The God Thing

This comes up over and over and while I used to fuss at the “God thing” conversations, now I think it makes sense. In Twelve-Step recovery it’s all about having a spiritual awakening. The steps tell us: “Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps…”

I remember when someone pointed that out to me. We don’t get abstinence or sobriety as a result of the steps—we get a spiritual awakening. And then, of course, as Carl Jung explained to Roland (and later to Bill Wilson) we do get sobriety as a result of that spiritual awakening. It’s a subtle but important point.

The other thing I like to think about is that it doesn’t say God. Thank you to “AA Number Three” who gave us “God as we understand Him” which opened the door much wider then the Oxford Group would ever have allowed. So we have that parenthetical statement and a Higher Power, which lets us choose.

But we do have to choose.

Here’s the other thing that I learned form a spiritual director that I like to pass on to women that I sponsor—and remind myself: Your HP doesn’t have to be a God but it has to be bigger than you. You want a “Bigger” as your Higher Power. It might be Goodness or The Ocean or Nature or Science but with our egos and our insecurity we need something Bigger.

And then—here’s another part I missed for years--you have to put yourself in the presence of your Higher Power. It’s why people who have God as their HP go to church or temple. But if your Higher Power is another kind of being or entity you still have to spend time in its presence. For example—if Nature is your Higher Power do you go on a nature walk once a week? If it’s the Ocean do you get to the beach to connect with it? If it’s Beauty are you making art a priority in your life?

Isn’t this a great question: What is your Higher Power and do you put yourself in its presence—regularly?

Still Carrying On

So, in yesterday's post I was recommending the new book of hilarious wisdom and perspective called "Carry On, Warrior",  by the wickedly recovering, Glennon Doyle Melton. If you have not yet ordered your copy from the library or bookstore try this:

Go to your local book store and pick up, "CarryOn, Warrior"...go to the back of the store and lean against the wall and read the very short--four page--chapter called, "On Profanity"--page 201. It's a quick read and you'll see why I am just so enamored with this book and writer. Then take that copy to the front of the store and buy it.

Glennon writes a lot about being a mom and about extremely imperfect parenting so this is also a  perfect Mother's Day gift.

Here's a link to her blog and more info on the book:

http://momastery.com/carry-on-warrior/

Carry On, Warrior

The advice often given to writers is, “Write the book that you want to read.” Well, I feel like I can stop now because I have just read the smartest, funniest and most poignant book about recovery.

The book is called: “Carry On, Warrior—Thoughts on Life Unarmed” by Glennon Doyle Melton.

And maybe this book isn’t even about recovery per se, maybe it’s just a book about how life can change so dramatically and so wonderfully and be both so good and so hard—so very hard –for a woman in recovery.

The best part of this is that Glennon writes in short bursts and sections about all the girl friend stuff: bodies, highlights, babies, sex, clothes, shopping, food and God, fear, pain, infidelity, family and hard forgiveness. This is a girl I want to go have a drink with—a latte, an Italian soda, or a bedtime steamed milk. This is a girl whose story makes me glad I don’t drink, and I’m glad she doesn’t drink any more either.

Really—check this out. It’s funny and smart and very real.

Carry on.

Desire and Addiction

I have surrendered alcohol, drugs, food and it’s myriad forms of addiction (consuming it, not consuming it, shapes, colors, obsessions, diets—healthy and other) and always in the background are things. Yes, addiction to things. As a kid it was toys, books and clothes. As a teen it was books, make up and clothes, as an adult: books, artwork and yes, clothes.

When you start making a home or homes the number of possible things expands. I can tell myself I have become more reasonable about clothes but find myself “collecting” table linens, serving dishes, candles, bedding. Then I say, “OK, your home is nice enough and let that go and see the lure of shoes—“Well, they are comfort shoes after all” I rationalize.

But really—aren’t all clothes comfort? We are comforting our souls if not our actual physical bodies.

I write myself little notes when I have an insight or idea and then I tuck them away where I might come across them when needed. Here is one I wrote to myself more than a year ago and it is dead on perfect—and new—for where I am today. My little card says:

“I don’t have to own things just because they are beautiful or appealing. I can see them, appreciate them and leave them where they are. Owning something decreases its value and then I just want something else; then I just want the next thing.”

For poetry month here is one of my favorite poems. This one I have read over years and years of recovery and it changes as I grow. It makes me think of so many blessings about recovery and why some people say, "I wish you a slow recovery."

Ithaca

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.

Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.

Constantine P. Cavafy (1911)

When He Will Drink Anything

Maybe Raymond Carver was Poet Laureate of Alcoholism. For April here is his poem, NyQuil:


I knew a man
whose drink of choice was Listerine.
He was coming down off Scotch.
He bought Listerine by the case,
and drank it by the case. The back seat
of his car was piled high with dead soldiers. Those empty bottles of Listerine
gleaming in his scalding back seat!
The sight of it sent me home soul-searching. I did that once or twice. Everybody does. Go way down inside and look around.
I spent hours there, but
didn’t meet anyone, or see anything
of interest. I came back to the here and now, and put on my slippers. Fixed
myself a nice glass of NyQuil. 

Recovery Poems for April

April is Poetry Month so,

“Let us remember…that in the end we go to poetry for one reason, so that we might more fully inhabit our lives and the world in which we live them, and that if we more fully inhabit these things, we might be less apt to destroy both.” --Christian Wiman

For this Poetry Month I’ll be adding some poems about recovery, and growth and changing our lives. I hope you’ll make them part of your meditation and that you will share them too.

We begin with Mary Oliver who writes in “The Journey” about the experience that many of us had that got us here: The Journey

One day you finally knew


what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting
their bad advice-


though the whole house

began to tremble


and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,


though their melancholy
was terrible.


t was already late
enough,

and a wild night,


and the road full of fallen
branches

and stones.
But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice


which you slowly
recognized as your own,


that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper


into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do

--
determined to save
the only life you could save.