Through the Red Door Blog

In an article in Shambhala Sun Magazine in September of 1999, Rachael Naomi Remen M.D., wrote: “Helping, fixing, and serving represent three different ways of seeing life. When you help, you see life as weak. When you fix, you see life as broken. When you serve, you see life as a whole. Fixing and helping may be the work of the ego, and service the work of the soul.”

When I was in seminary, I had an opportunity to spend part of my summer with youth who were, in one form or another, “handicapped.” On my first day I saw one coming down a flight of stairs in a wheelchair. Feeling scared for him, and not knowing what to do, I reported what I saw and, to my surprise, was told: “He’s really good at that.” I wanted to “help” but didn’t know what was needed of me. I saw a person in a wheelchair and concluded “helplessness.” I quickly learned these youth focus on their gifts and talents, not on their “handicap.” By the end of that summer I saw them as the artist, the writer, the photographer, and not “the handicapped” which is what society had taught me. I learned to ask, “Do you need help with…” instead of saying, “Let me help you with….

A few years later, as a new therapist, my supervisor told me: “Séamus, your role is not to fix or help the clients. Your role is to guide and encourage them to look deeper into themselves and they will find the answer they seek.” Here again, I wanted to be ‘the fixer” the “helper.” No one asked me to help; no one asked me to fix. My self-esteem was tied up in “helping” “fixing” as that is how I perceived the world around me, broken or weak. In my mind, I was, the one to help or fix.

My first few years in A.A. were years in a dry drunk. It was my belief I didn’t need any help or anyone to fix me. I was in denial of my illness. I had to attend AA to keep my job. In those early days I just knew I was going to be a great resource to the people in AA. because I had degrees in theology and counseling. The horse I rode in on was called Pride and very tall. It would be a few years before I fell off this horse and realize I was really a mule - hard headed, stubborn. I went on 12step calls to help “that poor drunk” and his or her family. I just knew if they listened to me, I could help them. As a counselor I was trying “to fix” the clients - I had forgotten what my supervisor had taught me. My attitude had become one of self-service, not other-service. I had forgotten a lot and lost a lot in Blackouts which I finally accepted I experienced.

I had to come to grips with my powerlessness; a deep realization that my life had become unmanageable. My bottom came when I finally realized I was among the walking dead – spiritually dead. It was at this point I was open to listen to others, to being guided by the principles of A.A., really listening at meetings and reading the Big Book and applying it to me.

Coming in early, setting up the room, staying afterward to clean up. - this was and is service. Attending the home group meetings, accepting or offering to serve on committees, was and is a work of service. To serve was and is to set aside my ego and learn to be present to the other, to be there for others. To serve is to do what is necessary without seeking acknowledgement. As Bill said “Our leaders are but trusted servants."

Becoming service orientated took some training. Being of service meant setting aside my ego, my sense of my self-importance and what I could do for others. It meant learning to stand back and see a larger picture. Being of service meant learning to understand that, what is often needed, is a sense of presence, a ministry of presence. Remen writes: “When we serve, we see the unborn wholeness in others; we collaborate with it and strengthen it. Others may then be able to see their wholeness for themselves for the first time.”     

With recovery I came to realize that my tendency to want to fix and help others was preventing them from developing their God-given gifs and talents. Being a servant, is simply doing ‘the next right thing,” staying sober one day at a time, maintaining an attitude of gratitude, and being the hand of AA when someone shows up to begin the road to recovery.

“Being of service meant learning to understand that, what is often needed, is a sense of presence, a ministry of presence.”

Séamus D.
New Orleans

In his book RECOVERY - the sacred art, Rami Shapiro writes: “Twelve step recovery is not a self-help program, but a selfless help program. We do not change our lives, we allow them to be changed…we allow ourselves to be changed. Allowing this is perhaps all we control, and even here it is more a gift resulting from hitting rock bottom than it is any willful force coming from our ego.”

To tell some folk in recovery that AA is not a self-help program may sound like heresy. Initially, the programed seemed to be to be a self-help program. After all, I had to do the steps, I had to go to meetings; I had to call my sponsor. I had to do all the work. No one did it for me. I had to find where and when the meetings were held and find a way to them.

>After attending the same meeting for some time, I was invited to come early and help set up, stay afterward and clean the ash trays (that was a long time ago). I did, but for selfish reasons. And even as it was for selfish reasons, I was being changed. I was giving up control without realizing it. My Higher Power was working through others to bring me along until such times as I realized that it wasn’t me that was working the program as much as it was my Higher Power guiding me through others to do the next right thing.

Looking back at that time, it was as if I was being carried along in a river of recovery with cliches and acronyms as life-preservers; one day at a time; do the next right thing; let go and let god; stick with the winners, HALT; Don’t get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired; HOW: Honesty Open mindedness, and Willingness.

Bill W. wrote: “What I needed was the humility of self-forgetfulness and the kinship with another human being of my own kind.”*  I had no idea I needed that and yet that was what was happening to me. I was not doing this on my own. I was being led by example, patience, compassion, unaware of my being reformed, recreated, restored to health.

In time I got to know that some of the men and women with whom I spent an hour a day were people of influence and affluence in society and yet, when we sat in that room, we were all of one mind. All that I knew of them initially was their first name and that they wanted to get or remain sober, which was more than I wanted at the time. In that room we were all one day or one hour away from a drink. The selflessness of the people around me was inspiring and I wanted to be like these sober individuals, even if it was my selfish intention. I was one of those individuals for whom my Higher Power works overtime. I had to be  guided, sometimes pushed, into the straight and narrow road not only in doing what was the next right thing but, more importantly, for me,  having the right attitude about what was being done.

Becoming selfless was a process and, for me, a long slow process.  There are times when I look back at those early days and wish I could have ‘got it” much earlier. And yet, because I was a slow learner, hard headed (hearted), I can now appreciate the journey to sobriety. Sobriety is a gift given to me by my Higher Power. I had little to nothing to do with it beyond letting myself be picked up and carried till I was strong enough to become a wounded healer.

I did not change my life. From the example of those who lived the program and worked the steps I saw what selflessness was about. Like a selfish child who does not want a particular present but still opens it, I did not want sobriety but it was presented in such a manner that I could not help but want it, then accept it.

Four and a half years into the program I declared bankruptcy I laughed and laughed. If the government came, they could take everything but my sobriety. That was when it hit me. “I am sober.” I had hit rock bottom spiritually and was given this gift of freedom. I had nothing to do with it beyond letting myself be carried, even when I didn’t want to. I accepted it grudgingly until I realized I was a danger to myself and others. As a result of living this program and working the steps I was gifted with a new life for which I am daily and eternally grateful.

Séamus D. 
New Orleans

I am fortunate in that I have not been hospitalized for any period of time. But with age moving us on its never-ending path of deterioration of body parts, at age 82 it doesn’t seem all that surprising that I just came off a 10-day hospital stay to correct a leaky valve, stabilize my heart rate, and install a pacemaker to monitor all this. The recuperation has been slower than I wished. But I know I’m on the right track. I also know that the recovery probably would be a lot more comfortable (especially to my family caregivers) if I just “let go and let God.” And I know from a medical standpoint, that my progress of recovery would be faster.

This alcoholic has always fought delays (defined as not getting something done as fast as I want it). It’s that old demand: “I want it done ... now.” It doesn’t matter that there are unavoidable delays or that others may have projects with more important shorter timelines than mine.

I think this behavior of mine is just another reflection of my ego always seeking to “run the show, that I can complete an assignment faster and better than others.” We forget that life’s normal traps catch us. We must remember that those traps can produce self-pity and resentments and pretty soon we recall that in the past, we resorted to the only remedy we had. We found a phony comfort and solace in that alcoholic behavior. We covered-up our feelings and didn’t seek real life positive remedies for this cycle which always ended in our dark pit of alcoholism and its familiar consequences.

Yes, I was in the hospital and now I am learning to walk with a walker, to regain 20 pounds, and accept the wonderful kindnesses of friends and family.  I think I have learned another lessen and accept (most days) other ramifications.

But, I need to constantly remember to let go and let God, “easy does it”, to take it “a day at a time,” and all the other teachings of the Big Book and working our way through the Twelve Steps.

Jim A/St. X Noon<</p>

P.S. There are many lessons experienced during a period of complicated medical treatment. I’ll pass along a couple in future writings. JRA

I remember attending an A.A. conference where the speaker told a rather detailed story of his life leaving precious little to the imagination:  robbery, sex addiction, jail/prison; drugs other than alcohol. His sharing of “what happened, and what it is like now” was minimal. Afterward, I learned from others I was not the only one uncomfortable with the “tell all” aspect of his sharing. For some, it was “embarrassing to listen to.” As one individual put it, “If I were a newbie and thought I’d have to share my guts like that, I’d go and get another drink.”

Oldtimers knew there was a healthy balance in the triangular framework of sharing “Experience, Strength, and Hope:” “What we used to be like; what happened and what we are like now.” Even when the sharing of ‘What we used to be like” was raw, it was raw “in a general way” and the “Strength and Hope” left the listener with a sense that this program works and could work for them. One could see the pain but also was left with hope and joy that, despite the past, there was a life after drinking.  Periodically one might hear the sharing of a “Drunk-a-log” – forty-five minutes about the speaker’s drinking history and five minutes of strength and hope.

Oldtimers in the program did not take kindly to Treatment programs, especially those that said “a month in treatment is as good as a year in AA.” Treatment programs were seen as: “Hand holding.” “Taking care of your inner child.” “Talking about your damn feelings.” I am one of those who benefitted from a treatment program having spent five weeks in a four-week program followed by Aftercare and individual and group counseling. I thank my Higher Power for every bit of that help. And yet, I was one of those who lived by a statement I heard very often in my formative years; “whatever you say, say nothing.”

To “say nothing” was a way of hiding behind one or other of the many masks behind which I hid, or thought I was hiding.” I thought I was giving the impression of “I’m not that bad.” That, however, was what I wanted to believe. By “saying nothing” I was deluding myself into thinking I was “alright.” When asked to share, I would say something to the effect: “My name is Séamus, I’m  an alcoholic, I grew up in a good family, I started to drink at age ___ I certainly did not think I was an alcoholic. I’m grateful I didn’t have any accidents, blackouts, nor was I ever in jail. I’m really glad to be here. Thank you for asking me to share.”

While what I said was true, I had still “said nothing.” I covered a multitude of ‘sins’ with my superficiality. In my mind I was thinking, “There’s no way I’m going to tell these people I did…” I felt scared. I didn’t want to admit it to myself. The philosophy of “say nothing” allowed me to be superficial even to myself.

One afternoon, a few of us were playing a game of cards and the conversation turned into an unofficial meeting. In that relaxed atmosphere, I found myself opening up, admitting I had drunk alone; I acknowledged I had had blackouts, and, internally, I was beginning to feel remorse for my past behavior. I was becoming human, a fellow human being with character defects and a disease over which I had no control.           

“Our stories disclose in a general way what we used to be like, what happened, and what we are like now” wrote Bill W in the Big Book. There is a difference between public confession and “saying nothing.”

Today, I know I have something to say; something to share – in a general way – that allows others to say to themselves, “I know what he’s talking about” or “I feel like that too.” Sharing my experience, strength, and hope has helped me grow up in this program in ways I never expected. Sharing and listening has helped me remember things I had blocked, that I had suppressed, and which I now needed to confront within myself, with my sponsor and sometimes with a counselor.

While I never did “tell all,” I grew up and discovered that my experience; strength and hope are important to me and to some others. I’m still not going to “tell all” but I have come a long way from the mentality of “Whatever you say, say nothing.”

Séamus D.

New Orleans, La.

Amy Jill Levine¹ calls the parables, Jesus’ Short Stories. Well, this one for Sunday about the wedding banquet and the guest thrown out for not wearing the right clothes, is a doozy! This does not sound like the God of our understanding to throw out this second invited guest because of what she is wearing. One interpretation of this story is that it is an elaborate allegory where everything has a deeper meaning.² Perhaps the under-dressed wedding guest gets bounced because she refuses to CHANGE. And the storyteller may not be talking about changing into different clothes either.

Like everything else in this story, the wedding garment has a deeper meaning. It is not a white linen suit lined with silk. It is a whole new way of life. For us, it is an invitation to a life in recovery, in sobriety, in a relationship with our higher power, a change where our life no longer centers on alcohol but on the God of our understanding.

This parable also reminds us of God's countless, daily invitations to come into our lives, opportunities for us to change. I remember so many chances I had to change but refused to act on them. I was driving after having too much to drink with my children in the back seat, and I heard a message in my head, “This is not right.” But I drove on. We often do not pay attention to those constant invitations, the moments of clarity, because our minds are deadened by drugs or alcohol.

We receive this invitation daily. Hourly we are invited to celebrate a new life with the God of our understanding. Our life before recovery was a constant refusal to CHANGE, refusing to believe that we needed help, thinking we could control our life, refusing to put our life into the care of God. We had become too comfortable wearing the old clothes of our old life, denying that a new life with tailor-made clothes was a possibility if we only sought help from others. I can remember walking through my kitchen and thinking, “I know I am an alcoholic, but I simply cannot live life on life’s terms without alcohol.”

Paul describes the wedding garment as "putting on the mind of Christ." Putting on God means surrendering, laying ourselves open to being made new. It means staying connected to God and being in relationship with each other. Most of all, it means living in the promise that we will know God and that God will indeed change us. My moment of clarity came when I had a realization that I could lose my job if I did not stop drinking. Then when I heard that the answer to staying sober was connecting to a higher power, I knew it was hopeless, for I had a relationship with God whom I called my higher power. In recovery, I learned that God was my copilot, but I was the pilot, petitioning to God to get done the things I thought should be accomplished.

God constantly is looking and reaching out and calling us truly to a banquet where we become happy, joyous and free, where we change into wedding robes sewn from patterns God has given us since the world began: patterns of surrender, of making an inventory, praying to God with another in recovery to turn our life and our will over to God, making amends, meditation, silence, forgiveness, caring about others, loving-kindness to those around us, especially to those still suffering from our disease. When we stitch these new clothes up and put them on, we are GORGEOUS, absolutely GORGEOUS. I DON'T KNOW WHY WE WOULD BE CAUGHT DEAD IN ANYTHING ELSE.

1 Amy Jill Levine in The Short Stories of Jesus.

2 Barbara Brown Taylor in "Wedding Dress," Home By Another Way, 192-196.

Joanna S.

In his book, Recovery—The Sacred Art: The Twelve Steps as Spiritual Practice, Rami Shapiro writes: “When you see yourself in hurtful behavior “snap the photograph” freeze that action, and look at it. Literally stop for a moment and take in what you are doing. The “photograph” captures the pain, shock, or hurt on the other’s face or in her body language, and you can look at it objectively… and this moment is your opportunity to do something different, beginning with making amends.”

“You don’t remember doing that. You scared the life out of us.” I sat there with my stomach churning. A few years earlier this would have been an occasion for a drink. But now, thanks to the program, I was learning how my attitude and behavior affected others.

Shapiro’s idea of taking a picture of the other at the time we are inappropriate is a wonderful idea. It gives me an ‘on the spot’ look at what my attitudes and behavior is doing to another. Looking through that lens I see a person with a look of concern, a look of bewilderment; a look of pain and hurt; and I understand that I am the cause of that expression. It is in seeing this more clearly, I now know I have to make amends promptly.

This is a program based on progress not perfection. Early in the program I continued to say and do things which I should not have said or done and which I regretted. I justified my behavior as I was not yet living the program and barely working the steps.

With recovery, reading the big book, the 12X12, talking to a sponsor and others in recovery, going to meetings and listening to others, I finally got the message that there is much more to sobriety than not drinking. Sobriety is a way of life and that meant changing my attitudes and behavior.

In order to change I had to gather evidence of my behavior. Taking in that mental picture of the concern, the fear, the pain, of the other was not an easy thing to do.  I did not like looking at the concern, the fear, the pain I was causing another just because I wanted things to go my way. Looking at a picture of the negative result of my negative attitude and behavior was painful and I did not need a trigger to another drink. Amends is the cure.

As I slowly made progress, I realized I was taking fewer and fewer pictures. I had gotten tired not only of taking them, but also of remembering them. “That was what I did to …” I had to remind myself. Those pictures which stayed with me were the evidence I needed that I had to make change. Those pictures were the catalyst for the change.

One of the joys of recovery is taking fewer and fewer pictures of what I do to others because the program has taught me to be a better human being, to be the person I was born to be and become. As I grew into the program, I came to realize that my annual “chip” was my camera. Holding that chip in my pocket, silently reciting the serenity prayer, I changed my attitude about the situation in which I found myself and about which I would otherwise have had a lot to say.

Promptly making amends is like developing a picture. At first its blurry, then it comes into focus and then there it is in black and white or full color and it can’t be denied. It reminds me of Monday mornings when individuals arrived at the court house demanding justice for being wrongly stopped, that they were not drinking. Then they sit and watch the video with their lawyer and there is silence. They don’t have to say anything – except- yes sir, that’s me.

I still have to make amends. I am not nor will I be perfect. However, progress in this daily program has taught me to, as the children at taught at school, Stop, Look, listen. Stop my mouth, look at the other, listen to what my gut and my mind is telling me “Be quiet; It’s not the end of the world;  It’s no big deal; This too shall pass.” But, when my ego overrides my brain then I have to develop the picture, take a look at the pain and concern I caused – however slight – and make amends and go on living one day at a time.

Séamus D
New Orleans

I remember Frankie, the main character in Carson McCullers’s Member of the Wedding, saying, “the world is a sudden and dangerous place…,” but when I googled the quote to verify it, I found that she says only, “the world is a sudden place…” When did the danger come in?

Actually, in my corner of the world—rural New Hampshire—the world right now doesn’t seem all that dangerous. As long as I don’t turn on the TV or radio, as long as I don’t look at any newspaper or magazine, and as long as I don’t talk with anyone except BridgetAdams (my golden retriever) or Freckles (the cat,) then I can just bask in the clear New England sky, the crisp late-summer air, the trees just getting their first blush of fall color. I can listen to recordings of my favorite music, re-read books that I’ve loved for decades or watch movies that I’ve already viewed (so there are no unhappy or dangerous surprises.) I can even knit patterns I’ve used before. My world can be predictable and safe, not sudden and dangerous.

There are problems with thinking that my cotton-batting swathed bubble is the world. One of the biggest problems is that I am an alcoholic and I can’t stay sober alone. I need other people to tell my story to so I remember who and what I am. I need to listen to tales that other people tell of the redemption of their regrettable pasts so my soul expands. Truth to tell, it’s not only staying sober that I can’t do alone. I can’t live my life alone. There’s not a whole lot of fun. Conversation with a dog and a cat gets tedious.

Their opinions tend to mimic mine and there’s no stimulating banter.

I try to tell myself that the world—the big world out there—has always been fraught with danger and uncertainty. Even if Kurt Vonnegut and certain mystical scientists are correct and past, present, and future are all swirling around us simultaneously, in my linear perception of existence, there is “before,” “now” and “sometime sooner or later.”

My friend Marcia and I were talking recently (this will get dangerous) and we each said in our own way, “Oh, I wish things were simple and good the way they were when we were in fifth grade.” But then we looked at each other with our white-privileged eyes and said, “Hmm…things really weren’t all that great, were they…?” We muttered to each other… “Oh, right…polio…discrimination…hunger…”

So even if the world out there has always been…difficult…and even if the idyllic childhoods of our memory were really not heavenly havens of protected comfort, it seems that now things are worse than ever. We are all together going through a “rough patch.” There’s a whole lot of unhappiness, turmoil and grief happening. There’s more overt social antagonism than ever before in my personal memory, although history certainly has repetitious tales to tell of similar antics by our human forebears.

So I calm myself down and I think of two things:

• 1.   I am an alcoholic in recovery. I can attest (to anyone who listens) that it is possible to be an alcoholic who chooses not to use alcohol for years on end. My mind is filled with words and images that sustain me. A grateful heart never drinks. One day (moment, minute, second) at a time I can not drink, no matter what I or the people I love are suffering through.
• 2.   I am a Beloved Child of God. I am an Episcopalian. I am a church goer. I pray daily. I know all the words to lots of hymns. I have been baptized and confirmed. I receive communion regularly. I can tell Jesus anything and am convinced that he still likes me and wants to reassure me.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Hold your horses (I can hear my mother saying that) —isn’t there a third thing that will calm you down?

Oh yes, I think of this, the most important: as Cassius said in his brilliant August sermon, “With all humility, persistence and strength (the church) can inoculate a fearful world with the blessing of hope.” ¹

• 3.   In our faith and in our recovery, we have received a promise: we are not alone. God is with us. God will see us through this. We—the church—the recovery community—we have work to do. We are, each of us, important and needed and we have been given gifts to share, to use, to help ease the travails of those with whom we are trudging along this path.

It is ours to give the world a shot in the arm—a vaccination against despair—we have been given the blessing of hope. The blessing of promises that come true. That blessing, the promise that all shall be well. That all is well.

–Christine A. H.

1. With all humility, persistence and strength (the church) can inoculate a fearful world with the blessing of hope. The Rev. Cassius Webb, sermon videotaped at All Saints’ Church Peterborough NH. 8/23/20

Last night, I had one of those drunk dreams. You know the kind I’m talking about. You thought you were at a party and suddenly you realized you had a “bit too much,” as we used to say. Maybe a recollection was thrown in of an old extra-curricular activity, a car wreck, or a run-in with your spouse or employer, or the sheriff. I couldn’t work my way out of this parade of sleepy nightmare horribles. It felt like a real drunk, but suddenly, it ended. An overwhelming feeling of relief came over me. I awoke. It was all a dream! I was still “clean and sober!” But it was disturbing, and the recollections of those past horrific days prompted by my nightmare stuck with me the whole morning.

I don’t keep track of these “drunk dreams,” but I seem to pick up one of these nightmares every couple years or so. They aren’t tied to any event or number of meetings I’d made that month, or some incident that reminded me of one of my more notorious drunks. However it came about, it was just an overwhelming embarrassment of “the old days” -- before those moments of surrender and the early days of the Program, and the emergence of a strong belief that this time I was going to work it -- a resolute belief in that old saying, “It works if you work it.”

I guess we reluctantly should remember those “thrilling” days of yester-year replayed in these dreary drunk dreams.

The Big Book promises in our recovery our lives will be “happy, joyous and free” and reminds us of that healing Grace of our Higher Power. 

It is important for us to remember above all else, that by adhering to the Program, the future is indeed bright, that our past is the past and need not be repeated if we but go to meetings, read the Big Book, and reach out to those still suffering.  

So, it’s just a dream; sleep well tonight and wake up free and go to a meeting.

Jim A/St. X Noon, Cincinnati

In the Big Book in the section, “How it Works”, Bill W writes: “And, with us, to drink is to die.” I missed that point in my first few readings of this section. I missed that for the first few years of my life on a dry drunk. Not drinking did not mean serenity and peace. Not drinking was like drinking in a sense. I was, as I looked back later, a walking corpse when I entered treatment and for a few years afterwards.

I clearly remember one night, and I was angry, the car stopped outside a bar. The music from the bar, the music in my car, and my attitude seemed to gel. I opened the door, one foot on the pavement and sat there. I have no idea how long I saw or why, but I did, and I am grateful to my higher power I did not drink. However, I maintained the attitude of one who was drinking.

“To drink is to die.” I finally understood that at the point I crossed over into alcoholic drinking – which for me, my first drink – part of my brain latched onto that substance which give me a good feeling. I drank from a variety of bottles that night, but I kept returning to whiskey. Whiskey did for me what I could not do for myself – made me feel good, worthwhile, part of the group. Such is insanity. Such thinking was the beginning of the tolling of the death bell. “I need this. I like what it does for me. In fact, I like what it does to me.” I did not say that, however, I might as well have said it. I was off the mountain and skiing with no idea where I was heading or what I was to face.

Mistakes, like bumps on the ride down the mountain, some larger than others. I laughed, picked myself up and kept going. Guilt and Shame caught up with me and drink killed them quickly. Death to emotions. Who needs them? Bury them quickly and they won’t bother you. Again, I didn’t say that, but I might as well have. Another death in the spiritual system.

“I have a better memory when I’m drinking” I proclaimed. And yet, when I began to make amends, I discovered I had no memory of much of what I was told and some of it was quite frightening. Then I began to recall times when I “Came to” and thought I was just tired. I needed more rest. My brain was dying, and my values seemed to have died a long time ago.

I believed if I drank with others, I could not become an alcoholic. I told the staff in the treatment center that I never drank alone. Weeks went by and, in one or another conversation, I had glimpses of pouring myself a drink – at least one – right? Yes. I said I would never drink on my own and I did so many times – alone in an airplane, alone in a crowd.

Mentally, emotionally, physically, socially, I was dying. I was spiritually dead. “And with us, to drink is to die.”

For me, sobriety came slowly. I learned to work the steps and live the program. I learned to go to meetings and listen to what others have to say. Go to meetings and share if it is appropriate. Talk to my sponsor about what is going on inside of me. Read the Big Book and apply it to myself.

A therapist brought me back to redo some of the IQ testing and I discovered just how bad I had done on it eight weeks earlier. Mentally I began to think about one day at a time; think about others; think about what is really important in my life. Emotionally I learned to say “I was wrong. I am sorry. Can you forgive me?” I learned to say “When you said that, I felt angry. When you did that, I felt embarrassed.” No one makes me feel anything but myself. Physically, I began to go to the doctor; the dentist; to other therapists, exercise, watched what I ate and finally stopped smoking. Socially, I learned to be comfortable in a variety of settings and not drink and not let the drinking of others bother me.

“And with us, to drink is to die.” At the end of How It Works, Bill could have added “And to work and live the program is to come alive mentally, emotionally, physically, socially and spiritually.”

Séamus D.

New Orleans

Do your thoughts trouble you? Does passion disturb you? Beware of thirstiness lest your wishes become your desires, and desire binds you. Dhammapada 24.       

Two and a half thousand years ago the above was written by Siddhartha Gautama, better known as The Buddha (The awakened one). During my active drinking I not only read the Dhammapada, but I quoted it in talks and sermons. It was quite good advice to give to others and tell them how to be more moderate in their life. The problem was, I was an active alcoholic. There was no troubling thought that Jack Daniels could not erase. There was no passion which John Jameson would object to my following either in fantasy or reality. I was thirsty. My wishes became desires and I became blind to how I was hurting others. I became numb to the hurt I was causing myself.

 I have been active in the program now for several years and it never ceases to amaze me, when I listen to those still actively using or who are in and out of the program, how they justify their behavior. I want to tell them – live the program and you will be happy; work the steps and you will find a greater peace than you can imagine. Sadly, I heard all those words in my early years of the program and paid no attention to it. I did not want to be there. It took me four and a half years before I began to understand a glimmer of the depth of the program.

 “Beware of thirstiness lest your wishes become your desires, and desire binds you.” In other words, “Admit you are powerless, and your life has become unmanageable.” Early in recovery I was thirsty for the limelight. I was thirsty for what I saw was the glamour of being on the Speaker Circuit. I was thirsty for the attention given to those who came and shared their story to a packed hall on a Saturday or Sunday night. I was thirsty for the attention I was not giving myself. And, at times, I was thirsty for a drink. Thanks to my Higher Power/God, there were those individuals who knew me better than myself who told me the truth about myself and helped keep me on the narrow path to sobriety and sanity. Today, I know I am powerless over people, places, and things. There are those I would love to control. There are those in whose presence my anger begins to rise. There are those around whom I feel jealous of their gifts and talents. But, today, I can put my hand in my pocket, hold my recent “chip,” say the Serenity Prayer, and laugh at myself. Working the steps, living the program really works.

“Do your thoughts trouble you?” Not today. Today I am free to change my thought process thereby changing my behavior. And, if I slip, I can and do make Amends. “Does passion disturb you?” My passion today is for Peace and Justice and doing what I can to make it a reality in the world around me. My passion is to be the best I can with my God-given gifts and talents.

“Beware of thirstiness lest your wishes become your desires, and desire binds you.” Today, my thirstiness is tempered by working and living steps ten and eleven: “Continued to take a personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood him praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry it out.” My desire today is to live joyous, happy and free and in working and living these steps I have achieved this desire the majority of my days thanks to the program and the good example of the men and women who live it one day at a time.

Séamus D.

New Orleans