The Taproot

The principle that we shall find no enduring strength until we first admit complete defeat is the main taproot from which our whole Society has sprung and flowered. (Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions [AA], pages 21-22)

The taproot, on researching a bit, seems to have several interesting characteristics. Obviously the first is that it is a long root that in dry soil reaches way down for water. But that's not from research, that's from living most of my life in arid country. The research indicates plants sometimes start with a taproot then develop a system of roots called fibrous roots, meaning roots spread out and near the surface. Lots of plants that stay with the tap root modify that root into a system of storage, as in a beet, a carrot, or an onion. The kind of soil affects the kind of plants growing there, with deep rich soils leading to plants with taproots and clay soils promoting something I would have thought to be an oxymoron, multiple taproots. (I also learned the adjectival form of clay is not clay but clayey. But I digress, which normally means I'm avoiding talking about what I set out to explore, and which is true now.) 

The passage says our taproot -- the taproot of the Alcoholics Anonymous society and therefore by extrapolation the taproot of each recovery program -- is complete defeat. What does the taproot do? It stores food. Defeat is what holds us in OA or other recovery programs, the fact we've been there, done that, don't want to go back outside again. What does the taproot do? It gets down deep enough to get water. If water is the source of all life, the substance and essence of what we have to have for life to evolve, does that make water God? At least metaphorically? Probably. Actually, I think physically too, but I won't get into that argument here alone.  

On rereading, it doesn't quite say that complete defeat is the taproot of recovery. It says "the principle that we shall find no enduring strength until we first admit complete defeat is the main taproot." So it's not the defeat itself. If it were, everybody who commits suicide or who launches into a binge or the equivalent fully knowing the result is to walk away from the program, from the steps, would be automatically fixed up. It does come back, where the paragraph started, to the fact that humility is the basic ingredient, the spicy secret that makes the recipe the recipe. We first humble ourselves, and with that, the program becomes something more than the precarious holding on without humility. And it goes on to say real happiness doesn't happen without humility. Yeah. I can see that. And in a Grapevine article in June, 1961, Bill W said we get a daily dose of humility by avoiding the bog of guilt and rebellion on the one hand and on the other, pride. So the taproot, the supporting infrastructure to recovery, is to stay on that straight road without losing my focus and wandering off. Let's see. 

Today was good on the food, and I accomplished big things but turned some to the games instead of to God when the things I accomplished raised raucous emotions.   Tomorrow will be better, a step closer to understanding just what God's will for me is. Good night.

Step One

In the next couple of weeks, I intend to read through the AA 12 and 12 and assess my situation as I near the second anniversary of my finding OA. It's an appropriate time, a time when the struggle is just as real as it was when I walked in the doors, though at a different level. I've gained a substantial recovery; I have many miles left on this journey, one step at a time.

"It is truly awful to admit that.... we have warped our minds into an obsession for destructive drinking that only an act of Providence can remove it..." 

We have warped our minds. That doesn't say our minds have been warped. The subject of the sentence is "We" meaning "I." I have warped my mind. I think of the old spiritual, "Not my brother, not my sister, but it's me, Oh Lord, standing in the need of prayer." Warped. To become bent or twisted out of shape, typically as the result of heat or dampness. It can be either a transitive or an intransitive verb. Here, we have warped our minds. It's transitive. The subject, person or thing doing the action is we (I.) The thing acted upon is our brains (my brain.) I talk about the idea that when I point a finger at somebody, pointing out a problem, three fingers point back at me. This one is saying that they're all pointing at me, that there's only one culprit and it is I. I don't like that. 

"No other kind of bankruptcy is like this one." The talk in the news these days is of whether or not it benefits the big three auto companies to be rescued or whether bankruptcy is both inevitable and beneficial. Bankrupt. Declared by law to be unable to pay outstanding debts. Impoverished or depleted. Lacking in a particular property or value (as in morally bankrupt.) It says addiction has become a rapacious creditor. Grasping or greedy. From an old word meaning to snatch.  The rapacious creditor, bankruptcy in the AA 12 and 12, compulsive eating and other compulsive behaviors for me, bleed us (me) of all self-sufficiency and all will to resist its demands. Once this fact is ACCEPTED our bankruptcy as going human concerns is complete. What the heck does acceptance have to do with it? This is one of those things where the actor and the acted upon are way too close to make sense. I wrote a poem the other day about this kind of language in the 3rd step prayer:

Actively Passive 

"I offer myself to Thee...." 
Interesting verb, offer, 
not passive, for action 
affects the object, myself — 
not the subject, I. For me, 
what's the difference? 
Me, myself, and I maintain 
the ultimate symbiosis. 
Yet here the verb looms large 
for the indirect object rather 
than a tail wagging 
below the diagram stands 
unequaled, omnipotent, omniscient. 
The subject and object stand 
equally passive, but out of respect 
actively passive. 

 

So, when I have managed (finally??) to totally warp my mind into such an obsession (can a mind be warped into an obsession? Aren't we mixing metaphors here?) that only God can remove the obsession, then I'm bankrupt, bled dry by the addictive behaviors, and the blood is my will and my self-sufficiency. At that point my bankruptcy as an ongoing human concern in complete. An obsession is a thought or idea that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a mind. So the thought or idea or behavior becomes the mind itself? And that impoverishes the mind, kind of like malnutrition? (talk about mixing metaphors.... sorry.) Malnourished by no longer having self-sufficiency and will to resist. Which makes not only the mind bankrupt by my being a going human concern. I guess that means the system closes in on itself, implodes. 

My exposure to bankruptcy courts has been one of confusion and bewilderment. And abject humiliation, not that I've ever been bankrupt financially, but just dealing with bankruptcy law itself is enough to make me absolutely humble and contrite, to want to walk away and leave it alone and let other people more apt than me to understand the intricacies work through it. And the utter frustration that made me quit practicing law in a bankruptcy court rings true in my dealing with food. I can't handle it. I'll walk away and leave it to other, more intelligent beings. God, you ready to take over?

Simple. Destruction of Self-Centeredness

Bill W's story gives the first description of the promises:

My friend promised when these things were done I would enter upon a new relationship with my Creator; that I would have the elements of a way of living which answered all my problems. Belief in the power of God, plus enough willingness, honesty and humility to establish and maintain the new order of things, were the essential requirements.

Simple, but not easy; a price had to be paid. It meant destruction of self-centeredness. I must turn in all things to the Father of Light who presides over us all.
There were revolutionary and drastic proposals, but the moment I fully accepted them, the effect was electric. There was a sense of victory, followed by such a peace and serenity as I had never known. There was utter confidence. I felt lifted up, as though the great clean wind of a mountain top blew through and through. God comes to most men gradually, but His impact on me was sudden and profound. (Alcoholics Anonymous, pp. 13-14)

It seems that most often I've looked at this as a conversion experience. This morning when I read it, I saw it as a working the steps experience. It's both, but I've never felt the need for a "conversion" and am comfortable with my relationship with God. But this and something my sponsor told me this week are rolling around on the table of my mind, working on me at this point. My sponsor said:

Continue to pray for the belief that God will restore you to sanity in the area of compulsive overeating and computer games. The greatest thing we need is not to do things, but to believe things. A willingness to believe is the cornerstone. To believe is to commit....

Food and computer games or any other deterrence is only a symptom of our spiritual problem. The twelve steps does not ask us to do the things that are naturally easy for us. They only ask us to do the things that we are perfectly fit to do through the relationship with God, and it is from God the help will always come. "Our real purpose is to fit ourselves to be of maximum service to God." p. 77, BB.

Our ideals must be grounded in a power greater than ourselves if we are to re-create our lives. In order to be grounded there are roots that need to be dug up. That is because selfishness - and self centeredness - are the root of out troubles. As Bill W. wrote; "His roots grasped a new soil." p. 12, BB

"Enough willingness, honesty, and humility," Bill says. How much is enough? Enough to establish and maintain the new order of things. Okay. I got the establish bit done. I've got that much of enough. Maintenance? Oops. Not enough. Enough willingness, honesty, and humility. Like it says, simple but not easy. It takes the destruction of self-centeredness. Can I stay close to the center? In the picture? Can't I worry about seeing to my needs a little bit? Can't I address my own comfort? Nope. "A price had to be paid. It meant destruction of self-centeredness." That's a direct hit, not collateral damage, not a wound, not a dent. Destruction of self-centeredness. But isn't it worth it? Isn't feeling as good as I feel when I'm "in the zone" worth it, destroying the me who's made me miserable? Yeah. It is. "Continue to pray for the belief that God will restore you to sanity in the area of compulsive overeating and computer games. The greatest thing we need is not to do things, but to believe things. A willingness to believe is the cornerstone. To believe is to commit."

I burned the rolls.

Chuck C said:

It's quite possible, gentlemen, that the only bondage there is in this life is absolute freedom under law.... You can do anything your immagination can conjure of if you are willing to pay the inevitable consequences of your thought and action.

Jesus said: 

Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.

I remember an incident some thirty years ago. My husband, his parents, our young son and I were in a fast food restaurant on Ben White in Austin, many years before Ben White became a freeway. Some part of the food or service displeased my husband, and everybody in the establishment knew of it. I was so terribly embarrassed. I don't actually remember how that event became an object lesson, but in my mind it marks the concept that nothing anybody else does, even family, is my responsibility. I'm only accountable for my own acts. Of course that's reinforced by OA and Twelve-Step work. 

Yesterday, Thanksgiving, was not an ordinary day, not even an ordinary Thanksgiving. We spent the morning in an emergency room, husband bringing me home to do our part of the lunch to take to share with other family members, while he went back to wait for our patient to be patched up and released. I cooked the rolls. Too well. I burnt the rolls. The tops were fine. Some of the bottoms were too brown. Some of the bottoms were too burnt. I took them and the other three dishes I'd put together and, when husband and the patient arrived, we sat down to eat. He asked me if I was responsible for the burnt rolls, and I said yes. He said when we got home he couldn't believe I'd burnt the rolls. He got up this morning demanding to know why I'd burnt the rolls, what I'd been doing. I had chosen not to give my explanation of what happened because it was an excuse, not a reason, a justification, not a fix. I did give it to him, answered his questions. And felt sorry for him. He's in the position I was those long years ago, embarrassed by a spouse's wrongs. I can forgive myself, did rather easily, though it's not that I don't regret what happened. Yet I did not and have not obsessed over it, and the others at lunch took it in their stride. We didn't go hungry. 

I started Thanksgiving from a shaky platform of one day's abstinence from computer games (again) and that day's clean compliance with my food plan. I wasn't perfect. I no longer have to be perfect. I made some choices that may not have been my strongest choices, but they were miles ahead of the choices I'd made Tuesday and days leading up to then. And I'm okay with the choices yesterday. And today will be as clean as Wednesday was. The bondage of absolute freedom under the law resonates with me today. I'm not willing to make the poor choices that I can make, absolutely legal (speaking in the traditional sense, not the sense we've used the word in our household for years to describe "in compliance with the diet du jour") and acceptable. The rest of the world can take my errors in stride. Nobody, not I nor husband nor even God, needs to bemoan them. But I do not want to pay the price of not working this program, not walking the steps to the very best of my comprehension and ability and in God's absolute will today. Or tomorrow. Or for the rest of the days of my life.

Thankful for Desperation

It's that time of year, a time of thankfulness, for counting blessings. And it's a time for gathering of families and, customarily, for overindulging in food, fluids, and friction among family members and others. For me it's also a time of renewal and regeneration, for recommitment. I've been falling into old habits lately, and I reached the point of desperation, of realizing what I was doing to myself. I'm glad it happened yesterday, so I can establish today a day of right living, of doing what's good for me rather than what placates me and dulls emotions, of failing to live in recovery. And I am today living in recovery. Today I'm eating from my meal plan (and only from my meal plan) and I'll not open a computer game. It finally (I hope) has gotten through my head that when I decide it's okay in the late evening to open a computer game that within a few days, that will be out of control one more time and the food will deteriorate right along with it. There's nothing wrong with eating good food. Unless it's an addiction, unless it's done for the purpose of tamping down emotions. There's nothing wrong with computer games unless it's done for the purpose of tamping down emotions and unless it's responding to an addiction of procrastination, of not doing the things that are good for me.

I've had it with computer games. They're a thing of the past. And I hereby commit to broadcast on this forum the FIRST time I open a computer game from this point on. And I've got enough pride not to tell the people who matter to me, who read this forum, and therefore I'm saying I'll call you (or write you) and that will save me from me.

So, today I'm glad for the desperation that drove me back to working the program and walking the steps.

One of the things I've done that's good for me this month is to participate in the Writers Digest poetry prompts with recovery poems. The one for today is supposed to be a call to action, and more fingers are pointing back at me than are poining forward:

Suggestion of Action

They're suggestions, the twelve --
the only suggestions we have.
We've rarely seen a person fail
who thoroughly followed our path,
who gave himself completely
to this simple program.
A "suggestion of death"
means the person is dead.
A suggestion of action
means action taken.
How do you follow the path?
By walking the steps.
When? Oh, the timing's up to you...

"a course of vigorous action"
"at once" "next"
Procrastination's an option:
chronic, low intensity fear.
You want to be miserable?
Okay. Procrastinate. Live in the fear.
You want recovery? Walk the walk,
step the steps, all twelve of them,
all the way to recovery.

to my sponsor's god

you didn't do bad

last night i told you thanks
for a lousy day and you
didn't get mad

i asked you to keep me clean
just today and somehow i am

i asked you to stop my dumb
mouth at the boss
he grinned when i left
said i'd done good

so thanks for a not bad day
can you do it again

i'd be much obliged

I'm participating in a poem a day challenge, writing recovery poems. This isn't me, it's my response to a directive to write a "praise" poem. But for some reason I felt like I needed to put this one out here on the web.

Trust

A recovery speaker I was listening to last night indicated all fear is based on self-sufficiency, on trying to be in charge of how things turn out, of having an idea we can control events and matters simply by doing "it" right. That resonates with truth for me. Especially this morning.

 

I'm red politically in a red state and in a position where active participation in political matters is prohibited. And this election grabbed my passion like only one previous has. And the previous one was local, long ago, and very personal. Two people I respect, love, admire, and know to be intelligent and thoughtful contributed to the blue vote count. Somehow that softens the blow. And I did feel it as a physical blow. But life goes on. And my program is solid today.

 

I'm reminded of the story in 2 Samuel 12. There is no need to mourn what could have been. My fear yesterday and in the preceding days was a failure to trust God, a failure to believe He's in charge. Freedom will survive. Life goes on. 

 

I had the flag out yesterday. I didn't put it back out this morning. I wish I had. Instead, I'll pray my newest favorite prayer, "God, I trust you."