Divided Sky
- Feb 11
- 3 min read
Trey's pause and the power of praise
I saw Phish at Alpine Valley Music Theater this summer in Wisconsin with my partner. We’ve been alcohol free for five and half years, but for these two shows we decided to go completely sober.
These shows were incredibly memorable, for not only did I feel alive in my spirit, but I felt connected to the music, to the band, and to the humans that surrounded me. I danced to almost every song and I didn’t leave to use the restroom, or take space, or whatever I find myself doing when consuming. Instead, I was in awe of the magic, blessed to be a part of the energy - the gratitude for the fun and the phamily. I felt a sense of belonging that often eludes me.
I’m an introvert, and usually find myself sitting quietly with my status, with my sobriety. I attend the Phellowship meetings, but because I’m not 100% sober, I wear my “One Show At A Time,” sticker on my hand, hesitantly. I battle feelings of being an imposter, as if I’m not quit good enough because I still dabble, mostly with plant medicines.
Yes, I use plants to support my nervous system (cannabis mostly), and it was at this show that I realized that this does not diminish the accomplishment of removing alcohol from my life, or make it any less triumphant.
I gained this insight when I looked around and took notice of the crowd, particularly the women. At a 1:4 ratio it was easy to spot the fierce flare of feminine energy, those who also love this scene. I found myself wanting to know more about them. I did not filter or judge if they were sober, drunk, spun, or rolling. I only cared to connect and know more of their stories.
I wondered if they too were in a place where they desired to make a change. If they too wanted to reach towards a different, more aligned version of themselves, but possibly were afraid of losing their Pham? Were they worried they’d feel left out? Did their choices allow them to feel more connected and alive?
And then Trey played Divided Sky - as pink and grey clouds puffed out into oblivion. And in the middle of this beautiful riff, he paused. He held his guitar and looked out into the crowd, igniting a roar that swept through 30,000 people. He paused and allowed the crowd to praise him - for 30 glorious seconds.
It felt euphoric. To be in this amphitheater - admiring these four musicians. Sharing this experience with other humans whose joy was infectious. It was electrifying. And in that moment, I took my outstretched arms that were praising Trey, and rested them on my chest, on my heart center, and took the moment to praise myself. For choosing this show, this day, to experience sobriety. For committing to 5.5 years of alcohol free living. For feeling free, alive, and honestly connected to this community.
You are something too, a little voice inside said. Trey used to feel small; he used to feel like a failure. He used to feel not enough. And yet, he’s still here. He’s still playing. He’s still giving his best and allowing himself moments of bliss to bask in appreciation.
This Divided Sky created an internal chasm; a recognition that it was time to let go of the shame and feel safe; to feel more than enough in this space. Trey’s pause gave me permission to acknowledge all that I have done. And despite the fear, I vowed to share my story and reach out to those that ignited this desire to create a more unified existence. One of truth and joy, and power of embracing the music in presence.
“Divided sky the wind blows high.” Thank you Trey, thank you Phellowship, and thank you to the Phish Chick’s community for the blissful reflection. Cheers to pausing and praising our wild and wonderful existence.
If you’re looking to add more pause and praise to your world, check out my Mantra to Manifest journal. Thank you for your support and inspiration.
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