“We learned that we had to fully concede to our innermost selves that we were alcoholics. This is the first step in recovery. The delusion that we are like other people, or presently may be, has to be smashed.” (The Big Book, p. 23) “The ignorant mind, with its infinite, afflictions, passions, and evils, is rooted in the three poisons. Greed, anger, and delusion.”- Bodhidharma (c. 5th century AD) Zen Buddhist monk & founder of Kung Fu.
What delusions that you mistakenly hold about yourself that you feel oughta be SMASHED?
I’m thinking about you.
What else can I say?
The palm trees on the reverse
are a delusion; so is the pink sand.
What we have are the usual
fractured coke bottles and the smell
of backed-up drains, too sweet,
like a mango on the verge
of rot, which we have also.
The air clear sweat, mosquitoes
& their tracks; birds & elusive.
Time comes in waves here, a sickness, one
day after the other rolling on;
I move up, it’s called
awake, then down into the uneasy
nights but never
forward.
The roosters crow
for hours before dawn, and a prodded
child howls & howls
on the pocked road to school.
In the hold with the baggage
there are two prisoners,
their heads shaved by bayonets, & ten crates
of queasy chicks.
Each spring
there’s race of cripples, from the store
to the church.
This is the sort of junk
I carry with me; and a clipping
about democracy from the local paper.
Outside the window
they’re building the damn hotel,
nail by nail, someone’s
crumbling dream.
A universe that includes you
can’t be all bad, but
does it? At this distance
you’re a mirage, a glossy image
fixed in the posture
of the last time I saw you.
Turn you over, there’s the place
for the address.
Wish you were
here.
Love comes
in waves like the ocean, a sickness which goes on
& on, a hollow cave
in the head, filling & pounding, a kicked ear.
” … this emerging from isolation through the open and honest sharing of our terrible burden of guilt, brings us to a resting place where we may prepare ourselves for the following Steps … .” (12 & 12, p. 62) “What we’re all striving for is authenticity, a spirit – to – spirit connection.” – Oprah Winfrey (1954 – ) U.S., TV mogul / actor
Under what circumstances have you felt especially connected with your HP or fellows?
“… in Steps One through Three, we were given the basic tools we need to negotiate the path of recovery.” “On this spiritual foundation, we lay the principles of commitment and perseverance as we work the Sixth Step.” (It Works, How & Why, p. 44)
What experiences have you had with overcoming adversity, lately?
Vikram was a brave king. Once, he had to fight against a large army with just a few soldiers, he was defeated. He had to run for his life.
Vikram took shelter in a forest cave. He was very depressed. His courage had left him. He was blankly gazing at the ceiling of the cave. An interesting scene captured his attention.
A small spider was trying to weave a web across the cave ceiling. As the spider crawled up, a thread of the web broke and the spider fell down. But the spider did not give up. He tried to climb again and again. Finally, the spider successfully climbed up and completed the web.
Vikram began to think, “If a small spider can face failure so bravely, why should I give up? I will try with all might till I win”. This thought gave strength to the defeated king.
Vikram got out of the jungle and collected his brave soldiers. He fought against the large army. He was defeated again. But now, he would not give up his fight.
Vikram, again and again, fought against the large army and finally, after many attempts defeated the large army and regained his kingdom. He had learned a lesson from the spider.
MORAL: Perseverance paves the way to success. (http://www.english-for-students.com/The-King-and-The-Spider.html)
ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘T is some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door;
Only this and nothing more.
”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;¡ªvainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow¡ªsorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore:
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me¡ªfilled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“‘T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door:
This it is and nothing more.
”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”¡ªhere I opened wide the door:¡ª
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore:”
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore;
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore:
‘T is the wind and nothing more.
”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door:
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,¡ª
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore:
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.
”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning¡ªlittle relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.
”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered,
Till I scarcely more than muttered,¡ª”Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.
” Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore:
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never¡ªnevermore.
‘
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.
”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
80
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee¡ªby these angels he hath sent thee
Respite¡ªrespite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!”
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore.
“Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted¡ª
On this home by Horror haunted¡ªtell me truly, I implore:
Is there¡ªis there balm in Gilead?¡ªtell me¡ªtell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.
” 90
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil¡ªprophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore,
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore:
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!” 95
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.
”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting:
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door! 100
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.
”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
Andthe lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor:
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted¡ªnevermore!
“The point is, that we are willing to grow along spiritual lines. The principles we have set down are guides to progress. We claim spiritual progress rather than spiritual perfection.” (The Big Book, p. 60)
What are some of the indicators you use to gauge your own spiritual progress, lately?
One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley.
A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen.
The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart.
Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said, “Why your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine.”
The crowd and the young man looked at the old man’s heart. It was beating strongly… but full of scars. It had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in … but they didn’t fit quite right and there were several jagged edges.
In fact, in some places, there were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing. The people starred … how could he say his heart is more beautiful, they thought?
The young man looked at the old man’s heart and saw its state and laughed “You must be joking,” he said,
“Compare your heart with mine… mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears.”
“Yes,” said the old man, “Yours is perfect looking… but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love….I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them … and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart… but because the pieces aren’t exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared. Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away… and the other person hasn’t returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges… giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too… and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. So now, do you see what true beauty is?”
The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man with trembling hands.
The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man’s heart. It fit…. but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.
The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever since love from the old man’s heart flowed into his. They embraced and walked away side by side.
Physical perfection is not always beautiful. (http://www.english-for-students.com/the-most-beautiful-heart.html)
How might an attitude of hope help to free us from the prison fear creates?
“From time to time I had brief feelings of dread that Big Gay Sunday would have very few people show. But that was not the case. Lots and lots showed. And fortunately when those feelings came I allow them to dissipate and feel confident that I did what I could and the rest was outta my hands.” – JB jr.
– Aung San Suu Kyi (1945 – ) Controversial and once imprisoned female P.M. of Myanmar
NOTE: This Zonr post was first sent in 2008. But due to Ms. Kyi’s spiritually challenged rule of her country, her quote and the title of the post have been replaced with Nelson Mandela and his words. It took some time for this change to be made by us and we hope that in time, Ms. Kyi’s administration significantly improves its record on human rights.
“The First Step has
left a vacuum in our
lives. We need to find
something to fill that
void. This is the pur-
pose of the Second
Step.” (The Basic
Text, p. 23)
“In so far as
one denies what
is, one is posses-
sed by what is not,
the compulsions, the
fantasies, the ter-
rors that flock to
fill the void.
OUR SPIRITUAL WEALTH RESERVOIR OVERFLOWS- “By helping others to stay clean, we enjoy the benefit of the spiritual wealth that we have found. We must give freely and gratefully that which has been freely and gratefully given to us.” (The Basic Text, p. 49)
“When I give, I give myself.” – Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) U.S. poet
Once, a villager owned a donkey and a goat. He used the donkey to carry loads of articles from the village to the city where he would roam around the whole day selling his articles. Sometime he could lend his donkey to others on hire when they needed it. As the donkey worked hard the whole day, the villager used to feed the donkey more food than he gave to the goat.
The goat felt jealous of the donkey. He advised the donkey, “You work all day long and hardly get any rest. You must act that you are ill and fall down unconscious. This way, you’1l get rest for a few days.” The donkey agreed to this and acted as if he was ill. The villager called the doctor. The doctor said, ”Your donkey has a strange illness. To cure him, you must feed him the soup made of a goat’s lungs.”
The villager at once killed the goat and cooked soup out of his lungs. Then he fed the soup to the donkey.
The goat had tried to harm the donkey out of jealousy but he had been killed for his evil nature.
“But it is from our twisted relations with family, friends, and society at large that many of us have suffered the most.” “The primary fact that we fail to recognize is our total inability to form a true partnership with another human being.” On friendship & others (12 & 12, p. 53)
What have you done to restore the relationships you hold most dear, lately?
