my Champion

You'll hear people at meetings tell where they got sober.  "I got sober at the Clustercuddle Club of Inbred Antelope, Oregon," or "I got clean at the Relapse Row hall in Festerville."

In Seattle, you'll hear people talk about getting sober at Fremont.  But, there's a small distinction: some people - not so many these days - got sober at 'The Old Fremont'.  That'd be the first Fremont hall; down in the Fremont neighborhood.  It's moved a few times that I know of.  When I got introduced, it was on 85th street, next door to a bar.  Now, it's on Aurora.

The people who got their start at the original hall have to be fairly old by now; I've been clean for over two decades, and I still don't date back to the 'Old Fremont' days.  Having got into recovery young, I'm a middle-aged man by this point.  The 'Old Fremont' folks are just flat getting old.

And one of these folks from 'The Old Fremont' was an old (well, old when you're a twenty-one year old kid) hippie-esque lady who had an unimaginable twelve years in recovery.  She might have been fifty back then, which would put her into fairly advanced years nowadays.

She had sharp features, with a tongue and wit to match; brunette hair, and tended a little bit towards the Rubenesque.  Her wardrobe featured a lot of purple, and she drove a Dodge Dart.  And, she was one of those people who was never 'too busy' or 'too important' to help somebody else.  A very, very kind soul.

I remember her showing me how she used a computer to talk to to other people on something called a BBS.  There was a process of logging in, and then lines of text would appear, preceded by carats, floating on a black screen.  Yes, this is some time before I'd ever heard of facebook, twitter, apps, chat rooms, or (God help us all) AOL.

Although I didn't know it at that time, I've come to suspect that I might owe my continued membership in MSA (and possibly even recovery) to her efforts.

One of the things my Champion was known for was her insistence upon following the Twelve Traditions.  I can still remember how she'd say that early on, there were some people (misogynists, or whatever) who'd want to saddle her up and ride her around the meeting hall, and how she'd "bonk 'em with a Tradition."  The Traditions kept us all safe from each other.

She was emphatic that these twelve guidelines were something to adhere to steadfastly, if we were to survive.  And, that meant without exception.

In retrospect, I think that some of her vociferous call to stay on the 'straight and narrow' were in response to a few people wanting to make an exception for me.

Having lost a friend to alcoholism in the closing months of 2009, who had got a resentment against a member, which festered into a resentment against the membership... I don't know if I'd have relapsed if I'd been kicked out.  But, my grasp on recovery was tenuous at best - whether it would have taken more strain is up for debate.

I wish I knew anyone who could shed some light on my dim memories.  If anyone reading this remembers any of the people... I'd love to hear from you.

-M

me, myself, and I... and chasing the dragon

So, I've got this buddy who has taken to telling me that our egos are really just these monsters in our heads, that are perfectly willing to kill their hosts rather than be proven wrong.  Or something to that effect.

I don't think he really understands this, but when people start talking to me about psychology, philosophy, morality, or politics, episodes of Rocky and Bullwinkle or Yogi Bear start playing in my head...

(Yogi:  "Hey Boo Boo, I say we go pop a cap in Mr. Ranger's ass, and take all the pic-a-nic baskets for ourselves."


Boo Boo:  "Uh, I don't know, Yogi, that's some straight G-shit.  You sure got hard when you was in the joint.")

So, when I'm not re-imagining Hanna Barbera cartoons, I'm usually thinking about myself.  I'm not always selfish (not always), but I'm damn near always self-centered.

Splitting hairs?  Nah.  Selfish looks like me trying to get the last donut in the box before you do; self-centered just means I'm thinking about me.  Sitting and thinking how much I hate myself is every bit as self-centered as trying to maneuver you out of the room so I can get that last donut.

Now, sometimes I don't think kindly towards myself.  More often, I'm just kind of wandering through life, thinking about what I want; trying to maximize the benefit to myself in situations without lying, cheating, or stealing.  But, most of the time, I'm projecting how other people are going to think about me depending on my earnings, my job title, and what I say, drive, wear, or do.  Add it up, and I spend damn little time focused on anything other than myself.

I suspect I'm not alone in this.

So, it hit me the other day, what the elusive benefit I get out of meditation is:  I sometimes get a few moments where I don't think about myself.

Most of the time, I'm sitting there, trying to listen to the different levels of sound on the tamboura; and almost immediately, I'm thinking about myself thinking about how well I'm listening to the tamboura.  Then, I'm thinking about how I'm thinking about myself.  Next, I'm in a recursive loop, and think about how I need to quit thinking about the fact that I'm thinking about stuff...

But, there are moments, where I don't feel my forefinger touch my thumb; I don't feel my hands on my lap or my butt in the chair... and I don't think about anything.  I just hear myself breathe, ("hommm...  sooo....  hommm... sooo..."), and hear the rhythm of the strings on the instrument being plucked (without thinking about it); the buzz of the its bridge, the harmonic overtones that swell and recede, and the subtle interplay of undertones that make an ever-changing riff that's just at the edge of what I'm able to perceive.

Then, it's back to "me".  And, I'm off, chasing the dragon; trying to lose myself again...

I've also had a few other times in my life where I was able to be 'in the zone' and not 'in my head'.  In other words; where I was "present", and not focused on my ego.

These times include sex, and when I'm drag racing.  In fact, I've had times where I was at the track, sitting in the staging lanes, then pulling up to warm the tires and position the car at the start line... that were something I can't describe with words.  The world ceased to matter to me; the car in the other lane, the spectators, my buddies at the track - gone.  Just my car/self and a christmas tree (the starting lights).  Time actually seems to slow down.  Sounds are easily heard, but not at all distracting.  For a few seconds, there is no "me" yapping between my ears.

A few moments of precious freedom.  It can literally be life changing.

Even in car accidents, I'll think about how to minimize the impact; where to steer, how to brake.  And, I worry about what people will think.  Stop and think about this: I was driving down the street; someone in an oncoming car drove into my lane, and I was worried about what my wife would say about totaling her car.

I was more concerned about how I was going to tell the wife than I was about getting injured.  Part (a large part) of me would like to take a jab, saying that I had good reason.  But in actuality, it's just proof positive of how strong my ego's drive to be the center of attention is.

In 2004, I went to a seminar called The Landmark Forum.  There was a lot of talk there that had me reverting to clips of Bullwinkle ("Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat!").  But there was a lady there who described the process of giving childbirth, and how this ordeal was followed by a sublime moment where she looked directly into the eyes of a brand new human being.  And in that moment, there was nothing else that mattered in the world.  Oh, and that this might be why she has eight kids.

A few moments of freedom from self.

I wonder if this "self" is the price of the free will we have.  As I write this, it seems logical that I might want to consider setting "self" aside.

Let's face it, the most sublime moments in my life are when this happens.

-M