In meetings last week focused on Step 11, I heard the message of working this Step gently, with compassion for ourselves, as in the suggestion to "gently relax into the daily reprieve." Hearing that brought me nearly to tears. Compassion? Gentle? I sometimes come at the Steps with force, a bludgeon of "If I only do this right/hard enough everything will be ok" when actually, everything is ok. All I really need to do is show up. And as I've been reminded, the Steps are tools, not weapons.
A program friend often tells of correspondence between Carl Jung and Bill Wilson, where Jung described the alcoholic's craving for alcohol like a low-level search for God - maybe that's why they're called "spirits." All my life I was searching, if not for god, then for peace of mind (and note that for me, peace of mind might be found in mad excitement).
Pre-recovery, most of my searching was via self-help books and long, stoned discussions, with "moral and philosophical convictions galore." Well into sobriety I dabbled in various churches, never finding quite the right fit. Nothing at all against church, but for me, most of my searching of that nature had to do with, one more time, looking outside myself for a fix. If I pray the right way, sing the right songs, all will be well. What I know now is that my spiritual life changes and evolves as I do. The "god" I had at 30 days sober is different than my spiritual connections at 30-plus years. I don't need to understand the exact mechanisms in order to feel centered and connected.
I used to complain to a homegroup member, "I just want somebody to tell me everything will be ok," to which he replied, "But everything is ok, Jeanine." What I was probably asking was, "Tell me everything will stay the same," a dreamer's quest for stability. Everything, everything is temporary. Everything will change, die, go away. The reality of that is closer to home the older I get, but still I want certainty. Certainty that my friends will always be by my side, that the musicians I grew up listening to will live forever (RIP Christine McVie), that love will last (though that one is true, whether the person is alive or not).
I see Step 11 meditation as getting still, which is different than getting quiet, and releasing the internal chatter. I can sit on my cushion (which is actually the couch) quiet on the outside while my mind races to this or that task, memory or plan, surprised when the ending bell goes off. While not a practicing Christian, I love the saying, "Be still and know that I am God." Be still, and become aware of my inner wisdom, the knowing that was there all along. My addict-self still wants bright lights and bullhorns - DO THIS NOW! but my truth tends to be quiet, and certain - maybe not always specific, but there is a definite "yay" or "nay" energy to whatever it is I'm pondering (and if there isn't, then it isn't time to make a decision). And it isn't usually an actual voice unless voice can be defined as knowledge. The dictionary describes voice as sound, but also as "a particular opinion or attitude expressed." Perhaps my psyche expresses its particular opinion via my gut, the internal red light/green light. Today I can relax into the mystery, releasing my need to know.
As usually happens, I've moved from holiday grieving to holiday celebration, spending time with friends and family, enjoying the coziness of almost-winter. My friends and I will, one more time, mark Solstice online, exhaling into the return of the light. I'm one who doesn't mind the darkness, grateful for a warm home, a full pantry, and electricity, very aware that not everyone who seeks shelter finds it. I can nit-pick my grievances, or, with just a second's pause, remember that I could very well have died at the end of a syringe, or behind the wheel of a car, or even worse, lived for years on the margins, spending my days looking for the next fix or drink. I've been given the opportunity to live, however I define that on any given day. Sometimes that means curling up with a good book, or for a winter's nap, and sometimes it means spending time with loved ones, or being of service in one form or another. In any event, even after all these years, I never forget that recovery is a gift.
How do you relax into the mystery of this sober life? What do you do if the holiday lonelys strike? How does your inner wisdom get your attention? In this potentially busy time of year, how do you practice self-care? If you find yourself weaponizing the Steps, how do you reset to a place of compassion? How do you remind yourself that everything is OK, right here, right now?
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This could be time to plan a holiday gift for a sponsor or sponsee, or to think about a year end/new year stock-taking. See the Feb 4 entry for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.
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