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." 

Tug of war....

James Arthur Ray says:

Humans are both biological and spiritual beings. The spirit desires expansion -- that's where we get the idea to attain a goal in the first place. Our biology, however, dictates that we seek security and safety -- that's why we feel resistance to anything unfamiliar. So the spiritual impulse is to grow, and the biological impulse is to keep things as they are.

 

Chuck C., in his speech that became the book A New Pair of Glasses, quotes from Hindu scriptures the first verse of the Isha Upanishad:

The whole world is the garment of the Lord. Renounce it, then, and receive it back as the gift of God.

On page 68 of the Big Book Alcoholics Anonymous, pay attention to the word "Just:"

Just to the extent that we do as we think He would have us, and humbly rely on Him, does He enable us to match calamity with serenity.

I've been struggling with trying to understand how to remove a self-imposed ceiling on success. Over a period of several days since I first started the draft of this entry, God's been actively working on telling me. I've been listening, absorbing, becoming open to his input. Chuck C, going on from the quote above, says that as long as something meant something to him, he couldn't have it. He admonishes us not to do anything as a means to an end---even to the extent of doing something to get to heaven. We don't act nice so somebody will love us, we don't limit ourselves so we won't draw attention to ourselves, we don't work hard to get ahead and have a secure income and protection for ourselves and our loved ones. Those aren't necessarily bad things to try for, but tyring for them he describes (the examples are mostly mine and not his) as self-robbery. He tells us to be good for nothing. My editor friends would have a field-day trying to edit that sentence. I have a feeling it needs a dash or something, but I like it the way it is. I'm going on that goal--being good for nothing. I'll strive to figure out God's will for me at the moment and do that, leaving the rest to him.

Perhaps the best thing of all for me is to remember that my serenity is inversely proportional to my expectations. The higher my expectations of Max and other people are, the lower is my serenity. I can watch my serenity level rise when I discard my expectations. But then my "rights" try to move in, and they too can force my serenity level down. I have to discard my "rights," as well as my expectations, by asking myself, How important is it, really? How important is it compared to my serenity, my emotional sobriety? And when I place more value on my serenity and sobriety than on anything else, I can maintain them at a higher level--at least for the time being. (Alcoholics Anonymous, 4th edition, page 420)

 And finally:

 

To yield to "seeming" is man's essential cowardice, to resist it is his essential courage. -- Martin Buber

 

So, I'm off to be good for nothing.

Off the radar--until today.

Had I sat a thousand hours, intent on honest self-examination, my list of character defects wouldn't have included anxiety. In the first place, it doesn't seem like a character defect. In the second, it didn't seem like my character defect. But that's what God's got me focusing on today.

Angeles Arrien wrote:

Anxiety is an energetic experience caused by holding back. Basically, it is the state of frustration. It is the experience of having abundant energy but not knowing what to do with that energy, or it's a lot of energy that's being contained or held back, which will produce anxiety or the state of strife.... ...creative power that does not want to be limited, restricted or restrained, and desires full expression....

Any holding back or self limitation will move you into that state in alchemy which was known as  leaded consciousness.... In states of anxiety or strife you have difficulty accessing inherent wisdom....

This Mac computer's internal dictionary gives the definition "a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome." At that I chuckle. It's that feeling Dr. Silkwood described as he wrote for the Big Book:

Men and women drink essentially because they like the effect produced by alcohol. The sensation is so elusive that, while they admit it is injurious, they cannot after a time differentiate the true from the false. To them, their alcoholic life seems the only normal one. They are restless, irritable and discontented, unless they can again experience the sense of ease and comfort which comes at once by taking a few drinks -- drinks which they see others taking with impunity. After they have succumbed to the desire again, as so many do, and the phenomenon of craving develops, they pass through the well-known stages of a spree, emerging remorseful, with a firm resolution not to drink again. This is repeated over and over, and unless this person can experience an entire psychic change there is very little hope of his recovery. (Alcoholics Anonymous, pages xxvii-xxix)

Of course we overeaters see the same addictive behavior in ourselves, the same restlessness, irritability, discontent -- the anxiety. Funny, how sticking a new name on something I already identified with gives it new life! In the next paragraph, Silkwood says:

On the other hand -- and strange as this may seem to those who do not understand -- once a psychic change has occurred, the very same person who seemed doomed, who had so many problems he despaired of ever solving them, suddenly finds himself easily able to control his desire for alcohol, the only effort necessary being that required to follow a few simple rules.

So, the message of the day is that the necessity for computer games and unplanned eating goes away along with restlessness, irritability, and discontent, and creative energy flows unchecked when we go back to the source, check in on that psychic change, and remove the blockages of our own will from God's taking our lives and rocketing us into the fourth dimension. I lived yesterday without computer games, and the food came close to plan. That's a way to describe yesterday from the standpoint of anxiety -- the things I avoided with God's help. Now, let's see what can happen with the same behaviors when the negatives aren't in charge, anxiety is swept away with other defects that stand in the way of my usefulness to God and my fellows, and creativity's cage is crushed.

My Creator, I am now willing that you should have all of me, good and bad. I pray that you now remove from me every single defect of character which stands in the way of my usefulness to you and my fellows. Grant me strength, as I go out from here, to do your bidding. Amen. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 76)

In the clutches....

"Serially obsessive." That's how I've described myself for years. The obsessions varied over the years, including genealogy, medieval history, knitting, crewel embroidery, counted cross stitch, refinishing furniture, writing a macro in Word that would have generated a long involved court order with MANY variables but actually resulted in killing at least two hard drives, teaching myself html coding, photography, the history of women in my profession, crossword puzzles and, alas, computer games. The computer games have varied over the years beginning way back when we got an old TI-99A4 computer for the boys and I taught myself to get through all the levels of the original Mario Brothers game. Lately they've been sudoku, Yubotu, and word drop. But they're insidious.

 

I admitted another compulsion that came into my mind with clarity on December 17, 2006, that being the obsession with food, with compulsive eating. It's not serial. It's parallel with all the rest all the time forever. Computer games and compulsive eating. Totally different animals. But it's the same illness, and when one rears its head, its sister accompanies. I have not played a computer game today. I have not eaten compulsively today. I will not play a computer game today, with God's help. I will not eat outside my food plan today, but that's impossible on my own strength.

 

How good can you be? More specifically, what level of achievement is permissible for you? What's the picture of the pinnacle of success for you? The Nobel Prize? An Oscar? A New York Times Best Seller? Establishing a Fortune 500 business? Election to the Senate? Amassing a hundred million dollars? What's the top?

 

Is it okay for you to get to the top? That's the question that set me back, that started my almost intentional procrastination--chronic low-intensity fear. My actual answer is easy. No. It's not okay for me to get to the top. Of course that begs the hard one, WHY!!?? Simple answer? You might see me.

 

That's ludicrous. I'm a public figure. I give speeches, take a leadership role in most things I participate in, stick myself out for you to see. How can the answer be "you might see me?" Expectations. I was raised with high expectations, the duty to be educated, to be a professional, to be a leader. And I've achieved that. Yet the achievements match or reflect those of most members of the family. What if I let go and lose control? What if I chance to reach one of those superlatives? OR HIGHER! Ouch! That's terrifying. Harrowing. Paralyzing.

 

Yeah. Paralyzing. If I stay here, if I fall backward, if I wander around on the same plateau, you won't look at me. But if I really let go and let God have control of my life? What if he reached my wildest dreams for me? My wildest dreams are nightmares of embarrassment, of being in the limelight. Help!

 

Tomorrow's Yesterday

 

It's more comfortable to sit in a corner

than to sort out a meaningful path,
to stay in stasis at yesterday.

I meant for my life to matter,
I yearn for difference tomorrow
though comfort means to sit around.

 

How boring - though safe - to sit around,
sucking my thumb, a tot in a corner
hiding from fear of tomorrow,
fear of the forks in the path
but heck, does it really matter
whether I fear the unknown or yesterday?

 

How soothing is the fiend yesterday?
Resentments dance with shoulds around
oughts and regrets. A trivial matter
lurks there for years, leaping from a corner
into my way, blocking the well-chosen path
to imagined triumphs and honor tomorrow.

 

What if I fall on my face, humbled tomorrow
as I have been these countless haunting yesterdays?
Does nobility, courage of the chosen path
shine brightly, or does disaster peek at me around
another inevitable blind corner -
ubiquitous "theys" say only todays matter.

 

I could have been a contender. I could matter
in grand schemes of the history of tomorrow.
Does fame - or infamy - lurk around that corner?
When I look at the future as another yesterday
will it seem to have changed for I was around?
Will admiration trace my innovative path?

 

Like Merlin, God lives backwards, the path
clear from one end as the other, matters'
meanings unmuddled. He turns around
and surveys, satisfied, countless tomorrows
and the coming versions of yesterday
laid out clearly, unblocked by turns and corners.

 

God's present, around as I ponder each path

knowing what a corner may hide. It doesn't matter

I can't see tomorrow. It's my God's yesterday.