when I was little, this straight-laced little kid, I sang in church all the time. the choir loft at St. Veronica’s seemed very near the sky.
singing enveloped me. there was no sense of performance or judgment. no pressure. I just sang.
I was aware of religion. I can’t say I understood much about practicing it. I looked around at the architecture and sang the hymns. my favorite part of church was the organ.
I felt what I would describe as faith.
there are no words that go with faith, or practices that go with faith. it’s something way deep in people. it’s a connection that brings with it hope. connection through singing — this I naturally felt, even as a little eight-year-old. I came to believe that when I sang, heaven moved through my life.
a few years later I had flown off the rails and was hanging out with this shit group of kids, they were just such shit, and doing awful things and making epically bad choices.
in group this week we were talking about whether substance use is a disorder or a disease, or a choice. most experts say that it’s a disease, a brain disorder, because drugs change the structure of the brain and how it works.
others say it’s a choice, and their argument is that everyone has control over their behavior and can overcome addiction with willpower and everyday changes.
calling it a choice might sound cold but it gives me hope. it helps me believe that with the right help and resolve I can one day remain in long-term recovery.
and I still have faith, like I did when I was eight.
to stand in front of people at group, or in a bookstore or record store, or at the memory care center, and draw a breath and hope a beautiful sound will emerge, and to hope everybody listening will hold you with their love and attention, is still an act of faith.
the other night at group I sang this song, Jane on Jane Street. I couldn’t tell you what it means even if I wanted to. I wrote it in lapse and it got me through another day. that’s all the meaning it needs. hope you like.
cookie nieves 
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