Spiritual Kindergarten

On Saturday morning I go to an 11th Step meeting.   The format today was to read from a book that is essentially a compilation of quotes drawn from our literature.  It's pretty irritating because you tend to get a real concentrated dose of stuff that is real irritating.  It's kind of a greatest hits book.  So whatever the irritating topic is gets jammed down my throat in great, irritating detail.

The topic today was Spirituality.  When the book came around to me the title of the selected page was Spiritual Kindergarten.  I was immediately suspicious.

"Spiritual kindergarten?" I thought.  "Strange that I'm the one reading about spiritual immaturity."  I thought this while I was thinking that I'm no where near kindergarten in my spiritual development.  Pre-school, maybe but that's still a stretch.  I paused a minute and looked around.  Did the chairman deliberately set things up so that the kindergarten page came around to me?  And if you think this sounds a little paranoid you should have been hanging out with me when I was very, very high.  They were definitely coming to get me then.  Lots of them.

It reminded me of a meeting I attended when I was getting sober that was held in a grade school.  The room had a sign on the wall that was directed at little kids.  It was a list of Dos and Don'ts.  It had stuff like: "No hitting.  No yelling.  No talking when someone else is talking.  Don't take someone else's stuff.  No getting up and walking around whenever you fucking feel like it."  I always sat down in my seat, took a deep breath, and read that list, which seemed to have been drawn up just for me.

It is, as I may have mentioned, all about me.

Instincts on Rampage

Rampage - (n); a course of violent, frenzied action.
                    (v); to move about wildly or violently.

I try to never take action when my emotions are running high.  Instincts on rampage balk at investigation. And  I don't make much distinction between "good" emotions and "bad" emotions, either.  If I'm angry or depressed or really, really excited I try to wait a couple of beats and let my brain become at least marginally involved.  My head can provide some valuable advice to my heart.

And I try not to run away from those bad feelings.  They're not going to kill me.  They don't have knives or machine guns.  I don't have to make them go away.  I can sit quietly and look at them for a while.  When they're out in the bright sunlight they don't look so fearsome.  They're just thoughts.  They're just electrical impulses in my head.  They're barely real.  They certainly don't have any teeth or claws.

I don't know what's good for me and I don't know what's bad for me.  All I know is that I need to take good action to the best of my ability.

Bozo

The chairwoman at the meeting this morning had an unusual name - I've forgotten her it already because it has nothing to do with me, which is all I really care about.  This name rhymed with some unpleasant body parts, giving her childhood friends plenty of fodder for ridicule.  And it still prompts a lot of questions in her work life that she finds unwelcome.  I trotted out my story about giving the fake names at Starbucks and then forgetting what name I've provided, so that I stand there stupidly, waiting for my overpriced specialty coffee drink, wondering why that asshole Arturo doesn't pick up his drink.

"Arturo!  Arturo, your coffee is ready," they shout.
"Oh, right,"  I think,  "That's me - I'm Arturo."        

I personally find this story $#!!ing hilarious.  It's about me and I'm speaking, telling the story about me, and I find it wonderfully clever and witty.

Bupkus this morning.  Nothing.  I barely got a twitter in the meeting when I spoke, a fact that I found so disconcerting I briefly lost my train of thought, as tenuous and vaporous as those trains tend to be.  I'm knocked off my game when the little $#!! hilarious story I've come up with - working it over and over in my mind until it's perfect instead of listening to other people talk - falls flat.  I guess I think I'm some kind of undiscovered stand-up comedian instead of a garden  variety drunk.

A few people started riffing on the riff and the meeting got kind of goofy.  I spoke first.  I think the story was . . . not exactly anti-social, more along the lines of extra-social . . .  enough that everyone needed for the caffeine to start percolating before they could chime in.  One guy - who sat there with a totally deadpan, blank expression on his face when I was talking - shared that he has a brother who is a famous musician.  When this brother comes into town he takes the family out to very expensive restaurants and tells the maitre d that his name is Bozo.  That way when his table is ready the maitre d has to call out: "Bozo.  Bozo, you're table of 4 is ready."  This causes a stir in these exclusive places.

Care to guess which name I used at Starbucks this morning?

Telling Others What They Should Do, If Only Because I've Made Such a Great Success of My Own Life

There really are fewer and fewer things to complain about which makes the fact that I complain so much all that more amazing.

I spoke on the phone yesterday to my mother.  This is the very same mother who is living in a house that she is having trouble maintaining but will absolutely not entertain any suggestions to move to what I would consider, in my extremely humble opinion, in my great wisdom, in my deeply intuitive, unsparingly accurate knowledge of what's best for everyone else, to be a more appropriate place.  

I have learned that competent adults are free to do what they want.  I have learned that people are not interested in me telling them how badly they're screwing things up.  And just as importantly, I've learned not to let their decisions become my responsibility.  I don't bring up my extremely correct opinions; I don't criticize people who run into problems because they don't follow my extremely correct opinions; and I don't fall into a deep depression when and if they run into problems when what they do doesn't work out.

Sometimes, anyway.

Gratitude

I'm always blown away when the topic of a meeting centers on gratitude.  The actual topic today was a reflection on the benefits of The Fellowship - Gratitude in code.  I like hearing the old timers share on the subject.  The longer we work on our spiritual principles by working on our Steps the simpler things become. I'm so wrapped up in the accumulation of money, power, and sex that I forget about what's really important - so wrapped up in avoiding the slightest whiff of discomfort that I cant' see the forest for the trees, whatever that means.

Everything really does get simpler and simpler.

An Intuitive What Now?

I'll say this: All motion is easier than calm waiting.

From our literature: "If we have to determine which of two courses to take, we ask god for inspiration, an intuitive thought, or a decision.  Then we relax and take it easy, and we are often surprised how the right answers come after we have tried this for a while."

I like the implications of the word "surprised."  I'm often surprised at the results of The Program.    I don't know why this is surprising any more but it is.  However, I don't much like the "after we have tried this for a while" part,  being more of an instant coffee kind of guy.   Instant coffee sucks but it's, well, instant, and I'm fast as hell.  I run into a lot of solid obstacles but I get to them in a hurry.

There is some good shit in The Book.  I really should read it more often; better yet, I should pay attention when I'm reading it.

An Architectural Primer

Doors and windows and hallways are all pretty standard features of your modern super-building.  Which makes it odd that I don't really understand what they are and what they do and where they can be found.  I'm more of a blaze-your-own-trail kind of guy - if I want to go somewhere I go there, to the best of my ability, with no regard to doors and walls  .  .  . did I mention walls?  They can be important obstacles, too, unless you own your own modern super-bulldozer like I do.  I thought of a destination; I visualized the destination, albeit through a heavy miasma of drugs and alcohol; I made for the destination.  Often I was on the tenth floor of a modern super-skyscraper, in a windowless hallway made of stainless steel walls and my bulldozer was out of diesel, but I'm not one to let minor obstacles get in the way of me getting what I think I want.

Sometimes I don't even know I'm looking for a door until a huge industrial door appears before me.  I could drive a $%!! Mack truck through this door and I'm wandering around wondering what the hell's going on.  Suit up, show up, get on the trail and start making some progress is my occasional motto.  Stay on the trail and move forward.  

It becomes clear.

Really, Really Big Shew

I'm not sure why everything is such a big production with me.  I'm not sure why I have to make everything such a big deal: complicated and intense and overly important.  I am sure, however, that if I spoke to anyone with any knowledge or experience with a spiritual life that this would not rank high on their recommendation list.  

One of our slogans is "Keep It Simple."  This is a good slogan.  This is a very, very good slogan.

BMW Difficulties

I'm having BMW problems this morning.  Not terrible problems but problems nonetheless.  This means that I should be taken out to the back yard, slathered with molasses, and staked to a red ant hill.  I'm going with "molasses" and not the more popular "honey" because "molasses" is a funnier sounding word.  It's not a funnier sweetener, necessarily, but it does sound goofier.  And I went with the very popular "red" ants because they sound more venomous than your run-of-the-mill "black ants," which may very well have a horrible, horrible bite for all I know.

I did make a few phone calls to a few trusted friends to talk about these terrible, terrible problems.  I made sure to call some guys that I abuse on a regular basis because I want to make sure that every now and then I lob up a big, fat softball that they can whack out of the park.  I had to leave messages - a good thing as well because it allows them to prepare some cruel, cruel repartee when they call back - IF they call back, no certainty given all of the abuse I've heaped upon their heads over the years.

I dish it out so I better be able to take it.