Shutting It Down

An old high school picture of mine. Unlike me, the pipe was unlit at the time of this daguerreotype.  Good vittles in that sack, too. Go West, young man!

I debated yesterday whether to keep this blog going or to shut it down.

Actually, it was over the last two nights that I had a deep internal committee meeting a la Star Chamber and weighed out the pros and cons of keeping this little thing up and running.  I wasn’t sure if I was reaching enough people, or if this little Dear Diary had run it’s course, or if perhaps I was outgrowing it.

Judge #1: The paragraph you just wrote is chock full of lies.

Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about.  {shuffles feet, looks outside window}

Judge #2: Tell them the truth.

Me: Look, I am just writing what’s going on with me.  I don’t really care what others think.  This is just my corner of the world, and I am being as honest as I need to.

Judge #3: You’re wrong.  You do care.  Being honest as you need to got you drunk. Whether by omission or commission, you are lying.  Be true to yourself.

Me: But –

Judge #1: Do it.

You’re lucky you’re alive to this point, Mr. S. Now get with the loofah and scrub clean.

Ok, so here’s the real deal.  The last two nights I thought about abandoning this blog and all my online recovery activities because I was having little tantrums inside.  The kind of kid-at-Walmart-who-can’t-have-a-Dora-Splashpad kind of tantrum.  And what, say you, would those tantrums be about?  What is making Paul want to take his ball and go home?  What is little Pauly Wally getting his knickers in a knot about?

Old Paul has entered the playground, and he now wants that same ball and wants to play dodge ball with Current Paul’s head.  Old Paul sees that he’s not getting from others what he should be getting from within, and from the Playground Monitor upstairs.  Old Paul looks around and sees that everyone else has nicer, shinier balls.  Balls! Balls! Balls! With Nike swoops and jubbaloops and meant for hoops. With new flimmers and flammers and right fangled bammers.  Hocks and docks and Reeboks you say? Oh day! Today! Oh tish oh tat we wouldn’t do that! *

So in looking outward for validation and acceptance, I have also don on the filters.  For the last week or so I have been looking at life through the lenses of jealousy, envy and ingratitude.  I have been looking at others and counting their blessings.  I have taken out the Universal Ledger from the vault and marked the sheets, unbalancing the scales and finding myself at the lower end of things.  I have been putting expectations on others to make me happy.  And when they haven’t succeeded (how could they?), Old Paul comes out like a Grizzly new out of hibernation – on the prowl for prey to cause pain to.

I’ve been meaning to read this…really I have.

Pride and Ego,paired like Jaws and Oddjob, are relentless foes.  Pride is actually the one wailing on me with gold embossed knuckle bars right this moment as I write this.  I mean, should I just put this the draft folder and forget about it?  “You don’t want to look weak, do you?  Man up, Buttercup! You gotta keep up appearances, ol’ chum.  Sod off if you want, but don’t bring me down, ol’ fruit. ”  Biff! Thwock! Shwaff!  Ego is keeping pace, egging Pride on, taking in his shots now and then too. Whock! Klam! Fa-thud!  “Aren’t you supposed to be positive one, the helpful one?  Aren’t you supposed to be all knowing? It’s all or nothing baby!”

And all or nothing is how I stumbled through life.  If I couldn’t be the top of the heap, then my head crept under the pile and stayed there, bottle in hand to keep me company.  A dung beetle with his prized poop, in his Den of Desolation.  I had to be number one, or else I smelled like number two.  That’s just how things were, but there are times when Old Paul likes to bring that old chestnut out, bang the tambourine and make a charge for the top of that heap once again.  And once again, like always, I see that I cannot be on the top of that heap and have fallen down in disgrace and realized that since “all” wasn’t happening, “nothing” was next.   And hence, the thoughts of removing myself offline.  That’s about as “nothing” as I can get, because pulling the plug on my existence in cyberspace is as good as pulling the plug on my existence on this earthly plane.  And I did that regularly, with drink(s) in hand and a mind ready to be erased like a hard drive through a magnet spell.

Starring me!! And then you’ll like me…you’ll really, really like me!!

And again, what is really so bad that I get my bash-on and dash-on?  I can’t pinpoint it.  Oh wait, I can –  I haven’t been working my program like I ought to.  I haven’t been to a meeting in weeks, all but one of my sponsees have disappeared or just doing their thing and not reaching out to me, I have been neglecting my prayers and meditation and I’ve been becoming more and more reclusive.  Going online has been what I have been doing more of lately, and there is where the experience of having expectations on others has germinated.  So if I am not out there, then I am here. And here, I am far from the King of the Castle.  I don’t have the following I would like, I have been bashed for several of my posts by others, I am not bubbly enough to be popular and I am constantly jumping from twitter to blogs to recovery forums trying to give my $0.02 in hopes that I will be given a bone – yap! yap! they like me! {eats a shoe}

Ugh.  Pathetic.  Makes me cringe even writing this.  And the ugly circle is this – the more I use my time in trying to be “popular” or “respected” or “liked”, the less time I use to devote to my own inner life recovery and the less inner life recovery I have, the more I try to have others like me.  Got it?  Are you keeping score at home ? I’m confused too, but that’s really what has been happening for me lately.  So, getting tired of this flawed perpetual motion machine, I am ready to jump off and just forget the whole business.  Get back to the farm, so to speak.  Till soil and tend cows.  Reap the earth.  Sew buttons on hemp clothing and search the sun for inspiration.  Watch goats give birth and wean and play with the pigs in the mud.  Simple stuff.

Who am I kidding…I don’t even like camping.

Seems like I’m not the only one who wants it all…

Enough of the problem.

Solution time, my main daimies (Google it.  Best. Movie. Ever)

I texted my friend John (who has about 25 years sobriety) about my state of affairs, whinging and moaning about, he texted me this first line:  “Do Steps 1 and 2.  Maybe 3”.  Five seconds later he followed it up with “Now.”  Yikes!  So what he was telling me was the simplest thing – get over yourself.  But in a nice way.  Or not.  In other words, I have to remember that of myself, I am nothing. I can’t manage things on my own.  But there is one who can help me, and that’s the Creator.  No problem too big for the Big Enchilada.  So finally, lean on Him.  Let Him run the shop.  Just sweep the floors and wash the windows. Let him come up with the Big Plan.  Have a ham sandwich during break and lock up before heading home for the day.

So it comes back to looking within for my sense of self and serenity.  I cannot find it out there.  I can’t look at how popular other people are, how handsome they are, how well off they are, how good they smell (?) or how many others clamour for their attention.  I have to ignore the noise and look here {points to solar plexus}. Here is where I will find what I need.  Here is where the magic will flow out of.  Here is where love and fulfilment will nest.  And all the stats and hangers-ons and shiny new balls will fade away into my blind spot, into the arena of the unnecessary.  They will start to shut down. Continuing to look inward and having His will guide me through me and throughout me is where I need to put my trust in.  Not numbers and phone calls and emails and other external only things that give the illusion of affirmation.  Things that are see-through and wispy. Things that don’t hold sway in His world.

Envy Plucking The Wings of Fame

I see where I am at, and I see where I want to be….and I am not there. And that isn’t the plan.  That isn’t what this is all about.  It’s not my plan.  It’s His.  I am where I need to be.  Cliched.  Oh hell ya.  But the more I resist it, the more I find it true.  I can’t recall ever looking back at where I have come and said to myself “Oh yeah, I shouldn’t have been there at that time at that place doing what I was doing”. No – I was exactly where I should have been at those place doing what I was doing.  And not because I necessarily wanted to be there doing those things.  I don’t like a lot of where I was doing what I was doing, to be honest.  But to get here, I had to be there.  And for me to get there, I need to be here.  A journey of transitions, of marked conversions and evolution, fluxes in the infrastructure to herald the greater good.

Movin’ and groovin’, baby.

What this means to me now, as I hunch here writing this, is that I need to sit quietly.  I need to contemplate my state of grace, my path, my immediate now-ness.  And let the rest ride.  Completely.  Let that mutha’ ride out. Because I am not in charge.  I do the things I need to do of course, and I take the path that I need to in keeping me on the beam.  I pray, I meditate, I don’t get caught up in the externals.  Re-connect with Current Paul.  Continuing Paul.  Growing Paul.  Forget Old Paul and his henchmen.  Stand on firm ground and let the wind of His Spirit warm me over, enveloping me with further grace and love.  Spread the word.  Make someone smile every day.  Be kind to animals.  Play with the kids.  Be nice to old folks.  Fold the clothes and take out the garbage without being asked.

The other day, I was sitting still in meditation, allowing the soft sting of frankincense curl around my nose.  I focused on my breath and allowed the rhythm put me into a state of harnessed gentleness.  I then arose, read a little and decided to nap.  It was upon napping that I woke up to a song in my head.  I sometimes find that I get little “messages” through songs.  Doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.  On this day, I had Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are” swooning and swarming around. I hadn’t heard it in years, and yet here it was.  The lyrics “I love you just the way you are” were going over and over in my head.   Cue the sax solo.  I know I am loved as I am right now.  I know that I am where I need to be, and can’t look outside myself to create happiness.  It’s an inside job.  And what a deal it is.

If I can only remember to get myself out of the way. Shut Old Paul down and keep on swimming over here.

* Apologies to Theodor Seuss Geisel aka Dr. Seuss