the eye of a needle is a threshold
I committed to change. It took me another year to stop drinking but I never got behind the wheel of a car again. With the help of my first sponsor I stopped altogether and, as of the essay, it’s been 5873 days.
When the eye of a needle is a tunnel
Things got harder for a long time. The metaphor of the light at the end of the tunnel being a train ended up being true. It took time to learn, though, that I’d been in the tunnel long before the needle was threaded.
Never coming out on the other side of the tunnel
Metaphors are sometimes inappropriate or ineffective. This is one of those times.
Coming out on the other side of the tunnel
It was grace, karma, luck, coincidence, nothing and being ferried by an angel that got me to the other side of Broad Street— because they’re all the same thing. Every time I cross that intersection I’m grateful.
With gratitude comes compassion. With compassion, anything is possible.
This has been a guest post by DharmaMechanic.
With Love,
The Recovering Urchin
