A Few Interesting Comments

[Anja]

I was just half-listening to a program on public radio. Because of that my attention wasn't fully engaged until I realized that something was being said which called my notice.

A former drug dealer in recovery with the AA program was talking about his life and his recovery. A man called in who "used to do a lot of pot but now used it wisely." He made a comment that he had once tried AA but couldn't get his mind around the HP concept.

Also mentioned that some people, such as himself, had a good reason for using because he had so much more pain and trouble with living problems than some other people do.

Gee, that sounded familiar. I listened to hear how the former dealer would answer. And he did such a beautiful job of explaining his perception.

I've heard it put so many ways before, but never as well as he did. He talked about whenever he was altering his mood he had already accepted that there was a power greater than himself - drugs. They could do for him something he wasn't able to do without their help.

Then he went on, a bit firmly, that why he used was a question for his child-mind. He said, "'Why" is a question for children; 'How" is a question for adults."

I felt so inspired by his solidity and willingness to let go of understanding in order to truly understand that I had to drop in and post it for others.

AA hugs, All.

[tim-one]

Thanks Anja. That's a great, simple, poignant AA-like observation.

Gotta store that in my other brain-cell.

That toker said exactly why I'm here. A moment of clarity in the haze convinced me that I was medicating the pain instead of having the surgery to eliminate the cause. So I finally went in for surgery.

I guess he never had pot good enough to say "I saw GOD, maahaan" like I did one day.

Love,
Tim-one

[Anja]

Thanks for responding.

I love those little "Ah ha!" moments. And when I remember to pay attention they just continue to come. Maybe not so often as in early recovery, but they are still there to call me to attention to my main purpose.

My first one was pretty crude. I was in my favorite bar, climbed up onto a stool and flashed one of those charming smiles at the man sitting next to me, a total stranger. We all know what those phony smiles look like - the addict's smile which says, "Buy me a drink."

He leaned away from me and with a look of total disgust on his face said, "Do you always get this drunk?" Rude man! Jerk! I slunk off totally offended as only a drunk woman can be.

But those words, and especially the look of distaste on his face, stayed with me. Are with me still after thirty some years.

But that uncomfortable moment (and aren't the first ones always uncomfortable?) woke me, if only for a brief second, out of my pretend world where I was a delightful companion and very clever. And I found myself in the bar bathroom looking in the mirror at a woman whose make-up was smeared and hair was not neat, trying to flash my "charming" smile in the mirror and really seeing myself for the first time in a long time.

I don't advocate unkindness as a deliberate method for "waking" alcoholics but I treasure that moment when a rude, and yet genuine, stranger rang my first wake-up call.

I want more of those, of course. The key is remembering to pay attention!

Sometimes when I forget HP rings the bell. Thanks for that. Hadn't been aware until the other day that HP was also Public Radio. Heh.

[tim-one]

OOOOOhhhhh, yeah. I remember bars. I haven't been a bar kinda guy for a couple of decades. But I sure started out that way during my young gonna-live-forever-and-tear-up-the-world days.

Do you read the Poems forum? I posted "Remember?" under that heading. I wrote it when I was 25, still partying in the bars having a great time. I guess that was a moment of clarity I should have paid more attention to. But I sure GOT IT way back then ... the "phony smiles" on everybody.

Go read it. You might not like it just right. I mean you might like it because it hurts just right.
Whatever... It sounds like you'd understand me.

I was just as unpretty. Everybody knows that all the girls get better looking at closing time. I call that "Booty is in the eye of the beerholder".

There's no telling how many nice people I pithed off trying to be crudely funny, or saying something stoopid. I know I nearly got the crap beat out of me often. And even then, I would wake up in the morning and think, "I shouldn't be home alive. Must be a miracle."

God bless ya, Anja. It's not supposed to be fun to remember. But we GOTTA! That me disgusts me. What a CONTRAST!

I had a flash the other day. (Am I talking too much?) Drunks laugh a lot together with their drunk stories. They're bragging. AAers laugh a lot together about their drunken foibles. We laugh at the irony of how stupid we were. And we laugh together because we can't believe how much we identify with each other.

To make sure I remember, I go back to my rehab center where there are a lot of people with one foot still in hell and a lot of people who are closer to heaven trying to pull them up. Best of both world. Rememberance and hope.

HAhahahahhahah ... yep. God radio. Now it's like we have a tooth filling that picks up radio in our heads. IF we stay spiritually fit, that is.

Love,
Tim-one

[Dallas]

Thanks for sharing!

Dallas

[Anja]

Guess what happened last night at my Happy Hour meeting.

A newcomer came in and asked if we could talk about reasons why we drank!

HP is sailing right along with me. . .

Glad it's Public Radio. No commercial breaks!

[Anja]

More. Helping someone die is hard work. But I've felt my deceased father's presence nearby lending encouragement to us all.

Mother's Day my daughter gave me a fuschia plant. They are in slim supply around here. Dad used to give me one every year.

She called me last night to tell me that her grandpa seemed very near to her right now. And that there was just that one, very nice, fuschia plant when she went to buy my gift. She remembered that he had usually given me one and thought of him when she got it.

Then something unusual happened, she said. (My father's name was Bergene. An unusual name.) She said just as she was paying for the plant another nursery worker walked by and said something about a new variety of plant which had arrived. The name sounded like, she said, "Bergenias."

But even more. I sent some vintage hollyhock seeds to a cyberfriend in KA three or four years ago. We hadn't communicated in over a year. She was building a home in the country and was looking for some hearty plants.

I told her the story of the seeds. That they had come from my home place and were over a hundred years old. That my father had tended them and many flowers and vegetables in our yard. So I had taken some from there when he died so that I could have his presence near in the summer.

Yesterday, out of the blue, I received a one-line note from her. It said simply. "The Bergenes are up and thriving." I never told her to call them that!

Messages of hope and comfort. Big smiles here.