Waking Up Sober

There’s no hang over. The room isn’t twirling.I’m not asking myself what I did last night.  Not so much what I did, but what did I say that I might regret.  I’m not wanting to die. I’m not hating work and the human race and wanting to curl up in my bed and never come out.
Instead, the soft light of dawn comes through the window panes.  I step out of bed softly.  The way the light falls on the bed is beautiful. I’m happy.  I look forward to the day.
Crossing the living room I enter the bathroom where I have an old beat up tattered and torn copy of Around the Year with Emmett Fox. It’s pleasant to sit on the toilet and read today’s passage.  Metaphysics is science and art. We learn by doing. And there’s a quote from James, “be ye doers of the word."
I’m thankful to be sitting on the toilet and not on my knees beside it with my head down the hole, retching. Retching beyond retching, dry heaving, like soiled seizures, without the comfort of coma.
I sit down to meditate. I pray to my Higher Power.  At the advice of my spiritual friend, Willie, I’ve been praying to the Holy Spirit.  My sponsor, Bernie, called his Higher Power, Holy Spirit too.  I talk to Jesus sometimes still. Then there’s a pantheon of names of God that blindfolded men have used to describe the elephant.  God is infinite, finite, omnipotent, omniscient.   Holy of holies.  I go on in my head detailing all I think I know.
Recently I’ve been riding my Harley Electraglide motorcycle to work listening to Steven Bell. Two refrains from his music  play over  again in my echoing brain:”We’re not alone” and “It’s always been about love”.  We're not alone. It's always been about love.
As I’m sitting quietly considering my breathing, repeating Psalm 23,  I hear the little guy get up.
Gilbert, the cockapoo is my room mate.  I saw him laying stretched out on my bed when I woke up. Now he makes his way over to the couch where I’m sitting cross legged. He jumps up to sit beside me. I feel his paw on my knee.   “It’s always been about love”
I open my eyes. The little guys big brown eyes are looking at me expectantly. One paw on my knee. He's made his morning greeting. It's my move.  I hug him, roll him over and rub his tummy and chest.    He squirms with joy.
I go back to meditation.  A little while later he’s sitting beside me, again,  with his paw on my knee, big brown eyes boring through my closed eye lids.   I know I shouldn’t reward this ‘behaviour’.  I should focus on my meditation. I should listen carefully for God. I should be focusing on my ‘quiet time’.   "It's always been about love".
 I look the happy fellow in the eye turn him over on his back and rub his chest for a longer while.  Then I go back to meditating, thinking too that he came over when my mind was wandering, wondering about the external manifestation and synchronicity and flow.  I’d begun thinking ahead too, to my day, worrying about the myriad of details that could overwhelm me, the recent crisis of betrayals, mutiny, disruptions, equipment failures,  physical threats, world war, zombies, alien invasion.
He next appears with a ball.  I get up then. We're not alone.
Years ago I remember kicking my dog, Shinto, hung over, him greeting me with wagging tail and me pushing him away and then kicking him as I staggered to the washroom to be sick on a country morning.  I wish I could take back that shuffling kick.  After he came back and licked my foot worried he'd hurt me. Shinto was a saint sent to be with me through the end days and early days.
After him, still early days though I didn't think so, came Stuart, the white Scotty.  The drug dealers who threatened me ,wanting me to pass their marijuana dirty urines so they could get high paid government jobs. When I wouldn’t, they poisoned Stuart.  They sent me a “message”.   Cowards.  I didn't pass their urines dirty urines but years later you could hear my voice at the biker rally when Steppenwolf sang out, Goddam the Pusherman.  And we all sang along remembering friends and family the slime had killed.    
I put the coffee on.   I like that I’ve fine coffee, my own stove and coffee maker.  It’s mine. It’s not rented. I own this. I pay taxes.  I’m a contributing citizen.  I put on the kettle for the instant porridge. Once hunting with my friend Luke, he brought these little packets of delicious.  I don’t know if I had encountered them before, but they tasted so good on that trip in the woods with all that camaraderie and humour, I just love having them now for breakfast.
I started feeling irritation about this crisis at work that has been thrown at me.    Enough time in the day for that later.
I moved my mind instead to remembering the wonderful woman who stepped forward to assist. She makes me wonder about genetics and pedigree.  Her family overseas is royal blood.  She has that fundamental understanding of ethics and morality along with a joie de vivre, immense talent,  skill and training.  She's been a blessing.
Rather than thinking about the negatives I focus carefully on the positives.  It takes effort. It doesnt come naturally any more.
In passing, sipping my hot delicious coffee, of the the group I was with yesterday. I find myself dwelling more on  the one person who I think wrongly or rightly doesn’t like me.  Then thought I see the ridiculousness of my thinking.     I let this person go and conjure up the smiling wise faces of those compassionate understanding old souled people that I hung out with.
In my head  realize I'd began writing a poem for the negative one, about their emotional land mines, their judgementalness and insecurity but stopped myself. I thought about the soft spoken worker, that Brother Lawrence in our midst.  I could so easily be distracted by the drama queen desperate approval and miss Brother Lawrence.
I see myself about to campaign, to run  Napoleonic war, with the emotional maturity of  5 year old or at most a 13 year old girl. This person likes me, this person, that person doesn't. She loves me , she loves me not.   Here I'm Napoleon again and I’ve taken Germany and Italy, but I still have to assault Russia with my charm,  good grace and diplomacy.  I caught myself almost taking her bait. She's erected walls and moats and hurled down flickering eye lids of burning oil glances and I'd stood 'bewitched'.  Meanwhile Mother Mary, Magdalene and St. Theresa of Avilla are all glad to talk to me.  I just wasn't giving them my attention. Meanwhile Russia isn't all about me, either.  
I conjure up my personal Mother Mary. She’s always true and curious. I love her curiosity and good will.  I envy her too.  Still,I want to think her life was ‘easier’ than mine, ‘more privileged’, ‘richer’. I want to dismiss her radiance and goodness.  I want to make unfair comparisons. I want to chop off the heads of others to make myself taller. But I can’t. I think of her and it’s just ‘all about love’. “I like Steve Bell,” she told me once.  Agape is what C.S. Lewis called it.
After being sick I used to have coffee and run through my mind all my enemies.   I never even thought about ‘winning them over’. I just imagined hunting them down and doing abhorrent things with their exposed intestines.  Mostly I scowled.  I’d take a couple of cups of coffee and fifteen minutes or so to ‘compose myself’. Then I’d " force myself" to do what I had to do blaming everyone else for my ‘having’ to go to ‘work’ , "having to put up with idiots’, "having to be diplomatic’.  I wanted my personal army, my personal rocket launcher and I wanted to nuke all the silly little girls with their ‘wrecking balls’ and their insufferable prissy little begging boys.  I felt sore that I was born out of time, fully equipped for a western but deprived of a Mexican cantina, some easy wrench and an obvious bad guy.  I always wore the white hat in my own drama. I even wanted my own spaceship with lasers. I couldn't be satisfied with a sunny day in the summer when I wanted a spaceship with quantum generators and planet killers.
Today I tell myself I have to be nice to those not nice to me, if only to reduce the blow back. I think Karma isn’t some intellectual thing but rather a spiritual law. The golden rule, is just that. Be unto others as you would have them be unto you.  I’m still trying to be more forgiving.  We talked about my ex wives yesterday.  I can list my own faults ad infinitum today and even think about theirs. Mostly I remember their infinitely smooth skin, the sweet smell of their hot sweat and the warmth of their exquisite miraculous bodies. We were all so young, yesterday.
I hope I do better today.  Today is my new canvas.  It’s time to shower.  Dress.  It’s a new day.  The wreckage of the past is lying out there somewhere. I don't expect to encounter it today. Mostly it's all new.  Only I'm projecting the past onto the present. .  And I know, “We’re not alone’.
“It’s me against the world,” I used to think.  I was an angry Bruce Lee.  After a days war I could settle down for a drink.
Today I’m really happy with the peace.  Especially the peace of mind.  Nothing tastes better than a tall glass of sparkling spring water too.

Forgiveness

Jesus taught Love God and Love your neighbour as yourself. The Lord's Prayer says "Forgive me as I forgive them."

Emmett Fox teaches that to have a resentment is to hold the delinquent prisoner. The trouble with having a prisoner is that it automatically makes you a jailer. Therefore you and your prisoner are in jail. To set yourself free he says to sit quietly, read a Bible passage to help centre oneself, then tell God I forgive this person by name. He goes on to say that once you've forgiven the person ask God to set you free from the resentment and the person.

There are people who are delinquents in my life. These people have attacked me, thieves, liars, false accusers, and their supporting institutions, and government who bites the hands that feeds taking my tax dollars to hurt me, they're all fairly easy. I don't want the psychopaths and sociopaths and corrupt government institutions in my life so I can ask God to free me from them. The trouble is I've little resentments about even those people I dearly love. I don't want to be free of them. I want to be less sensitive and less judgemental and more protective and discerning.

Right now, in this day, I'm blessed. I've prayed as Emmett Fox taught. We're all God's children. We're all interconnected. We're all facets of God. The world is a reflection of my self in some ways and vice versa. The answer is always love.

Fox teaches that when that person or institution comes to mind again we just bless them. We don't need to keep forgiving them over and over and going through a formal ritual. Just 'pray for your enemies', bless them and hope that they stay away and you don't attract any more like them.

Jesus says we should clean our house of demons and not let even one back in because they bring their friends and next thing your house is no longer a temple of God.  That goes for 'peace of mind' too.  Those who meditate call the mind 'monkey mind' because it's all over the place.

I have so much to learn and the practice is truly onerous. I remember Willie Gutowski, the minister and psychiatrist, saying that the mind is like a radio and that we should keep it tuned on the God Channel. He joked with me saying, maybe I should use both hands. At that time I'd bought a really cheap truck radio. Whenever I hit a bump, like train tracks, it would suddenly skip from the gospel channel to heavy metal. I'd be forever putting it back on the channel I wanted, whatever that was.  The synchronicity of his message and my having that radio really struck home.

Today I'm still trying to keep my mind on the God channel, staying positive, using the up elevator. It's like riding my Harley motorcycle though . I dare not lose focus or I end up in the ditch.

All those who have hurt me knowingly and unknowingly, I forgive. All those I've hurt knowingly or unknowingly, I  ask that you forgive me.  May we all be released from prison. I don't want to be a prisoner or a jailor. I want to be joyous and free as God would want me.  Those I love and those who love me, I ask God that I might learn to love and be love more humbly and more fully.




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Frost on Dock, Vancouver

Gilbert woke me up this morning. Even though I went to bed around 11 pm, he'd crashed right after eating, having had a truly great dog day running all over fields and parks. His normal wake up time is 730 am. I like to sleep in an hour more on the weekend. I think he may even know that. He jumps into bed at 730 and curls up beside me leaning against me. I think that's his 'subtle' way of saying, if you want to get up and get me food and take me for a walk, I just wanted you to know I'm here for you. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

An hour later he pressed up beside me again like there wasn't that much room on the bed for him. It's really love. So I began to get up. Suddenly like a proverbial puppy shot from a cannon he's in my face licking away while his paws are baby punching me and trying to circle my neck. This is what I call my wet alarm clock.

 I decided to dress and take him for a walk. I worry about his bladder which is probably bigger and better controlled than a camels with all the piddling he does on every tree in the forest. My dressing makes him even more ecstatic so there's lots of circles.

 I'd read an Emmett Fox passage in the bathroom. He said the first attribute of God is life. God is alive and where there is life there too is God. The greatest expression of life is joy which he says is a combination of Love and Life. The Bible says we are to be joyful and in joy we meet with God who is life and joy and love. I always like the image in the Bible of David dancing when I think of joy. But joy was also on the face of the father in the parable son tale. Gilbert is joy incarnate.

The dock is covered in frost. My first thought is the water is frozen. Gilbert though leaps to the dock and careens down it's length only to run sliding back to me. Then he's sniffing every crevice for something new. He's forever like the story of the boy in the basement full of manure with the man. The boy is happily digging and looking everywhere while the man stews. Eventually the man asks the boy doesn't he realize we're in a basement of manure. Of course I do, answers the boy, but with this much manure there just has to be a pony somewhere. That's Gilbert.

I look up and it's a truly beautiful day with blue sky and sunshine. This is such a change from the gloomy rainy days we're used to in Vancouver. The air is crisp. There's fresh snow on the mountains making the white caps look simply pristine. Gilbert is prancing down the street looking in the bushes. I'm limbering up. It's a glorious new day. Gilbert does his business. It's healthy and good. On the way back I increase the pace to a brisk walk. I'm working up to joy. I wouldn't want to blow out a circuit board with a surge.

Gilbert's detoured by the place where his little yorkie girlfriend lives. I think he leaves especially fragrant notes for her to find where her mistress takes her out in the morning. Romance is surely in the air. I get back here to the computer and Gilbert's girlfriend Aim is has written him us a note saying she is getting married to Mark this summer. Gilbert's been invited to a traditional Thai wedding. Gilbert's ear perk up when I mention her name.  He's really happy for Aim and likes Mark too.

Now Gilbert's had a Little Caesar and drunk more water, he's gone back to bed. Joy is a bit exhausting. I'm thinking a little nap right now would be joyful too. After that we'll make our way to church for praise, worship and thanksgiving. Gilbert will be in joy all over again to see his friend Alice. Maybe Father Mark's dog Bear will be there too. Personally I'll be talking to God about a whole lot of other things.  I'll add joy to the list today. Life is to be loved and love and life are joy indeed.

Grave Robbing

Emmett Fox warns against 'grave robbing'. He describes grave robbing as bringing up negative events and times from the past and going over them in one's mind. Reading this the smell of putrefaction came over me. It wasn't bad enough that the poor times of the past were revisitted but in the enclosed space of my mind the stench was almost overwhelming.
In therapy we 'share' and 'review' events together that we have commonly perceived erroneously alone. What we think is a failure is merely a 'bike lesson'. One falls down often to learn to cycle. Just as a child learns to walk by falling so we learn to love and grow in so many ways.
When I extract events in isolation from my past and nurse the pain of them I'm 'graverobbing'.
It's often dwelling on 'resentments' too which allows me to wallow in self pity and then behave in the most uncivilized and immature ways because I have a 'good excuse'. I rationalize my behaviour today based on ancient history. Grave digging serves this purpose.
What I need to do is focus on the present and on loving. Grave robbing is seriously sick and at the very moment these negative past remembrances try to invade my mind I must stop them on the beaches with love or simply ignore them by distracting my monkey mind with higher more important matters such as those of the present. It's called the 'present' because it is God's gift to me and to you.


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Unity of Vancouver

I finally made it to Unity Church.  It's located at 5840 Oak Street Vancouver BC V6M 2V9.  I first heard of it from Dr. Bernie Klassen. He said he had attended Unity and spoke fondly of his experience. Bernie took me to my first 12 step meeting nearly 15 years ago.  Once when I was feeling very down I called Bernie and he invited me to his home. There he just took out his banjo and played and sang "How Great Thou Art. " It was exactly what I needed to get me over that seemingly insurmoutable hurdle over a decade back now.
I was encouraged to read "Sermon on the Mount" by Emmett Fox because this was one of the books that the first 50 members of AA had read before the Big Book of Alcoholics was even written. It was in that time that the miracle of Akron occurred.  Later the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous would be the cornerstone of what went on to be the 12 step movements in general.  As a researcher I 'd taken a greater interest in the origins and seeds of this movement reading Rev. Frank Buckman's writings in the Oxford Movement, and Moral Rearmament, Rev. Sam Shoemaker, the Episcopalian, Father Fred Dowling the Catholic mentor of Bill Wilson and such.  Dr. Bob and his wife recommended daily Bible readings and the early 12 steppers were so fond of the book of James, the James Club was one of the names considered for the group.  Emmett Fox's, Sermon on the Mount and The Golden Key were recommended readings then in the 'fellowship' and are still today though not 'approved' literature of the AA Corporation.  In fairness the Board of Directors of the 12 step programs  they have kept their focus narrowly on the illness addressed by each individual organization.
The Christian view of the individual is that of one who is 'broken in spirit' or a sinner, ie 'off the mark. In contrast to the 12 step movements the Christian message is more generic. In many ways the word 'addict' means 'idolater.'  CS Lewis, the great Christian philosopher would say "why look in the wall for the Architect'. Yet that's exactly what the addict does, literally worshipping something of the material world. To the Christian this material world is illusory, the permanent world being spiritual
Unity Church of Vancouver is a lovely facility. The chairs are cushioned and the whole atmosphere is conducive to reflection.   The music was provided by piano and the piano player was truly accomplished  singing solos with a bit of a jazz bent.  Rev. Glenn and Martha Mosley opened the service sitting together at the front before we all rose to sing songs of celebration.
Years back I had spoken to the previous ministerial team a couple of times on the phone  and knew they'd be sadly missed.  Glenn and Martha have now arrived and those I know, like Fred, who attends Unity religiously, speak highly of their leadership..  I enjoyed listening to the audio tapes of the former pastor as they were so uplifting and inspirational .  Glenn and Martha have that same calm and confidence.  Martha lead us all in the opening prayer:
"There is only One Prescence and One Power active as my life and as the universe, God the Good, Omnipotent."
After we all sang The Lord's Prayer, Martha lead us in meditation focussing our attention of  love and the healing heart.
Glen's "sermon' which was  called a 'sharing of ideas' at Unity  was an interesting discourse on humanity and spirituality spiced with anecdotes fro m his long experience in ministry.
Before I knew it the service was over which was surprising because I confess I'm a squirmer if church goes too long.  There were refreshments but I could not stay as like Frost I had 'many miles to go' today.
I know so many people from 12 step programs who have found that Unity Church ran so closely parallel to the spirituality people find in Recovery.  It's not surprising given the overlapping roots of inspiration these organizations share.  As well, from what I know, Unity puts more emphasis on the mystical and spiritual than some of the more mainstream churches that have focussed more on community and prayer for instance.  The Catholic Church as an example has great focus and depth of spirituality with the teachings of St. John of the Cross and Thomas Merton but this emphasis is more likely to be found in the monasteries than in urban cathedral.
I look forward to returning to Unity.