“You are so bright and happy, even at work. Are you always like this or is there something wrong with you?”

To which, of course, I replied… A little of both. You see I like both aspects of this compliment/tease from one of my favorite people at work. First of all, I like that I’m seen as bright, which I am most days; and of course that it seems a little “odd” to someone NOT in recovery.  Both equal transparency. Both are absolutely 100% truth.

You see, we have a solution today. A seemingly infallible way to deal with whatever is ailing our addled brains. Twelve steps to rely on to clear out the wreckage of self and sick and twisted. A way out. A SOLUTION.  So that we don’t have to stay stuck.  Once you know the way out, it’s like riding a bicycle. A little wobbly at first yet the moment you begin your muscles instinctively remember how to pedal.

The steps are like that for me anyway.  I’ve been steppin’ times 12 for nearly two decades (with a brief intermission for idiocy).  I can tell a distinct difference when I don’t do a daily tenth step.  To be honest, this stumps some people in my life.  That I don’t put my issues ON them.  That I’d rather work through it and come back later to resolve if need be or simply let go of the situation. After close examination of my behavior and reactions, I am fully able to LET IT GO.  Make amends if necessary and after discussing with an objective party (usually my sponse/bff/killer cool bestie blonde chick – *waves at Kat*)  Checking things out with someone NOT in the situation is vital.  Yes. VITAL.

If left to my own devices, if I try to resolve things without really looking at my part? It gets ugly.  Definitely easier to blame you for my feelings and reactions than examine where I had been selfish, dishonest, self seeking, and afraid.  (Sound familiar??? It should.  It’s the fourth step inventory and for me the tenth step as well. Written. Yes.)

No matter WHAT someone else does to me, real or imagined; I cannot look at their part in things.  What’s important is the way I react.  That is ALL I am responsible for today.  What a relief really.  I mean if someone is being an ass (like people do from time to time), I look at my part.

• How did I want this person to think and act MY way? With no regard for the situation or perception, when I want YOU to do what I want YOU to do; it is FAIL. Selfish.
• What behavior did I exhibit in response to your behavior? Did I knee-jerk, as I am wont to do? Did I get pissy or angry or yell or cry to get my way? Did I arouse bitterness or suspicion? Did I talk behind your back? Did I punish you in some way?  This is Self Seeking.
• Did I lie and say nothing was wrong? Did I lie out of self preservation? Did I omit details to make myself look better? Dishonest.
• Was I afraid of your reaction? What you think of me? What the repercussion would be? Was fear filling my gullet like an impregnated sperm whale? Afraid.

This is my 10th step. This is what keeps the crap from building up inside stroking my sick; my guided meditative directions that prevent me from falling back into the same patterns of addictive thinking.  THIS … is my daily housecleaning. How I was taught by the oldtimers, how I keep MY behavior in the forefront instead of blaming ALL OF YOU … for my issues.  Like windex for the soul, it is my salvation most days.

Now some don’t get this at all. A few that are close to me, and you know who you are, want to address things right on the spot.  To which I simply say … I need to process this first and then I’ll get back to you.  The issue is mine, or at least feels that way, and I have to look at my stuff. Nine times out of ten, it’s resolved quickly and the emotional boo boo is kissed by the lips of the tenth step.

What a revelation, gift, tool, blessing … freedom. To not be burdened by trying to control others emotions and behavior? Freakin’ priceless.  This leads to my mostly sunny days.  Sure I cry. Yes it’s not always sunshine and roses. But I embrace those days too as it can’t be sunny ALL the time.  Fortunately in my world there is just enough tears raining down to make the flowers grow.  Just… enough.

And for the second part of this morning’s comment? The “is there something wrong with you?” question?  Well. Duh. I just explained that.  There’s tons wrong with me. It’s my natural inclination as an alcoholic to be selfish. To want others to think and act MY way. The “if only” syndrome. If only people would … do what I wanted the world would be a better place.  How arrogant.

These days I’m satisfied, most days, to accept my flaws and imperfections and to know that I’m NOT in charge.  I like that.  If I were in charge? Whoa baby, we’d all be in trouble.  So yes, with step work, I can remain positive. And YES, there’s lots of things wrong with “me”.  I’m completely and totally okay with both.  Not to mention grateful.  But that’s another blog entirely.  Step ten saves my ass every single time. Thank the gods … whomever they may be.

This was poignant and beautifully written by writer extraordinaire Kristina Farrow.  For those of you on Facebook please check out her writings. Kristina’s Poems, Prose and Philosophy. (yes that is a link. yes click it)

May we always remember where we came from.

Poem two is called glimmer. Of hope of what could be … of what could happen. The lifting up of one’s head to see… the ‘be’ that could.  What happened. And the author? You know her. You read her here. (and it is epically creepy when I speak of myself in the third person. bleck) Yeah I wrote it. It’s … palatable. *wink*

Poem three? Well that is my favorite poet of all.  He’s began writing years ago and recently returned to the ‘scene’.  He is a wordsmith of great prowess and I adore him. (In more ways than one.) Anyhow enough mush.  THIS is what exemplifies “what it is like now” for me.  He’s a lyrical rockstar.   You can find his word mastery HERE (yes another link sheesh) on his facebook page.  You won’t be disappointed.

So … what it was like, what happened, what it’s like today. Poetry style.

Givin up

Daddy, I been drinkin,
drinkin more and more,
you told me to be careful.

But, I’m not careful anymore.

Daddy, you once asked me,
if I awake with my hands
shakin, and I do, and worse.

My stomach’s sick all the time.

Daddy you told me about
our genes, how it could
ruin my life, destroy me.

I’m not writin poetry anymore.

Daddy, I been drinkin and
thinkin about the hard stuff,
wonderin what I’m gonna do.

Every day, I give it up.

Can’t blame you, Daddy.
You told me don’t with love,
never told me not to though.

I love you, Daddy, so so much.

Daddy, I been drinkin,
and it’s just because
I’m so so cold and dead.

I’m dead inside like you.

Daddy, I been drinkin
a long time, makin it all
secret, even from you.

Daddy, I feel I’m through,
done, the pain you warned
me of got the best of me.

You were right, Daddy. Drinkin’s won.

~ written by Kristina Farrow ~

glimmer.

a panacea of promise

awaits your permission

fertile ground has been sown

superseding inquisition

for the beauty in you

shines through like the dawn

promise of a resurrection

soul connection fire within

indecision filtered as a pawn

divinity genuflected incentive

directive of a glimmer reborn

torn from hatred’s ashes spawned

rebirth breaks predisposition

arcadian rhythm of macabre

effacing sprite of self spite is gone

cyclical radiant inflorescence

cadence of self love restored

hope heals your heart back to won

~ written by a.G.~

Average Comfortability (or; the not so vicious wishes of St. Francis)

Life’s enhanced when we are giving

instead of wanting.

It’s more important to get it

than to get gotten.

It’s in the act of forgiving

that we are forgiven.

Most things are better remembered

than forgotten.

All it really takes to be a part of

is to flip a single script of just one word.

Valleys from the mountains,

one letter upside down and

Me turns into We

and we are found.

Comparing similarities

instead of accentuating disparities

finding common ground

and accepting our average.

In the middle of the mean,

not high or low just in between,

on the level

is where we find our leverage.

Just the same as, not exalted

not accepting blame or being faulted

but exactly where we’re supposed to be.

Finding our place of comfort in

the skin that we’ve been given

and knowing that when alone

we’re in good company.

So from our doubt we discover faith,

we provide love to replace the hate

and offer up some peace in the face of war.

Substitute joy for sadness,

cast some light into the darkness

so all can see what life is truly for.

~ written by Scott Dean ~

(all poems posted with permission. duh. of course i asked. sheesh. thanks my friends *mwah* you amaze me everyday)

Now I’ve posted on sex relations. More than once. Disclaimer: AA/NA/CA/SLA (especially) and any other program ending in A does not represent fodder for pick up joint status. Now, with THAT being said, where the hell else am I going to meet like minded folks.  I don’t propose “trolling” for hotties by any means, but fellowshipping and social time is completely different.  I mean have you SEEN some of the derrieres during a healthy bowling match post meeting? Whew. I’m kidding. Sorta. Hey I’m a thirty something with eyes.  And I’m grown. Shush. But I am kidding. And sometimes a boy DOES meet a girl on AA campus. Sometimes miracles happen. Why not? Don’t we all deserve some joy? hmmph.

Relationships in recovery.  I’m no expert trust me on this one. But I have had some interesting experiences in this vein. One ended in a less than lovely marriage.  Current relationship is bringing much joy and peace and love. People are people no matter in recovery or not.  (duh)  The rules are no different. Who is healthful and who is not? What are your motives? Have you worked through your own shit enough to even know what a relationship is? How do you apply the principles of recovery to primary love relations? Okay I’m done being all questiony. Time for some answers.

My friend Astrophysh @ http://Astrofysh.Tripod.com (yes this is a link) made me laugh for an hour or three. Okay I chuckled most of the night.  Read on. You’ll see.  I know I know you’re already thinking …

Just read it all the way through before you blow a gasket. tyvm. *ahem*

THE 12 STEPS TO A RELATIONSHIP

STEP ZERO
Sobering up and realizing we were lonely, horny and desperate. We sought to find that special someone, to fill that gaping hole inside us that you could fly a Boeing 747 through.

STEP ONE
Admitted we were obsessing on someone other than ourselves (miracle) and that our lives were soon quickly going to turn to shit.

STEP TWO
Came to believe that we needed to have sex with this special someone as soon as possible… And as often.

STEP THREE
Made a decision to turn our bodies and minds over to the care of this special someone, in the hopes that they will fix us.

STEP FOUR
Made a searching and fearless physical examination of each other.

STEP FIVE
Manipulating and rationalizing with the committees in our heads, the justification of this relationship.

STEP SIX
Pointing out their character defects whenever possible.

STEP SIX And A HALF
Fighting and breaking up….

STEP SIX And THREE-QUARTERS
Getting back together…

STEP SEVEN
More Sex. (Called “I’m Sorry” Sex.)

STEP EIGHT
Made a list of all the things they were doing wrong and became willing to let them know about it.

STEP NINE
Admitted to them, we were always right. Making sure when we did so it would make them feel permanently inadequate.

STEP TEN
Continued to take each others inventory whenever possible, justifying how we were the victim in this relationship.

MOMENT OF CLARITY! … Taking Action!

STEP ELEVEN
-Asking for help
-Calling your sponsor
-Taking the steps
-Reading and writing
-Complete Housecleaning
-Being Honest
-Making amends
-Trusting in God
-Utilizing prayer
-Helping others
-Being of service

ANOTHER MOMENT OF CLARITY, Then…
-Began admitting when we were wrong and seeing our part
-Showing love through action (Outside of the bedroom)
-Showing up for the relationship (What a concept)

STEP TWELVE
Having had spiritual reckoning. We realized we needed to forgive and love ourselves… before we could love another….

*****

STEP THIRTEEN
Refer back to Step One…… ( Didn’t you learn the first time?!?)

So after careful examination and a hurting belly from laughing, it would seem that if YOUR house is clean, you just might be able to invite another over to ‘visit’.  A seemingly normal person however could be triggered into a whole world of “WTF” when you add love interest into the equation.  But really? You’ll not grow without incentive. Growing pains hurt but are SO SO worth it.  Amazing can be gleaned in the working through of problems … together.

Picture a triangle. Got it? Good. Now you are on one of the bottom sides. Your partner is on the other. Higher Power/Power greater/spirit of the universe/ Allah/Buddha/baby Jesus/whomsoever I don’t even care … is on TOP.  Equal interchange of energy up and down and around and around the isosceles.  One stops giving/receiving the whole unit breaks down. One gives and gives and gives … with no return? Ashes ashes we all fall down.  Relationships require a measure of give and take and health and YES even INVENTORIES. (omg she’s talkin’ about this AGAIN)

Yep, stock in trade of where you are where you’re going together and where you want to be. Stop groaning, you should be old hat at this by now.  Where was I selfish dishonest self-seeking or afraid? Where did I want my partner to think and act MY way?  What’s my ‘stuff’ versus our ‘stuff’ and what’s my responsibility to make things better. Now.  You can do this. I can do this. Hell for the first time ever I AM doing this. And if this sassy girl can get with healthy you sure as hell can too. Motives baby. Watch em’. And don’t be afraid to get a little messy – real lovin’ is never squeaky clean. Cept’ with my rubber ducky and that is another story ENTIRELY.

Be … well.

Postscript:   And yes I’m really sappy right now. I’m not sure if it’s going to pass. I surely hope not

This is not all a bad thing. Ask my facebook chums and they’ll tell you I bring my own special brand of sweet cyni-skepticality to my everyday internet interactions.  However … when it comes to the recovery process I follow a basic philosophy.  Be optimistically positive and all that that … entails. Now I’m not talking some Pippy Longstocking Pig Tailed wide-eyed gullible always smiling ditzy never dark or crying – cockamamie crap.  Positive in the way that whether the glass is half empty or half full … the idea that there is a glass at all is amazing in and of itself.  I believe the book that is blue (yes that one) states in discussing the fourth step states on page 66 and 67 …

• If we were to live, we had to be free from anger. The grouch and the brainstorm were not for us. They may be the dubious luxury of normal men, but for alcoholics these things are poison…
• This was our course: We realized that the people who wronged us were perhaps spiritually sick. Though we did not like their symptoms and the way these disturbed us, they, like ourselves, were sick too. We asked God to help us show them the same tolerance, pity, and patience we would cheerfully grant a sick friend. When a person offended we said to ourselves, “This is a sick man. How can I be helpful to him? God save me from being angry. Thy will be done.”
• We avoid retaliation or argument. We wouldn’t treat sick people that way. If we do, we destroy our chance of being helpful. We cannot be helpful to all people, but at least God will show us how to take a kindly and tolerant view of each and every one.

(as always God is defined by yours truly as whatever you need it to be. I’m sooo not a religious gal.  Use great spirit, allah, buddha, a dishtowel, collective unconscious, 12 step groups, or your great Uncle Al with the weird mustache. Spiritual sluttism is always win.)

Hmm.  I had to look up the word grouch because all I could see in my transient minds eye was a green muppet in a garbage can.  Of course my favorite Sesame Street character.  So my friend Merriam whispered the definition to me  — grouch (intransitive verb) :

1. a : a fit of bad temper b : grudge, complaint
2. a habitually irritable or complaining person : grumbler

Somewhere. Someday. Somehow. Someone will appreciate the ultimate non dark, lack of mysterious, sunny side up, dippy egged, easy laughter and pigtails … that is me.

I found out … they do. I do. It does. (huh?) A little sunny in the disposition never hurt a girl. Positive. NOT a dirty word. Goth and Emo are so last year.  So I’ve thrown away my black fingernail polish (never the eyeliner though … as if) and I’mma simply stay congruent to who I am.  As I cogently tell myself over and over, Amy you don’t do grouchy well at all.  Good thing.

Then you have those that are part of the relapse club.  During my prior stint of uninterrupted sobriety, I never quite understood it.  Intellectually I did, of course, but way deep down I had committed to myself that I KNEW I was an alcoholic. That I wasn’t gonna use again no matter what.  People really know of what they speak when they say the simple phrase … I’m not going to pick up just for today.

Prime example of when you stop doing what works … what works stops working.  Duh you say. Really? How often have you slacked on meetings, sponsorship, step work, et cetera? Do you know how close you’ve been to picking up again?  I can tell you (in 20\20 retrospect of course) that my relapse began five years before I drank again. Yep. When I got married to Prince Charmingless and phrases like ” You’re just going to meetings to get laid” began to drift around our house.  Of course I was shocked. At the time I had ten years sober and was extremely active. I CHOSE (get the emphasis here kids?) to slowly drift away. MY CHOICE to listen to lies … both in and out of my head.

When people say “You are what you hang around.” baby they ain’t lyin. Holy hell.  Then we slide back into sick thinking and our disease gets stronger by the moment.  Even though my entire life had been recovery focused with meetings, sponsoring, conventions, Young Peoples conference committees (yes I was young once … shush), a licensed Chemical Dependency Therapist; if you stop doing it … “it” goes away. Every time.

Any joy and zest for life leaves, when you’re living a life unexamined.  Fear and resentment again become large and in charge and denial is stamped on your forehead.  Dry time. Not drinking but not sober. Happy, joyous, and free? Paugh. Miserable, fearful, and imprisoned becomes the norm.  Marking time until the inevitable.  When all healthful coping mechanisms are gone, and once more drinking/drugging becomes a viable option.  Lies layered upon lies in a huge pastry of fail.  Usher in the year of the relapse. (we’ve covered what happened in prior blog posts … read back or use your imagination. either way it would be accurate. suckage. major.)

Time, time, time.  Coming back was the shame game. Yeah but I had 15 years. How could I have done this? Blah blah blah.  The picture of disgusting non-gratitude. I was alive. Barely. But I was alive dammit.  The first year was torture. Time was on my mind every meeting.  I would hear people say “I know lots of folks with lots of time that are sick. Time doesn’t matter.”  Of course I thought BULLSHIT … the only people that say that are ones that don’t have any time. Yeah I was a sick chick.

Refrained from discussing time … or always prefaced my sobriety with “yeah but I had 15 years. I knew this … I knew that.”  I knew shit.  Really. I had it twisted you see.  Cause’ time DOES matter.  Every second, every moment that I’m not actively using; there is HOPE that it can get better.  My sick turns everything around on me.  Focusing on what I’d lost versus what was gained.

I gained an understanding of the disease that I’d not had prior.  Of how easy it was to sink into the morass of sickly self pity and shame.  That I knew to the innermost core of my soul that I indeed had this illness. And I might not die if I used again … but perhaps just wished that I would. Living as a dry drunk is a fate worse than death … I’ve been that … death would have been easier.

One thing is certain, my awareness of my illness is at an all time high.  Time lost, time gained, time as a cornerstone for healthy, time as indicator of self love, time as … hope.  “This time around” (god do I detest that phrase), I’m different (i know *eye roll* but it’s true) there ARE lessons learned through experience.  I’m a step fiend.  I do inventories more than most folk use the powder room.  Sometimes … they come in blog form. (Like this one.)

Two years. Yesterday. I went the entire day without saying “yeah but it shoulda been 18″. Bleck.  Time matters. This exact moment of recovery matters.  A million moments matter. I no longer flinch at sobriety countdowns. It’s okay when someone says “you only have two years … what do you know?”.  I grin to myself and say … “lots and lots. just for this moment in time; I know that’s it’s okay.” This time. All the time. If I give it time. Time. Matters.

someone i know. someone i’ve been. someone i don’t ever want to be again. someone that couldn’t or wouldn’t stop. doesn’t really matter which now does it?

we get so fucking caught up in the semantics of it all sometimes. who said what said where said why? whatever. simple truth. we’re battling a deadly disease.  we get so far away from the gravity of it all, the bottom line being … we only have a chance at living any kind of  life by active participation in a program of recovery. what that program is doesn’t really matter. just go.

tonight my friend will try to have to explain to his seven year old gorgeous blonde little boy … that “mommy” isn’t going to tuck him into bed. and every day after this one, that “mommy” is gone.  how fucking sad. heart wrenching.

so all the bullshit we spout about … how important is it really? what’s the damn bottom line? you’re either working towards life. or death. no more excuses now. you know what you need to do. get busy … don’t be reduced to a picture of death. get. busy. live. recovery.

Now I know what you’re thinking … sorta.  So I’m just proposing this as food for thought.  Is it okay to have some “alone” time in recovery when shit hits the fan … to gather one’s thoughts? To inventory or cry or scream or yell?  When is enough … enough? Is there a point where you start treading on dangerous ground? A semipermeable line where recovery focus crosses over into disease focus?

There are moments where I really treasure my alone time.  Quiet, peace, solace; covering myself with my thoughts and music and writing time. (mind you this is very difficult to obtain with three mini ninjas hootin’ and hollerin’ most days and nights) I like being in my own skin these days.  There was a time where all spare time was filled with others and I couldn’t sleep alone in my bed.  Alone meant lonely and unfulfilled equaled omg I don’t wanna look at me.  So … I didn’t.  Was always chattering about something; which meant most of it meant nothing.  Words can be valuable tools,  if chosen wisely.  They can also be space fillers intended to divert from what the hell is really going on.

Then there comes a point where “alone time” means isolation means uh oh.  When the “alone” is no longer enjoyable and I find myself rocking myself to sleep to cheezy 80′s love songs  (i KNOW i’m not the only one who does it. shushup). Where I am no longer my best friend, but my worst enemy; and my perception of life events becomes twisted and dark.  You know the whole routine, nobody likes me because yadda yadda … and I’m not worthy cause of blah blah blah.  Bullshit. All of it.  But I’m not communicating so nothing’s being challenged.

As a byproduct of stepwork and rote and routine and operant conditioning Pavlovian style (no drooling thank you … put the bell down. now.), I’m able to thankfully tell the difference.  Also having a few amazing people in my life that will tell me the absolute truth … helps.  Okay it’s vital.  My sponserrific extraordinaire has this unerring way of telling me I may be in the “danger zone”.  She simply lifts one eyebrow and says, “I miss you”.  That’s enough for me. I get it and see it and usually never tell her til after I’ve processed the shit outta me. It’s just my process. And she knows me. Probably better than I ever thought a person could.  Example. Tonight sitting outside drinking some hella good coffee … she looks at me and says, “I so want for you to have the ability to have somewhat of a social life again. You just have so much on your plate.”  Wise words, loving words, words of kindness and simplicity. Exactly what I needed.  I cried (per norm) and we chattered on for two hours. Cloud nine.  My cup is full yet again.

Funny how sometimes we don’t even realize we’re running close to empty.  Perhaps I should develop a beeping light that comes on when our tanks are getting low.  Like a gas tank indicator.  ‘Cept mine would say “dumb ass yer empty” or somesuch thing.  So in conclusion, getcha some folks that “get ya”.  All the way in.  Who can see when alone is productive and when alone is drowning in the proverbial sea of self.  An eyebrow raise is really all it takes.  And some chutzpah … cause I can be a bit much to handle.  Thanks for takin’ the risk Kat … and all those others who aren’t afraid of my bitch slappin’ false pride.  Speakin’ of slapping I met this cute male nurse the other day … oh wait. Maybe I’m “talking” too much.

Missing. Longing. Wanting that connection with ones loved so very much that it’s hard to breathe without them around.  Or numb, shut off valve engaged style. Hurt but not forgotten. For how can one really forget the forging of that bond let alone emotional; good, bad, or indifferent.

I know folks. Moms with children ripped from them by their disease, the ones that are scoffed at by sayings like “she cared more about her drugs than her kids.” or “i can’t believe she couldn’t stop.” Really? Do you really fucking think that to be true? I’ve never heard of anyone saying that in regards to any other disease. OMG how dare she be sick of cancer. That selfish bitch. (can you tell i have strong opinions on the subject?) Now before you begin jumping on me about personal responsibility let me say this … we are SICK people trying to get well. Period.  (k now you can say what you like … like i could stop ya anyhow. i’m not a fan of censoring … anyhow i digress) Death, disease, incarceration, or possibly the momma figure is not good for you to be around. Hell I dunno … there are a million reasons for such things.  Pain is pain however and I will do my best to walk with you through it.  For I’ve been in that spot, where heartache meets heartbreak.  I can hang.

Whether we’re with our moms or kids or kids moms or moms kids or whatever “a plus b equals c” algabraic equation is missing … the idea that we have someone to miss, is a powerful thing. Missing equals feeling equals loving equals life.  And loving doesn’t always come out like a pretty storybook with all the pastel pictures.  Sometimes the best we can do … is the best we can do.  Just because you’re not all up in someones grill doesn’t mean that your love is less valid.  At the risk of sounding risque’, thoughts are energy.  This is fact.  Our brain produces electrical impulses. ( http://www.sciencemuseum.org.uk/on-line/brain/3.asp see this for explanation)

So send your energy, whatever beliefs you have; if on this Mother’s Day you’re not with the ones you so desperately want to see.  Or for the loss of loved ones. Or for loss of motherhood. Hell just sitting still and honoring someone’s memory is a valued action.  Those folks that you’re missing … they’ll get the message. Somehow, somewhere, sometime.  They’ll get it.  It’s an infinite law of the universe.  Energy boomerang style.

And for those of you who are fortunate enough to be with mommies and daughters and sons and grammas and all participants in this honoring of life giving related beings … hug whoever you can get your grubby mitts on and don’t let go. Even if it’s just for a minute.  Hug them because perhaps there are those who have no one to hug.  Blessing of recovery folks … the ability to honor and cherish and love.  To rebuild families.  To perhaps find new families of origin with which to bond and treasure and miss when they’re not around. To reunite mother’s and children and heal the damage that sick has done.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Thanks for being part of the “birth” of me …

Is this epic cop out or momentary brilliance? Just turn it over. Everything will be just fine.  Sorta like saying, if I just don’t think about it it will go away? Or perhaps it’s the ideology of unconditional acceptance.  Maybe like saying to a drunk … just quit it. Give it to “?” and you’ll be just fine. I don’t know bout you all, but it was NEVER that easy for this girl. If that were the case then screw stepwork. We could stop at step three and be done with the whole bloody mess. Waltz off into the sunset of eternal bliss … one two three one two three.

Turn it over. I turn THAT idea over and over in my mind.  Is a simple statement of affirmation enough really? I mean I get the whole concept of not ruminating on a problem or stewing in it even.  But I have to work at it.  Practice. Do something different. Meditate. Practice mindfulness. Look at my part in it. Talk to someone. And then, by “?” … CHANGE IT.

This person I spoke with. He said the same things he’s been saying since I’ve known him.   In the same spot. Stagnant. Still a bad relationship. Still back and forth. Still. Standing still.  Then I simply ask … Whatcha gonna do? Get the rote answer. Turn it over to god. I say … How exactly? Silence.  yeah I gotcha. gotta go now.  Doin’ what ya always did WILL bring different results most times … worse ones. Compounded with years of like minded behaviors, it builds on itself into a flaming crescendo of  S  I  C  K.

So really. HOW exactly do you “turn it over”? And does it stay that way? Like a cherry turnover does the dough stay neatly pressed, or do ya flip flop in the sugary mess? To quote a “good” book, faith without works is dead.  Sorta sick of “dogma funerals” really. Not so much what you believe that matters … it’s what you do with it that makes all the difference.  Verb …  it.

Bombarded with handshakes/hugs and (hopefully same sex) telephone numbers, we’re dumbfounded by the amount of coffee these weirdo’s can drink. I mean really; don’t they know that stuff’s bad for ‘em? Shovin’ a book at us, callin it a textbook fer shitsakes. They expect studying? Dang I can barely remember my name at this point. And wtf is up with all those sayings on the walls anyhow? “Live and let live”? isn’t that a Paul McCartney song … anyway one little quip sticks out for certain. “Hope is found here.” Damn. Really?

And then it happens.

The moment.

…

The part of the story where we “get it”. Usually in the form of relating to someone who shares some real.  The pain that we thought only WE knew.  For one magic millisecond … we believe we may have found a place where we belong (besides the dope house or bar).  Where people learn to walk again, instead of stagger. And integrity is learned through a simple (but not necessarily easy) set of spiritual tools.

Oh yes. Let’s not forget the laughter. Raucous hoots n hollers about things most would faint over – or at the very least get nauseated.  Joy over the simplest things, like paying bills or answering the phone or showing up at your kids “thing” that you were always to fucked up to go to before.  Yeah. That.

Bottom line. We come seeking shelter from the PoPo or Judge Judy … and under the umbrella we just may find pARIDise.  Hope. Yes it’s found here.  Slave no more, trackmarks be damned, liver damage ye foul spirit be healed (smack yerself on the forehead here please – yes i know it’s a lot to ask – just do it). Serendipity … an unexpected treasure. It’s here. And if ya ain’t found it yet … ask the guy or gal with the shit eating grin on their face (you know the one), apparently there for no good reason.  ‘Cept maybe they see themselves, mirror style, back when they were thinking … the very same things … as you.

(How many cups of coffee do these people DRINK? damn.)