The Forgotten Mountain
When I was a child, I acquired some of the traits that had a lot to do with my insatiable craving for alcohol. I was brought up in a little town in Vermont, under the shadow of Mount Aeolus. An early recollection is that of looking up at this vast and mysterious mountain, wondering what it meant and whether I could ever climb that high. But I was presently distracted by my aunt who, as a fourth- birthday present, made me a plate of fudge. For the next thirty-five years I pursued the fudge of life and quite forgot about the mountain.
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When self-indulgence is less than ruinous, we have a milder word for it. We call it “taking our comfort.”
~ 1. A.A. COMES OF AGE, PP. 52-53 ~
~ 2. TWELVE AND TWELVE, P. 67 ~
© 1967 by Alcoholics Anonymous ® World Services, Inc
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