A Soul Set Free: Vol. 2

By KJ GoForth

"A Soul Set Free" fearlessly delves into the dichotomy of faith and deception within the realm of Christianity, navigating the intricate web of dogma and spiritual awakening. The narrative acts as a mirror, reflecting the multifaceted nature of truth and the human experience, urging readers to confront the shadows that linger at the peripheries

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gotham Books
• Release date: Jan 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798887758039

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A Soul

Set Free

Vol. 2

by

KJ GOFORTH

Gotham Books

30 N Gould St.

Ste. 20820, Sheridan, WY 82801

https://gothambooksinc.com/

Phone: [phone]

© 2024 KJ GoForth. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by Gotham Books (January 9, 2024)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-804-6 (H)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-802-2 (P)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-803-9 (E)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

After a 28-day stint in a drug and alcohol rehabilitation center, my life was irrevocably transformed. It was revealed to me, with unequivocal clarity, why I had been bestowed with life on this terrestrial sphere. I aspire to share my newfound insight and sagacity with all those who possess an open mind and spiritual inclination. My epiphany was that change is indispensable for the soul, and it can be catalyzed through God alone.

During my tenure at the treatment facility, I was able to grasp the profundity of my compassion for personal well-being and also that of individuals afflicted with self-pity, fear, frustration, insecurity, pain, and guilt. I now comprehend that the immense grief that I bore for 23 long years, arising from my alcoholism, stemmed from my fear of abandonment. It was here that I absolved God of my acrimony for what I had previously held to be His fault.

Through my comprehensive education on alcoholism, I delved deeper into the reasons behind my insatiable urge to self-destruct and why it had gradually metamorphosed into a way of life that seemed like second nature to me. It dawned on me that the term God, which had been inextricably intertwined with my childhood, denoted more of a human essence. I vividly recollect sitting before my counselor and succinctly expressing my revelation in two words, Book Mormon.

Upon receiving guidance on the appropriate step to undertake in the 12-step program, my preoccupation with Mormonism waned. My counselor imparted to me that my presence in the treatment center was not intended for reading the Book of Mormon, but rather because my life had spiraled out of control, and drugs and alcohol had become a means of solace, a palpable reality. In the ensuing days, I experienced a tumult of emotions, ranging from uncontrollable tears to fits of laughter, as I endeavored to examine my patterns of substance abuse and comprehend the ways in which I had devolved into a cowardly and detrimental presence in society, marked by jealousy, possessiveness, and domineering tendencies.

With utmost sensitivity, my counselor implored me to transcend my self-pity and confront the harsh truths of my behavior. Although I struggled to adhere to this advice, I was propelled forward by the physical aspect of recovery, which is frequently neglected. At one point, my despondency was so pronounced that I contemplated relinquishing my efforts. However, a fellow participant uttered words that stirred something deep within me: Don’t leave before the miracle happens.

Subsequently, someone shared an analogy that resonated with me. They likened our paths to discovering gifts to standing atop a snow-covered mountain, and as we divulged our personal struggles that led us to seek treatment, the snow slowly melted, revealing treasures hidden beneath.

The realization that my gift was within my own control brought me immense pleasure. As I delved deeper into the Doctor’s Opinion, each piece of the puzzling, powerful, baffling, spiritually debilitating disease of alcoholism began to fall into place. I used to believe that my sole accomplishment over the past 23 years had been mastering the art of staying intoxicated.

My addiction had taken such a hold over me that nothing else mattered, not even the thought of stealing money from my father’s wallet in the middle of the night. My world revolved solely around drugs, sex, and rock-n-roll, with the latter two frequently preceding the former. I had become a reprehensible womanizer, justifying my actions by separating love from physical pleasure, and rationalizing that my good looks and physique were not of my own choosing. Nonetheless, I spent countless hours in the weight room to maintain my appearance.

My drug use around my family members resulted in their rebuke, including threats from my father, who never quite lived up to his parental duties. In an attempt to coerce me into reforming my ways, he would resort to guilt-tripping, although I was unmoved by his tactics. He even threatened to send me to military school or Catholic reform school, though deep down he knew that was not a desirable outcome.

In hindsight, I realize that I lost respect for my father after my mother’s death and his immediate remarriage. It created an emotional detachment that still exists today. Despite his professed love for me, I understand that it is merely a word, as he suffers from atheism and struggles to comprehend my spiritual beliefs. Overcoming the walls and hurtles that exist between us has proven to be a challenge.

At age 14, after a physical altercation with my father, I was caught at school with a significant amount of marijuana. With no other options, my father decided to send me to a remote island with limited supplies and a leaky rowboat. During the journey, I witnessed a powerful display of nature as an eagle snatched a salmon from the water. Once I reached the mainland, I quickly reunited with a friend whose father was involved in the drug trade. Despite the unstable home environment, my friend’s mother provided a welcoming space for us to indulge in reckless behavior, including riding three-wheelers and swinging from trees.

It was on the sixth day of my sojourn on a paradisiacal island that I placed a call to my father, divulging my location to him. His response upon arrival was one of anger, and it wasn’t long before he issued an ultimatum: either I abide by his rules, or I would be compelled to leave. In hindsight, it was a decision that was remarkably easy to make, despite the allure of a veritable cornucopia of cocaine and a liaison with my friend’s elder sister.

My academic record, too, was far from exemplary at the age of 15. Caught in the act of forging my father’s signature on various excuses, I