My sponsor told me once (twice) ((three times)) about his first sip of alcohol after more than two decades of continuous sobriety. An accident? An ambush? Shirley Temple got deflowered somehow, at any rate… The Big Book doesn’t call it an allergy of the body for nothing. Spiritual anaphylaxis sets in before it even hits your tongue. Almost like your taste buds have been stretched their ESP to the limit of its range, looking for the slightest hint of ethanol to scream about. I’m not blushing, I swear. I’m just allergic. I’m not manic, I swear. I’m just obsessed... “The Blood of Christ; the Cup of Salvation.” The watchword that somehow manages to defuse the bomb by tripping the wire. I drink a sip each week so that I never drink more than a sip. Your pharmakon ain’t got nothin’ on the Eucharist, Plato.