Death in the family

My cousin died two days ago. While the official cause of death is still a bit hazy, what is quite certain is that alcoholism played a huge part. He was 52 years old. (For the sake of clarity, I should say that he officially died today, but his brain died two days ago).

Why do some of us get sober and others do not? In his case, it certainly wasn't for lack of loving family surrounding him and wanting him to be there always, without the barrier that alcohol places between us and those who love us. It also wasn't for lack of wanting to be sober; I think perhaps he wanted nothing more than that, except perhaps to be happy, which I don't think he ever was in his adult life.

Death really isn't much of a surprise to us alcoholics when we get to a certain point. Most of us have already been thorough the other two possibilities: institutions and jails. My cousin was no exception. Why death should come to him, though, and not to any of the rest of us is still a mystery to me; we can attribute it to God or fate or chance or karma, still, it feels an awful lot like a random roll of the dice.

And again I fall back on acceptance. Acceptance is not, of course, acquiescence. I am not one of those who can sit back and simply say that this was God's will or an inevitable consequence. Rather, I think of acceptance as a corollary to the dharma principle of equanimity. When all is said and done, it is our ability to release our convictions, our beliefs, our anger, our questioning, and our grief into the vastness of That Which Is which can bring us true and lasting peace. It has been my experience that this is a position of strength and not of weakness, and that from a place of acceptance I can act with courage and conviction without the obscuration of my ego getting in the way. Of course, this is not a state I achieve with any purity for any period of time, otherwise I would be enlightened, wouldn't I? But to the degree that I can place myself in acceptance of what is, I am at peace in any situation. The Buddha's most basic teaching is that circumstances do not determine what I experiecne, my reactions to circumstances do.

One of the saddest parts of my cousin's death is that his sons are still convinced that to one degree or another their father chose alcohol over them. As gently as I could, I tried to speak from my own experience, and let them know that I didn't believe this was so, but to little avail. I don't blame them; we are abandoners and absconders, we are irresponsible and seem uncaring. We are baffling, perplexing, infuriating and heartbreaking. But we are also in the clutches of a disease, a disease which ends up leaving us without choice. There was much talk of will power and spiritual decisions, and I held my peace; it certainly wasn't for me to convince anyone, especially not in that situation. But I felt such a pang in my heart that their father could never assure them that he didn't choose to leave them alone, and that they must now live with a convinction that if he had just loved them enough he might have stayed. What a comfort it might be for them to realize how very stark and impersonal our alcoholism is, how it levels vast fields of love and hope and happiness before it as if they didn't even exist, how much he could have held them in love and still been incapable of being the father they needed and wanted.

This experience also reinforces my convinction that we who are sober are not doing nearly enough to reach out to the alcoholic who still suffers. Worldwide, there are two million alcoholics in Alcoholics Anonymous, and that number has not grown in at least a decade. There are 6.7 billion people in the world, and estimates of the rate of alcoholism are conservatively 5%. Thus, there are likely at least 300 million alcoholics in the world. Two million is a mere scratch of the surface. Granted, many of those 300 million recover in ways other than AA, and many know of AA and have rejected it. But of the others, have we really done all we can to reach them? I'm not saying I could have saved my cousin. He knew I was sober in AA, and also knew (I hope) that he could ask me about it. I probably could have done more, but the larger question is, what can we all do, collectively and individually to make sure this message is out there? I have been in service to AA the whole time I have been sober, and I have seen a great deal of sqabbling over petty details and not enough emphasis on our primary purpose, which is to reach out to the still-suffering alcoholic. I hope and pray we can do better.

As for my cousin, I don't pretend to know what comes after this life, but I know that he is happier than he was here, even if he is nowhere at all. He died too soon, but his was a death of degrees, and happened over his entire 52 years. How merciful that his struggle is over. May we all be free of suffering. May we all be able to care for ourselves with ease and comfort. May we be happy. May we be free. May we know the end of the endless death of anxiety and uncertainty and come to rest in the conviction of our knowing of the Truth.

Discipline

I have come to believe that discipline is the most important aspect of spiritual practice, whether it be through AA, the dharma, some other means, or a combination of them. The whole idea of discipline can cause us to recoil, though, especially us alcoholics, because it implies something imposed from the outside (personally, I think of Coach Capello and his incessant insistence on exercises that were incredibly dull). But the discipline I am thinking of is imposed from within, and arises from wisdom.

What, us, wise? One of the most damaging aspects of the way we tend to speak and think in AA is the idea that we are so basically flawed that it is dangerous for us to ever think for ourselves or believe in our ability to devise a way of living that is skillful. How often have we heard in meetings some version of this statement: "I am as crazy now as the day I came into the program"? But the program of Alcoholics Anonymous is precisely designed, I believe, to give us access to the basic wisdom that is in us all, and that has been obscured by our decades of alcoholism. And I should make clear that I do not think of alcoholism as merely the abuse of alcohol, but of the other characteristics which comprise any addicted character: greed, selfishness, self-centeredness, dissatisfaction, and substitution for true peace that which can never replace it. We have all known alcoholics who were no longer drinking, yet exhibited these characteristics, probably even more so than when they were drinking. Indeed, as we can perceive from studying this list a bit, this could describe most of the people we know, at least the unhappy ones, whether they substitute shopping or sex or alcohol or drugs or television or meditation for the underlying sense of peace which is available to us all if we have the will to look for it. This search is wisdom and is at the base of all our seeking, whether we know it or not.

One of the most basic tenets of dharma is the idea that all persons are seeking the end of suffering. Indeed, we could expand that further: every object and being is also seeking such peace. It is one of the perversities of human nature that we seem to have an innate understanding of what can bring us this peace, but we seek other means as more immediately (if fleetingly) gratifying. This is not to say that any of these pursuits is inherently wrong, mind you. Each of them, in the right person, can be quite useful and a source of joy. Even alcohol is, for most people, a source of relaxation and comfort. But when we make of these a compulsive seeking of the end of suffering, they become addictive because they can never bring us to such a state, except perhaps in memory or in short spurts, which causes us to seek to recreate these states over and over again, with the vain hope that they will become permanent through some alchemy in which we have a faith that is not supported by any available evidence.

Thus, wisdom and discipline. Of course, discipline comes first. As we who have worked through the Twelve Steps know, we are so confused when we get to the program that our wisdom has been thoroughly obscured, and we have lost all faith in our ability to exercise it even if we had access to it. Thus, someone else's wisdom or, more accurately, the wisdom of the program substitutes for our own as we work through the Steps. As we clear away the crap that obscures our access to what I term the sunlight of the Spirit, we become more able to trust our own inherent wisdom, and to use it to guide other parts of our lives; in other words, we have a spiritual awakening and learn to practice these principles in all our affairs, which is the essence of the Twelfth Step. But this requires further discipline, and a discipline which must dominate our lives for as long as we live. Fortunately, once we have access to some modicum of wisdom, it brings us such joy that we want nothing more than to open ourselves even further to this light, and the discipline itself can become joyful. Of course, we still have the impulse to return to easier, softer ways to achieve this, but find that only through the discipline of a spiritual practice can we come ever closer to the peace that we may call God, or nirvana.

Getting back on the horse

Two-and-a-half years since I have updated this blog! Where does the time go? On September 9 of this year, I was 10 years sober. My coin has a big X in the middle of it. Even I can't quite believe it. When they said, "one day at a time" when I first came in, I thought they were lunatics, as if THAT was the way one got all that time. I know that won't make much sense to those who have never struggled with addiction, but the rest of you know what I mean. There had to be some trick, right, something other than not drinking for 365 days in order to get a year, and (stick with me now, you math-challenged ones) 3650 days to get 10. And yet, that is indeed what happened. One day just turned into the next into the next and because I worked the steps assiduously and with all my heart, because I expanded my spiritual life on a daily basis (to the best of my ability), because I continued to work with others, I just kept staying sober.

It has been nine years or so since I even had any desire to drink. One of the most entertaining things is to find myself going by the beer or wine aisles and thinking, "well, that's a bizarre-looking bottle, I wonder what that tastes like?" without having any desire to find out. Well...that's not quite true. I want to find out what it tastes like, but I don't have any desire to know what it's like to drink it. I also am no longer particularly perturbed about drinking or using dreams. Last night my son and and I were smoking dope together in my dream, something we never did in real life. I woke up laughing, because it was so absurd. As of this moment, a drink or a drug is about as far from likely in my life as becoming a transvestite. Well, probably less likely; I always thought that dresses were pretty and would probably feel pretty nice. I no longer even feel the need to make alcohol unwelcome in my thoughts; it just has no place, and it gets bored and leaves when I pay no attention. It's pretty cool.

Very little else has changed in 2-1/2 years, actually. My son now lives in Portland and has a way-cool girlfriend. I have now been married 29 years and am still in love with my wife. I work in the same place doing the same thing. We are coping with all of the usual flu stuff plus the H1N1 flu fun. It's going to be an entertaining flu season. All is well in Reid-land!