Daily Reprieve

From the Daily Reflections of February 27;

Where does A.A. get its direction? . . . These practical folk then read Tradition Two, and learn that the sole authority in A.A. is a loving God as He may express Himself in the group conscience. . . . The elder statesman is the one who sees the wisdom of the group’s decision, who holds no resentment over his reduced status, whose judgment, fortified by considerable experience, is sound, and who is willing to sit quietly on the sidelines patiently awaiting developments.  (Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, pages 132 and 135).

Into the fabric of recovery from alcoholism are woven the Twelve Steps and the Twelve Traditions. As my recovery progressed, I realized that the new mantle was tailor-made for me. The elders of the group gently offered suggestions when change seemed impossible. Everyone’s shared experiences became the substance for treasured friendships. I know that the Fellowship is ready and equipped to aid each suffering alcoholic at all crossroads in life. In a world beset by many problems, I find this assurance a unique stability. I cherish the gift of sobriety. I offer God my gratitude for the strength I receive in a Fellowship that truly exists for the good of all members.

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The idea that my Twelve Step network is always ready to help the suffering alcoholic is an ideal that I embrace. The thing about ideals is that they push us forward to their fulfillment. There may be times when a suffering alcoholic reaches out and a member of the Fellowship responds inappropriately or in a way that is either not helpful or enabling. We fall short from time to time. Then we turn to our ideals preserved in the Steps and Traditions and try again. The stability comes to us in our persistence to meet, to connect when we can, to serve, to work to produce better more durable versions of ourselves. When others in my network stay sober and prosper, it benefits and encourages me. When I stay sober and prosper, I look forward to the opportunity to be of use to my others. It is a good life and I am grateful.

From the Daily Reflections of February 26;

A.A. is no success story in the ordinary sense of the word. It is a story of suffering transmuted, under grace, into spiritual progress.  (As Bill Sees It, page 35).

Upon entering A.A. I listened to others talk about the reality of their drinking: loneliness, terror and pain. As I listened further, I soon heard a description of a very different kind — the reality of sobriety. It is a reality of freedom and happiness, of purpose and direction, and of serenity and peace with God, ourselves and others. By attending meetings I am reintroduced to that reality, over and over. I see it in the eyes and hear it in the voices of those around me. By working the program I find the direction and strength with which to make it mine. The joy of A.A. is that this new reality is available to me.

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When you are trapped in any sense of the word, gaining the release that life’s passersby take for granted is a private miracle that is hard to describe. Only my fellow sufferers and those very close to us get how powerful living becomes in the face of this transforming program. When one ancient prison door after another begins to swing wide, the success of my journey in AA recovery is undeniable, even in my lowest moments.

From the Daily Reflections of February 25;

In God’s economy, nothing is wasted. Through failure, we learn a lesson in humility which is probably needed, painful though it is.  (As Bill Sees It, page 31). 

How thankful I am today, to know that all my past failures were necessary for me to be where I am now. Through much pain came experience and, in suffering, I became obedient. When I sought God, as I understand Him, He shared His treasured gifts. Through experience and obedience, growth started, followed by gratitude. Yes, then came peace of mind — living in and sharing sobriety.

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In one of my favorite Alanis Morisette’s songs called “Thank You,” there is a line ; How about not equating death with stopping. To me, failure is a small dose of death to help me acclimate to that part of me which is pure energy riding on an organic body. Often times, it is necessary to fail in the carbon-based interactive matrix in order for me to awaken to my spiritual reality. Then I connect with others in a way that grants permission for all of us to live in the magical realm of the spirit.

“Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence”

~ Alanis Morisette

From the Daily Reflections of February 24;

I try to hold fast to the truth that a full and thankful heart cannot entertain great conceits. When brimming with gratitude, one’s heartbeat must surely result in outgoing love, the finest emotion that we can ever know.  (As Bill Sees It, page 37).

My sponsor told me that I should be a grateful alcoholic and always have “an attitude of gratitude” — that gratitude was the basic ingredient of humility, that humility was the basic ingredient of anonymity and that “anonymity was the spiritual foundation of all our Traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities.” As a result of this guidance, I start every morning on my knees, thanking God for three things: I’m alive, I’m sober, and I’m a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. Then I try to live an “attitude of gratitude” and thoroughly enjoy another twenty-four hours of the A.A. way of life. A.A. is not something I joined; it’s something I live.

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My gratitude branches from relationships with my God, my others, and myself. Good relationships on all three fronts are possible because of my recovery from alcoholism through the 12 Steps of AA. These three points of connections are bells sitting side by side, and I cannot ring one without causing vibrations in the others. Yet, I am grateful that all three of my bells get rung, not just vibrated, and none are muffled with fear and shame.

From the Daily Reflections of February 23;

Such is the paradox of A.A. regeneration: strength arising out of complete defeat and weakness, the loss of one’s old life as a condition for finding a new one.  (AA Comes of Age, page 46).

What glorious mysteries paradoxes are! They do not compute, yet when recognized and accepted, they reaffirm something in the universe beyond human logic. When I face a fear, I am given courage; when I support a brother or sister, my capacity to love myself is increased; when I accept pain as part of the growing experience of life, I realize a greater happiness; when I look at my dark side, I am brought into new light; when I accept my vulnerabilities and surrender to a Higher Power, I am graced with unforeseen strength. I stumbled through the doors of A.A. in disgrace, expecting nothing from life, and I have been given hope and dignity. Miraculously, the only way to keep the gifts of the program is to pass them on.

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I remember in my teen-aged years discovering the existence of paradox. I was amazed at the power of this one grammatical concept that would escort me from the childhood world of absolutes to the esoteric chambers of depth in thought. I even love the structure of the word that begins in the smooth feel of para- like some elegant seductress and ends with the authoritative command of -dox, as a tyrant’s boot slamming onto the floor of a raised stage.

When I walk up to a paradox, the first light of my consciousness only reveals contradictions.

“What a pity that youth must be wasted on the young.” – George Bernard Shaw

“I can resist anything but temptation.”-Oscar Wilde

“Men work together whether they work together or apart.” – Robert Frost

Then I see the secret door they are guarding and I push past them and enter the room to discover a mind altering idea that demands meditation in order to absorb. “She is drowning in the fountain of eternal life.” I push past the horror of impending death and the security of immortality and find hidden away a meditation on obsession.

There are many paradoxes I have been introduced to in the rooms of AA, such as the reality that accepting powerlessness is the first step in becoming powerful. Or that you have to give it away to keep it. Then there is the paradoxical reality that my recovery is a selfish program, and that I must be rid of “this” selfishness or kills me. Most spiritual pursuits are littered with paradoxical roots and the 12 Steps are no different. There is always more depth to discover as I meditate on the mysterious paradoxes of my own recovery.

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From the Daily Reflections of February 22;

. . . this means a belief in a Creator who is all power, justice, and love; a God who intends for me a purpose, a meaning, and a destiny to grow, however . . .haltingly, toward His own likeness and image. (As Bill Sees It, page 51).

As I began to understand my own powerlessness and my dependence on God, as I understand Him, I began to see that there was a life which, if I could have it, I would have chosen for myself from the beginning. It is through the continuing work of the Steps and the life in the Fellowship that I’ve learned to see that there is truly a better way into which I am being guided. As I come to know more about God, I am able to trust His ways and His plans for the development of His character in me. Quickly or not so quickly, I grow toward His own image and likeness.

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Knowing God has generally been a tall order for me. I have greatly desired it but God seems to speak quietly while I listen loudly. For me He is energy in all its forms, and I am one of those forms. This undiscovered and thus still invisible energy is all pervading and continuously connective. My finite mind looks out into this boundless entity and pins abstract notions of connection such as justice and love and power on the Spirit’s kiss in my life. My knowledge of this Intimate Everything is peculiar to my created form and expression. My life is God-breath and my awareness of this reality is an ongoing process. Seeking sobriety was a major milestone in that journey, yet it is so much more than that. May our Higher Power, in its various forms, guide us all.

From the Daily Reflections of February 21;

At once, I became a part — if only a tiny part — of a cosmos. . . . (As Bill Sees It, page 225).

When I first came to A.A., I decided that “they” were very nice people — perhaps a little naive, a little too friendly, but basically decent, earnest people (with whom I had nothing in common). I saw “them” at meetings — after all, that was where “they” existed. I shook hands with “them” and, when I went out the door, I forgot about “them.”

Then one day my Higher Power, whom I did not then believe in, arranged to create a community project outside of A.A., but one which happened to involve many A.A. members. We worked together, I got to know “them” as people. I came to admire “them,” even to like “them” and, in spite of myself, to enjoy “them.” “Their” practice of the program in their daily lives — not just in talk at meetings — attracted me and I wanted what they had. Suddenly the “they” became “we.” I have not had a drink since.

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To be honest this feeling of seeing others in the program as a “we” instead of a “them,” is an off and on experience for me. Sometimes I have moments, even periods of time, where I feel true unity with others in the Fellowship. I know how important connection is in overcoming that deadly brand of selfishness that festers in isolation. So I do my best to keep making meetings, keep making small talk, keep calling my sponsor and others in the network. This is something I desire and need, but is also something that is very difficult for me to achieve in the face of my recurrent social anxiety. The more face to face time I can embrace in this program of recovery the more my life becomes stronger in the group.

From the Daily Reflections of February 20;

At this juncture, his A.A. sponsor usually laughs.  (Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, page 26).

Before my recovery from alcoholism began, laughter was one of the most painful sounds I knew. I never laughed and I felt that anyone else’s laughter was directed at me! My self-pity and anger denied me the simplest of pleasures or lightness of heart. By the end of my drinking not even alcohol could provoke a drunken giggle in me.

When my A.A. sponsor began to laugh and point out my self-pity and ego-feeding deceptions, I was annoyed and hurt, but it taught me to lighten up and focus on my recovery. I soon learned to laugh at myself and eventually I taught those I sponsor to laugh also. Every day I ask God to help me stop taking myself too seriously.

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Laughter is a way of connecting. Apparently our brains respond to true laughter with a shot of dopamine as a reward for making human connections, which has been a big part of our evolutionary success.

“Dopamine is a neurotransmitter that helps control the brain’s reward and pleasure centers. Dopamine also helps regulate movement and emotional responses, and it enables us not only to see rewards, but to take action to move toward them.” (Psychology Today).

I know that there are social connections that help ensure my survival, strengthen my durability, and point me toward prosperity. The gatherings that help me stay sober are the ones I want to be a safe haven for the dopamine trigger of laughter. Taking myself too seriously will make my brain believe it must hide, and I do not need that fearful isolation. I have often been given AA’s Rule 62 when I am falling prey to morbid self-reflection; “Don’t take yourself too damn seriously.”

From the Daily Reflections of February 19;

In the beginning, it was four whole years before A.A. brought permanent sobriety to even one alcoholic woman. Like the “high bottoms,” the women said they were different; . . . The Skid-Rower said he was different . . . so did the artists and the professional people, the rich, the poor, the religious, the agnostic, the Indians and the Eskimos, the veterans, and the prisoners. . . . nowadays all of these, and legions more, soberly talk about how very much alike all of us alcoholics are when we admit that the chips are finally down.  (As Bill Sees It, page 24).

I cannot consider myself “different” in A. A.; if I do I isolate myself from others and from contact with my Higher Power. If I feel isolated in A.A., it is not something for which others are responsible. It is something I’ve created by feeling I’m “different” in some way. Today I practice being just another alcoholic in the worldwide Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous.

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I did not like the idea of being one among many cattle to be processed through with the herd. It felt like a way of being dismissed as an individual, and that is something I have resisted both in virtue and in vice. Yet the result would often be my own dismissal of life giving connections and direction when I insisted that my disease required it’s own special vaccine. The way I live my spiritual life may be unique, but the way I destroy myself is a common human affliction. Addictions of various forms, but most certainly alcoholism, has ripped through the fabric of mankind’s historic move from survival to dominance on planet Earth. My individuality did not create it. So both the power of  the disease and the development of its solution come from the group. When a predator of any form wants to consume the flesh from my bones, it is good to embrace strength in numbers and become one among many.

From the Daily Reflections of February 18;

. . . there was nothing left for us but to pick up the simple kit of spiritual tools laid at our feet.  (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 25).

My first attempt at the Steps was one of obligation and necessity, which resulted in a deep feeling of discouragement in the face of all those adverbs: courageously; completely; humbly; directly; and only. I considered Bill W. fortunate to have gone through such a major, even sensational, spiritual experience. I had to discover, as time went on, that my path was my own. After a few twenty-four hours in the A.A. Fellowship, thanks especially to the sharing of members in the meetings, I understood that everyone gradually finds his or her own pace in moving through the Steps. Through progressive means, I try to live according to these suggested principles. As a result of these Steps, I can say today that my attitude towards life, people, and towards anything having to do with God, has been transformed and improved.

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I am persuaded that an instantaneous spiritual experience is not the property of the individual who encounters it. That experience belongs to a community and the individual provides an injection of inspiration and guidance for them. I believe this is why such experiences are far less common than the demand for work toward spiritual progress. My Higher Power seems to value my individual work rather than obtaining a perfect supernatural experience. We see a burning bush and exclaim, “miracle!” The God of my understanding sees a burning heart and replies, “No, that is the miracle.”