On Kleptomania: Toxic Relationships

Early relational trauma sets up dysfunctional adult relational issues.

There are two inter-relating issues:

1. Relationship with self
2. Relationship with others.

The relationship with self presents five primary problems that lead to adult intimacy issues.

1. First the client has trouble having a sense of self, spending much of his or her life living in reaction to the object of their affection rather than in action for the self. This is the reality issue; it causes the client to feel empty inside and causes the client to endlessly blame others for how he/she feels emotionally or for what he/she has done.
   
2. Second, the client does not experience inherent worth. He or she gauges his/her sense of value through a process of endless comparison to others, and is too dependent on others to establish either a sense of value or self. This interferes with his/her ability to maturely love others. She generally can hold another person in warm regard only when the other is "behaving properly," or when he/she has created a comfortable fantasy about the other person and uses denial to avoid looking at the other's disturbing behavior.
   
3. Third, the client has no personal boundary system with which to protect and contain himself/herself during intimate exchange. This leads to abusive behavior on her part and involves control and manipulation, raging, ridiculing, lying and/or high tolerance for this type of behavior in a partner.
   
4. The fourth problem involves poor self-care, leading to dependency and interdependency problems in a relationship.
   
5. The fifth problem deals with living in the extreme. This is usually exhibited by a lack of moderation in attitude and behavior, which leads to a sense of deadness and/or chaos in a relationship.

Childhood Trauma

It is evident that problems with the "self" lead to intimacy issues. The next question concerns where these problems developed. It appears that childhood trauma sets up several core issues. For example:

• If a child is not maturely loved by his parents, he will develop self-esteem issues.
• If he is not protected and taught containment, he will develop boundary problems.
• If he is forced to do so much adapting, he will lose his sense of self and have trouble being real.
• If he is not taught to take care of his basic needs and wants, he will have difficulty doing this as an adult.
• If he is severly shamed into containing himself and not taught containment, he will have trouble establishing moderation in his adult life.

Both trauma and core issues drive addictions---be it addiction to substances, processes, or to other people. Trauma, core issues, and addictions create severe relational problems where sex, love and relational matters all seem to become entwined. Knowing where to start is th efirst step in treatment.

The Starting Point---Love Addiction

Alcohol or drug addictions should be addressed first and foremost. The client must have the ability to think and feel without a mood altering substance.

Subsequently, the primary behavioral addiction to be considered is love addiction. A Love addict has been traumatized in childhood by being neglected or abandoned by either parents.

The child who suffers from neglect or abandonment learns three toxic ideas from this trauma:

1. In a relationship he is worth less than his partner. This kind of trauma is extremely shaming and relationally he will assume a victim posture allowing his partner to be abusive. He will see the partner as a higher power and will literally worship them--giving him a feeling of helplessness---resulting in a lack of self-esteem. The Love Addict does not esteem himself in the relationship, therefore the partner will often assume a position of disrespect and relate out of duty, not love.
2. He needs a partner to take care of him. he believes that he cannot take care of himself and demonstrates poor self-care skills, therefore the partner will feel the Love Addict is a burden.
3. If he does not get close enough to the partner he will not survive. This client believes that he cannot leave a partner because if he did---he would die. Therefore, the client will exercise no personal boundaries resulting in the partner feeling suffocated and victimized.

This toxicity drives the obsessive/compulsive relational cycle of love addiction. The cycle starts with the Love Addict constructing a fantasy that the partner is a god or goddess, although denial is used to protect the fantasy. Eventually, an event occurs that destroys the fantasy and the love addict goes into withdrawal from the fantasy. The withdrawal is experienced as severe depression, rage, panic, and toxic shame. The Love Addict will then try to relieve the emotional withdrawal by self-medicating with food, drugs, sexual encounters, smoking, alcohol, or locating another person to become the object of addiction. If the partner returns expressing seductive qualities, the Love Addict will pass out of withdrawal and return to fantasy. As a result, the love addict cycle will begin all over again.

Love Avoidance

At the other end of the continuum is love avoidance, an obsessive/compulsive relational cycle that begins with the child's enmeshment with parents (meaning one or both of the parents has no boundaries with the child).

The child becomes the support network and provides care for the parents. This concept is best understood by examining the roles a child plays in a dysfunctional family system, such as the family counselor, mediator, mascot, scapegoat, or hero:

• Oftentimes, the child may be a surrogate parent to younger siblings.
• In other situations, "Daddy's little girl" is a situation where the female child is more important to her father than her mother. The child feels superior to her mother and will later serve as her father's surrogate spouse.
• At the other end of the spectrum, "Mom's little man" is when the son is more important than the father. As, a result, the son often feels superior to the father and becomes a surrogate spouse.

In these described roles, the child feels very close to the parent, but is actually too close. He has to adapt too much to the needs of the parent and in the adaptation loses a sense of self and spontaneity. As an adult he will feel easily bored and empty inside, which drives his need to use risk taking to create intensity.

Being enmeshed by a parent creates three toxic ideas in the Love Avoidant:

1. When in a relationship with a needy person the Love Avoidant is superior. He will assume a parental position, have all the power, and look down on his partner. This is a core self-issue of poor self-esteem and in a relationship it will cause him to be controlling and disdainful of the partner.
2. It is the Love Avoidant's job to take care of needy people. This is how he knows to be relational. It becomes part of his value system and if he is not taking care of someone in need, he feels guilty. As a core self-issue it is a dependency or self-care issue. It causes resentment of the partner, as the love avoidant feels oppressed by his perceived responsibility. He too enters relationships out of duty, not love.
3. If the Love Avoidant does not maintain enough distance in a relationship, he will be suffocated. As a result, he uses "walls" to create the distance he needs. As a core issue, this is a boundary problem.

These three toxic thoughts drive a compulsive relational cycle called "the cycle of love avoidance."

The cycle starts with the Love Avoidant entering a relationship because the other person needs assistance. The prospective partner seems needy and the avoidant appears to enter the relationship to avoid guilt and because it makes him feel good about himself.

However, the Love Avoidant doesn't actually enter a true relationship. He is hiding behind a "wall of seduction" that causes the prospective partner to feel special, but in reality the Avoidant is simply role-playing. The Avoidant is contemplating the relationship out of duty, not love.

The result is resentment at having to work so hard to be in a relationship in which he really doesn't want to participate. He then uses the anger to justify his escape from the duty-bound relationship.

As self-medication, he seeks high intensity to relieve his boredom and make him feel wonderful. He starts risk-taking behavior such as sexually acting out, gambling with money or his life, drinking, drugging, or work addiction.

However, following such behavior, he starts to feel guilty because he is not properly caring for his partner, so he returns out of guilt and restarts the entire avoidant cycle.Humans tend to be relationally attracted to what is familiar.

The Love Addict is attracted to people who are distant and relationally irresponsible, similar to his neglrctful parent/s.

The Love Avoidant is compelled to be relational with needy people who put him in a god-like position.

It is not unusual to see these two types of people enter into relationships with one another, whereby they often stimulate each other's cycle.

Nothing To Do With Love........

The Love Addict enters the relationship masked in fantasy that is stimulated by the avoidant's "wall of seduction," He uses the fantasy to mask the Love Avoidant's distancing.

The Love Avoidant uses the "wall of seduction" to make the Love Addict feel good and to keep himself safe from soffocation. Then as the Love Avoidant develops resentments, leaves and acts out to create intensity, the Love Addict uses denial to maintain his fantasy.

The resentment and distancing eventually break the Love Addict's denial and they enter emotional withdrawal from the fantasy. Because he is so unhappy, the Love Avoidant starts to feel guilty and returns to the relationship with a wall of seduction that usually starts the two cycling again.

This is not about love for either partner. It is a combination of addiction, toxic sexual behavior, and deep relational problems.

*******************

The above information I ran across here (that's the klepto part) and tuned up with formatting, etc.

http://www.soberrecovery.com/forums/relationships-parenting-sobriety/49042-love-sex-relational-matter.html

-The Traveler

On Fantasy, Magic, and Miracles

So today's meeting was to be an "As Bill Sees it" meeting.

But, we had a newcomer.

The metal folding chairs were all set out in rows - small book in each - as people filed in and took seats.

The usual preamble, up to the question, "Is this anybody's first AA meeting, ever?"

Behind me, someone raised their hand, and the machinery set in motion.

Churning. It was just like that! Automated, deliberate, powerful, moderate speed, churning began in the room.

The entire gestalt of the room changed. Several people arose from their seats and silently began collecting the Bill books. Others went to the literature cabinet and took out the 12/12 books, began passing them out.

Not a word was said to initiate the process, and yet the process initiated and ran like a well-oiled machine, switching gears from the usual, to a newcomer's First Step meeting. I had to sit in awe, at the machinations. It was so fluid, so natural, so prepared, and yet didn't feel contrived at all. I just had to appreciate those moments.

Looking back on them, I realize I was fully there, in the moment. It was like watching AA art in dynamic motion. It was potentially a piece of a miracle.

Today, there was a batch of winners there, too. One got his 21 year chip, today. Several of them spoke, to the newcomer. It was so powerful. I wish every meeting had a few of these guys sprinkled in. Once you meet them, and hear them, and see them in life, you KNOW the process of 12-Step living, because you can feel the miracle, coming off them like infrared rays.

I'm not talking about the bullshit artists, or the smooth talkers, or the charmers. I'm talking about those rare folks that GOT it, and emanate it. You can feel it, from them. They never push it on you, because they feel no need to proselytize.

They are living examples. They are visual ironies, because when you first see them, before you have heard their stories, they are so bright, so joyous, so powerful, so relaxed, so serene, so content. It's almost hard to go back in time, into their stories, and imagine what wrecks they were. And yet, they were.

One thing that hit me today was the recurring theme from them, "I was afraid of living. I thought at the time that I loved drinking, the way it made me feel. But years out into sobriety, I had hindsight, and could see what it really was. I had no real idea what living was, and so I ran away, ran into the bottle, to escape my fear..."

"I was slowly dying, but I didn't care. I drank. I used. That didn't scare me. What I was afraid of was not dying, but of living, of waking up another morning just like that, still in that hell, twenty years from now..."

I see the Shawshank Redemption quote bandied about in recovery places, "Get busy living, or get busy dying."

I've always loved that quote. But today, I got a new spin on it.

The fact is that without that trauma - that bottom - most of us would still be running, from life. Some of us wouldn't even know it. Some of us still don't know it, that we were running, from life, afraid of living.

Chasing a euphoria isn't living. It's escaping. It's the fantasy of the too-good-to-be-true, because it isn't true. We cling to the fantasy that a magic exists, a magic that will take us where we think we want to go.

But the irony is that we don't really know where to go, and so we move on, but only to escape our present position, because we know the present position is void, and not giving us what we want, what we instinctively need.

And if it's escape, it's driven by fear. It takes a while, in recovery, to get out of denial to see this, to get to the fear, to see it for what it is - FEAR, and what it drove us to do. To see how fear distorted our perspective, inverted reality, causing the very thing that was destroying us to seem like the right thing to do, the right place to go.

The true long-term winners have the spiritual growth and time in to be able to look back and have this type of perspective. There's a depth to it. A maturity. It must be bought with work and faith, over time, to arrive there.

Fantasy thinking arises from trauma and unmet needs in childhood and beyond. It's a defense of self that keeps us from imploding, but it becomes increasingly distorted over time, the farther from the initiating event it becomes. Over the years, we incorporate the fantasies we built into our realities, and we guard them with our very lives.

This is the power of denial - denial is the protection of our fantasies.

But the process of recovery - of honesty, of maturation, of spiritual awakening - is to correct these fantasies, and gain reality-based living. We must stop the entitlement thinking that the world should fulfill our needs, and grow to cultivate our own selves instead, by turning our lives and our will over, and being willing to do the next right thing.

It's an extremely difficult process; we are highly resistant to let go of our fantasies, because they are our perceived protections, in life. When we drop the fantasies, we are left naked, unprotected. It is this very thing that brings us to our Higher Power. We are too small to endure, naked, alone. To weak.

Ironically, one of the fantasies we tend to harbor is ABOUT the experience of coming to our Higher Power. Many of us harbor the fantasy that we should have some tangible, mystical experience of our Higher Power - proof of God, as it were.

But the spiritual awakening referenced in the 12-steps cites only that the awakening is the actualization of things for us that we could not have achieved, alone. So by default, it was enhanced by a spiritual element.

In our fantasies, we chase a version of miracles that is extraordinary. But the truth is, the real miracle of sober living is in the unremarkable. It's in the unremarkable way of living that we would not have been able to achieve, alone.

I have yet to meet a user that wasn't chasing a fantasy, using. Who wasn't fundamentally driven by fear.

Our work is to put the fantasy living behind us, and see the real magic in everyday miracles.

-The Traveler

On the Grim Walker, and Acceptance

"...practice these principles in all our affairs..."

I woke up in the usual manner, this morning - with a large nose and hot breath in my face, a heavy body sinking the bed, and a nearly imperceptible whine in my ear.

W, one of my shepherds, comes to the side of my bed each morning and lightly rises up, to put his front end up on the side of bed. He sticks his nose in my face, and whines ever so quietly, tail slowly sweeping behind him in gentle arcs.

He's a dog that is utterly tuned into me. Everyone who meets this dog loves him, even people who are deathly afraid of large power dogs. He's just a great guy, and I've often thought if he were a human he'd be my ideal significant other. I just love this guy, from the depths of my heart. He has a special story of coming into my life, that perhaps I will write about another time.

A low-key type, he will lay himself down in sight of me, ever sensitive to my movements. In the middle of the night, if I get up, he smacks his tongue, as if licking peanut butter off the roof of his mouth. This lets me know where he is so I don't step on him - because he's right underfoot, always. If I need him to come in the dark of night, I have only to rub together my thumb and fingertips, making the most whispery of sounds, and he is there, by my side.

He has never had a resentment, that I have known. And so far as I can tell, he lives only in the moment, and is ever optimistic that the best is just about to happen.

We could learn a lot from dogs.

He's getting up there toward ten years, this year. His eyes are getting cloudy, and his muzzle is long since greyed. He is still fit and active, loving his games of tennis ball, where I lob the balls out with a racquet, for him to retrieve.

But I am cautious. Number Three shepherd, JJ, was chasing balls and doing flying leaps the day before she died, no sign of what was to come the next morning.

W is the fourth of five shepherds I've had over the years, and I have yet to have one make it to ten years. So of course this causes anxiety for me, because I am not so good at living in the moment, and I fear for pain - my pain - in the future.

The past months, he's developed tumors. He's got one on a nipple, one on his tail, and a small one on his head.

Two of the three shepherds I have lost over the years I had to euthanize due to cancer. The third died of a brain blood clot or stroke, following surgery to repair a gut torsion.

At this stage in the game, I have come to Acceptance - that these beloved friends of mine live short lives. I have come to Accept that when their bodies start to go, I will not do drastic interventions, anymore.

I don't believe they understand such interventions. I don't believe they desperately want those extra months of life, patched up by chemistry and technology. When it calls for more than moderate pain management, it's time for me to start letting go, and not keep them around for my sake, tired and impinged by illness, buoyed by modern medicine.

I have no poor opinion of people who go to the nth degree to save their pets. But the truth is, they rarely do. They buy a month, or two, or six, and the pet lays around, tired, the extra time, not feeling well.

In the early years, I did the same. I held on with fervor, paid the vet religiously, tried to buy a life back, using money, and technology. In the end, it didn't work. I prolonged what was to come, out a few more weeks. It did not bring me back the past, or lengthen a quality of life.

It prolonged a dying process, and the dogs endured it with patience, but would have been just as content to go earlier, before all the treatment and discomfort came their way, in the end.

And so, my heart seizes, as I think of the tumors, and my W. He's my boy. I fear the knowledge that ten years is coming up - that number where I have met "failure" and separation, and pain, before.

We think that love should be easy, but it's rather the opposite. It is the hardest thing we'll ever do, to love freely.

Because to love freely means to hurt bottomlessly, when it's gone.

And when that day comes - that last morning when the big nose and heavy paws rest on the bed's edge for the last time?

Will I have the ability to turn it over, to God, and give up my W to him?

Will I have Acceptance?

"...practice these principles in all our affairs..." calls for a lot of courage. My life, and my will, turned over. But, God, not my boy. Can I turn him over, too? Not my boy.

I won't have the courage, I already know this. But, I'll ask for it, from the Source. I'm willing to ask.

I just hope I do OK. And Accept life, and death, on life's terms.

-The Traveler

In The Corners of My Mind

Image today is a segment
of doodling I did years ago.
For you, Righty.

I awoke this morning with a particular word echoing in my mind: churning. Actually, it was a visual of churning, and then the word came to mind. I put the word in the back of my mind, and went on with the day, to see what might come of it. And here we are.

My mind has been doing a lot of churning, lately - in explosive growth mode about several aspects of life. I'm not ready to write about it, yet.

I wondered at the word, and it came to me that it's a visual word for me. For some reason, I associate it with commercial production of ice cream.

I once toured an ice cream factory where huge vats churned the ice cream. The tour guide spoke of the percentage of air that was churned into the frozen mixture as one metric for the grade of ice cream, where super-premium ice cream has very little air and is very dense and high in cream content. Cheaper ice creams have a lot of froth mixed in to create more volume, therefore using fewer ounces of expensive cream per unit volume of finished product.

Churning to me denotes a heavy-duty process. The machinery isn't household-grade but rather industrial/commercial grade. The motor behind it is geared low and is powerful. The movement is slow, but powerful. There's a sort of deliberate nature to churning.

And that which it churns is thick, heavy, and resistant.

The action of churning manages to get to all spaces within the confines, pulls the background to the foreground, convects, inverts, folds, evacuates the corners of the mind, doing a roll-call out front-and-center, for examination, and re-mix.

Such is the process within my mind, as I go through growth. I guess, looking at yesterday's post, I'm at the contemplation stage of a lot of changes, for myself. I am beginning to see them; a sort of roadmap is materializing within my mind's eye in a wavy, mirage-like fashion.

I know that after this ripens, the work will begin, the changes. So much is going on, but no action, yet. It's like the calm, before the storm. And yet you can feel it in the air...

-The Traveler

On Lloyd's of London, and BLATANT Plagiarism

In one of my many career iterations, I spent a week in training through Lloyd's of London, in Quality Assurance. (I was the head of my company's quality program, at the time.) It was boot camp for the anal retentive, taught by the most obsessive-compulsive, controlling Sonofa... I ever came across, professionally.

But there was a sort of mad purpose to his temperament, why Lloyd's would have selected him for the trainer. The whole world of quality assessment has to do with picking something apart, and finding out the parts and the process behind it, behind producing it well, and producing it consistently. The phenomenally obsessive-compulsive mind shines in this task.

It can be a tangible process, such as producing widgets from widget parts. Or, it can be an intangible process, such as how to design an experiment. A process is simply a series of steps that must be sequentially undertaken to reach an end goal or product. Sound familiar, anyone? STEPS?

It's not so difficult for the average Joe to understand concrete examples, but what Mister Sonofa... got paid to do was to teach us all how to apply this same methodology to processes that are more abstract. This is the stuff of big money, in business. Suppose you have an entire research staff, and you want them to maximize their process for experimental design. Not so apparent, what to do, is it?

Today, I wanted to think a bit about PROCESSES. I've found that when you can identify something, give it a name, and recognize a process at work, then you can break the process down into more manageable parts, and work on mastery of a part, so the whole doesn't seem so impossible.

Or, maybe sometimes life just seems a bit overwhelming, just too much to handle. I have a rather autistic-like brain that takes in all manner of information and has problems sorting through what's important and what's not, so I get easily overwhelmed. At times like this, I like to be able to take on only a piece of life, something of the size I can comprehend at the moment.

OK, now, I have to confess that I just blatantly plagiarized the bulleted 5 stages of change items below from this blog, today. But, I did it in the spirit of learning, to put it here because I figure something done once is worth doing multiple times, to get all the worth out of it, so I revisit the lessons I write about, later, and re-think them. I wanted this in my blog, to come back to think about, later. So, I plagiarized, I admit it!

These points are about the PROCESS of change, in one's life. Since recovery of any sort is such a process, I thought this was worth a look, and some contemplation.

It seems to me that sometimes the 5 stages of change are undergone within a STEP. And sometimes we have to get through some STEPS, to master one of the 5 stages of change, in our lives. But whichever is the case, this gives us more of a visible road map to look upon, as we change.

1. Pre-contemplation is when a person is not aware of a need to change or does not want to change. He/she often views the problem as belonging to someone else.
2. Contemplation is when a person becomes aware that he/she needs to change but has not made any move to do something about it. A person can be stuck in this stage for years.
3. Preparation is the person who has decided to make a change.
4. Action is when a person is ready to change and has begun to take some action toward the desired outcome although the issue has not yet been successfully resolved.
5. Maintenance is when the person reaches his/her goals through various action plans and now must consolidate the gains received in the actions and prevent a relapse.

Now, getting clean from a substance or making amends and such are pretty concrete examples of change. Therefore, it's rather easy to outline the process of how to get them done, and follow that process.

But where I find the above five points useful is in the changes we need to make where we get lost. For example, how to change really deeply embedded thinking processes, or behaviors, or reactions. Or how to change our relationships, from shallow, to fulfilling and intimate. That's where the money's at, in these 5 stages of change, for me.

So now, when I start to come aware of a not-so-concrete change that I need to undergo, one that is fuzzy in my mind, or not well-defined other than the end point I wish to achieve, I'm going to go to this model, and see where in these 5 stages of change I think I reside. It will give me a point of reference for progress.

And, perhaps most importantly, by defining a process using these 5 stages of change, I will better be able to have patience, and understand what is happening, when I feel stuck. I have a map, now, to see where I'm stuck, which stage. And I can see from the map where I'm at, and where I need to get.

And I can start thinking about how to get there, the next right step.

Just another tool, in my toolbox. Can't have too many of those, you know.

-The Traveler

On Nine Lives, Plus One - GONE, Part II

Part I of this story. (link)

Today Cat Woman showed up. She sat in front of me, after coming in late, again. I wondered if I would get a chance to talk to her, after the meeting.

She ended up across the room from me, during the circle and closing prayer. This meeting has all stand and form a circle, holding hands, then recites the Lord's Prayer for closing.

I returned to my seat to collect my things, and just as I did, she was there, in front of me, not occupied.

So I said to her, "Amy (name has been changed), I wanted to tell you I'm sorry, about your cat."

She stared at me with what I can only describe as shell shock for a few moments, looking me in the eyes.

And then, her arms came out, and went around me, and she pulled up to me, and laid her head on my shoulder and said, "My baby. He was my baby."

I spoke into her ear, "I know. Because I am an animal lover, too. I know how much it hurts."

As we pulled apart from the embrace, she was still shocky, and distant, as though it was surreal. She then said to me, "I think I see him, out of the corner of my eye, at my place. And then I realize he's gone."

She broke off, and wandered away a few steps. I thought she was done, and I was changing mental gears to prepare to leave.

And then she spun around, suddenly engaged, in this reality, as though she had just awakened.

She stopped, and turned squarely toward me, and said slowly, "Thank you. Thank you...for saying that."

And we both went on with our day. But I think our hearts were a little lighter.

Today's meeting was a step study. And as God would have it, we were on Step 12.

- The Traveler

On it Pays to Diversify

I was in a meeting last night and had a newcomer approach me afterward, saying he thought he was in the wrong meeting. Well, he was. Wrong addiction.

He was - as most newcomers - disoriented, and scared, and unsure of himself. He stumbled out the words about how to find the right place for him.

This meeting happened to be at a large rehab facility that has a lot of meetings.

Fortunately, I get around to a wide variety of meetings of different ilks, and attempt to connect with folks in each meeting. So I know a lot of folks.

I told the new guy that I'd fix him up, and walked him over to the correct meeting, telling him that I knew a bunch of homies in there and I'd introduce him around. Both meetings had just ended, so there were lots of people milling about, talking.

It felt good, to take him over to the other meeting, and look into the crowd, and hand pick some winners that are my homies, and drop him off in good hands.

After I made the hand-off, I made the rounds, hugging my homies and some women I know, too, in that meeting. I give a lot of hugs in meetings.

As I wandered out a short while later, I saw Mr. Newcomer in the parking lot. He walked over to a late-model full-sized Mercedes sedan and got in. I was talking to some others in the parking lot, walking, but I have good peripheral vision.

Mr. Newcomer sat and sat in his car, apparently soaking in his experiences.

I felt good, that I was able to get him human-to-human contact, to introduce him to some quality folks. Just that little bridge, that little touch of acknowledgement that he was noticed in a huge room full of strangers, could be the difference between his returning, or not.

At any rate, I was willing, to do what little I could.

I hope he found something to come back to.

-The Traveler

On Heresy: the 4th C

Once a week, I do volunteer work at a local charter school, in their gifted students program. Their gifted students program is cutting edge, because this particular school also recognizes, and integrates, what they call "twice exceptional" students into this program.

These students are students who have demonstrated exceptional test scores or IQs, but who have other issues, typically ADHD, Asperger's, or are otherwise "on the spectrum" of autism. They have sensitive, developing brains.

These kids can be a challenge, and joy, to learn to work with, because you have to throw away your paradigms and learn to sync-in with them, to get performance from them. And the performance you get may not at all be in the form that is conventionally expected. So it forces you to have an open mind, and be creative.

What does this have to do with 12-step heresy, and this as-yet-undefined fourth "C?"

Ahhhhhhh...

These students, the "twice exceptional" students, are prime candidates for our future peers. They work in bubbles of their own worlds, poorly interfacing with the conventional system. Poorly integrated with the normies of their peer age.

Some of them have intellects, and sensitivities, well beyond their years, but social skills well behind. They are pariahs, outsiders, living on the edge of genius. Their vivid minds take in more stimuli, yet their skills are poor in filtering them, and processing them, and working through the resulting issues, socially.

These are the kids that may never feel at home in their own skin. For whom isolation and pain may be constant companions. Who may be painfully aware of their deficits, despite their gifts.

These are potential future addicts, of a type.

DEPENDING ON HOW THEY ARE HANDLED AND DEVELOPED.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, may I present 12-step heresy, what I call the fourth "C":

Contribute.

Yes, it's been pounded into my head that we don't cause, control, or cure another's addiction. This is doctrine that has withstood the decades pretty well, and been very useful and comforting to countless -Anon programmers: Al-Anon, Narc-Anon, etc.

I believe wholeheartedly that the addictive brain has feedback pathways or neurochemical anomolies that are out of the bell curve of normal. And it may be that there is some threshold event that starts the train running, such as a toxic episode, or series of toxic episodes, that get the bad circuitry fired up and screaming for more.

It will be a long time before we know, for sure, but eventually we will. For now, we have brain scans that definitively show that addiction is a different set of brain functions than normal brain functions.

We can see it on the pictures, and see the damage it does afterwards, too.

We can associate some addictions to particular brain structures, using imaging.

There is so much more, to come. So little we really know, about how the brain works.

While seeing may be believing, it still is not etiological. We don't know what exactly is happening, in the imaging - only that something is different, from the "normal" brain scan.

Imaging does tell us that stress can induce brain changes, as well. And permanent function changes. Some postulate that chemicals induced under stress cause brain development to progress differently:

The paradox for the brain comes when there is repeated stress over many days or when glucocortical levels remain high because of adrenal overactivity or poor regulation of the stress response. The result is atrophy of pyramidal neurons in the hippocampus and shutdown of ongoing neurogenesis in the dentate gyrus. After very prolonged and severe stress, pyramidal neurons may actually die. Through these processes, the hippocampus atrophies. This can be seen in the human brain by magnetic resonance imaging.

While I don't wish to write a dissertation, and don't want to drone on until your eyes glaze over, here is my point:

When you listen to where people come from, in the rooms, it's not all that odd to hear of a traumatic past. Especially childhood. There are environments and events that forge abnormal, addictive brains, in part.

The external factors of environment and event may be the last straw to a genetic predisposition, but they can indeed contribute to making such a brain. Some brains are very sensitive, to start with, and easily affected more than others.

My point being, when you wander the earth, remember this. When you interact with others, remember this. If you spend time with children, remember this. You are part of their enviornment.

There are things that we CAN manage, that contribute to the forging of the addictive brain.

HERESY!!!

I stand by my opinion. And, in 20 years, so will the burgeoning reams of research.

Be careful how you treat your fellow human.

And judge them.

And know that your behavior can affect others.

Keep this in mind. You are free of responsibility concerning the three "Cs," but you are responsible for the fourth. Especially with children.

-The Traveler

On "Back to the Future" at the Company Party

So last night was the Company Party. I'm sure I'm not alone when I say I've always hated such things. Primarily, I hate the artificiality of having to socialize with a group of people I don't know personally, talking to folks with whom I may never hold another conversation, about meaningless things. I mean, what's the point. Not my cup of tea.

I did, however, go home with a nice box of Neuchatel chocolates, compliments of The Company.

Fortunately, this was a dinner party. A few hors d'oeuvres, cocktails via extremely slow servers, then a limited menu, but decently good food. In case you were wondering, I had the salmon, with prosciutto/asparagus risotto and haricots verts. I am pleased to report they did not overcook the salmon; it was perfect.

The beef-eaters at the table were a bit disgruntled because it had come on the undercooked side, but I just thought they were whining. I like mine nearly moving.

They had some boss sized coconut shrimp for one of the hors d'oeuvres, but the ones I make blow those away. The shrimp part was good, but the coconut part was... pretty much missing, flavor-wise. Today's graphic is the last batch of coconut shrimp I made. I have certain specialties. And quality standards. (wink)

We were seated around large circular tables with white linens. Among those at my table were two young techie couples. Now, I'm a people watcher, so, I watched, and listened.

Couple One consisted of a late 20's/early 30's Irish (non-practicing) Catholic guy - he would have made a pretty good Apple commercial (cool, hip, young, trendy techie). He was sporting an unruly shock of black hair hanging over his forehead like a horse's forelock, porcelain-white skin, and multiple areas of jewelry such as earrings, lip rings, nose rings, etc. I didn't get the opportunity to assess for tattoos, however.

His date was his fiancee. She was young, sporting cleavage, sweet. Fashionably red hair, in a bob.

They had met in college, a large university with tens of thousands of students. Did the bar scene there and now live in a trendy area here where he proclaimed, "There's nothing to do but the bar scene in __________." Yeah, right.

Couple Two was about the same age, married. She is due to birth a child in a week, and works in payroll. He is another techie. A little bit more standard in flavor, they were, but still young and hip and... young.

The two techie boys spent the evening bemoaning the slowness of the servers, the dearth of quality choices of drinks, and their inability to suck down car bombs here because it was too classy a joint. In between, they made plans for where to go drinking, afterward.

Three of the four of them (the pregnant wife was the exception) discussed how their time was consumed with WOW. Irish Boy had bought his fiancee her own laptop for Christmas, to facilitate her playing, even more. This is their together time, apparently. Married Man brushed off his wife's sarcastic remarks about having no life apart from WOW. Hmmmmmm. I smell the compulsive brain at work, here.

Irish Boy's eyes glittered as he ordered drink after drink, trying the different whiskeys and vodkas. He would be assessing one, thinking out loud what he wished they offered, and what he was gonna order later, when they went to the tavern down the road a stretch. You could already see his thirst, for booze. While he was drinking one, he was already thinking of the next one, fidgety and impatient. When we all got up to leave for the night, his fiancee had half a glass of wine left in her glass, which he couldn't let go to waste, so he grabbed it and sucked it down quickly before rising from the table...

And as I sat there, myself the old fuddy-duddy, watching them, drinking through my three diet Cokes, all I could see were the future faces in the rooms of AA and Al-Anon before me, in a decade or two. The grey haired men, beating themselves for years lost and families disrupted. The haggard women, beat down from years of insanity and abuse. It was a surreal experience, to see the future, to see where the forces starting now would likely lead them.

At one point they teased me, asking why I wasn't drinking. I merely stated I had seen the results, the end of that pathway, with end-stage drinking. I left it at that, and their eyes glazed over even at that short remark, as if I had made an altar call to the heathen. I let it roll off me, their paths don't belong to me. I don't own them.

I was sad for the women, what is coming for them. They were both young and fresh now, cheery with the hope of the future. Rose-colored glasses that life will be one big adventure. Oh, yes it will, but not like you think, gals.

And as I left the party, I realized I had seen both the past, and the future, tonight. Back to the Future, it was.

The question is, will they reach the clock in time, in their respective stories?

I don't know.

-The Traveler

Nine Lives, Plus One - GONE

*************

There's a woman in one of my meetings whom I've seen only a handful of times. She's a multi-addict who recently went out and is back. Her recent chapter resulted in catastrophe - no surprise - and her loss of everything. EVERYTHING.

She was describing it, and out of the air popped the words to me, "...I lost my cat. They put my cat to sleep. Now, to some of you, that sounds unimportant..."

And she couldn't go on.

That was the only loss she really cared about.

You could have ripped my heart out of my chest, at that moment, because I knew her pain. I knew it.

There is something about the care-giving of a pet - that we feel extraordinarily responsible. They are innocent lives, completely dependent upon us. Completely accepting of us, and trusting. They offer what many people cannot get from other people around them: comfort, on an as-needed basis - freely given, freely available at all times.

And when the care-giver is an addict - who typically are isolated, shunned, abandoned, and desperately lonely - that animal is their family. Their significant other. Their daily affirmation of purpose.

Their comforter.

Their bridge to humanity, ironically.

And to pull out from the fog one day, back to sobriety, to realize that your sojourn resulted in you effectively murdering your closest loved one...

Well... I can only imagine the guilt.

I've had occasion across the years to euthanize three pets. Three family members, who shared the same roof as I and kept me company through all circumstances, 24/7. I had them euthanized under controlled circumstances, where it was clearly in the best interest of the animal, to end suffering.

I held them in my arms, each time, and petted their face, looking into their eyes and gently talking to them as they looked into mine, until the lights faded in theirs, and I broke down sobbing.

To play God is a heavy chore. And not one I personally can do without guilt, even under clearly correct circumstances. Even for all our co-dependent, controlling tendencies, there is something primordially instinctive within us that recognizes unequivocally that another's life is not ours to tinker with; it's hands off. We just know this, even when it's an animal's life. To give or take a life is clearly not our domain, and we know it.

I cannot imagine sending a beloved "family" pet to be euthanized when there is nothing wrong with them, except that their addict care-giver disappeared. I cannot imagine the guilt Cat Woman is dealing with, knowing her cat would live, except for her relapse. Would be there to curl up and comfort her in her recovery, a warm body, except now the cat is cold and dead. Cat Woman has paid a dear, dear price, once again, to her disease.

She was across the room from me, and I didn't get a chance to talk to her. But since that meeting, I have thought about her constantly, and her pain and GUILT about her beloved pet being put to sleep because her evicting landlord didn't, frankly, know what to do other than that while Cat Woman was AWOL, in arrears, and flying high.

So, yesterday, I was in a meeting, and late (like about 1/3 through) into the meeting she walks in, and sits -- where -- right next to me, in the next chair. And I'm thinking, "God, this is it, isn't it? You want me to talk to her, tell her I GET her pain, and GUILT, about her cat."

I was all ready to reach out, after the meeting.

Except, then, she got up and left early, about ten minutes before the meeting was over.

I wondered about that, and then had to let it go. I had been willing.

Oddly, another woman was at that meeting, the first time I had ever seen her. She shared, shaking violently, rubbing her arms in nervousness. We were on Step 11, and she was expressing how she hadn't prayed in 3 years, she had such rage at God, for taking her mother, 3 years ago.

Later that day, I ran smack into her at the bank. Two towns over, from where the meeting location had been. We both tried to get through the same doorway at the same time, she coming in and I going out, and when I looked up, I recognized her.

I reached out to her, instead.

You never know what God's plan is. It's rather like surfing through life -- you have to stay limber on the board, ever ready for a shift underneath you, ready to compensate for change with your balance.

I feel a peace, that I did not get the opportunity to talk to Cat Woman. If God wants, he'll present the opportunity. Maybe she wasn't ready to hear that from me, or maybe it isn't to be. But, I'm willing, to reach out to her, because I GET her pain, and GUILT.

And, whatever God's plan is concerning her grieving her cat, I'll Accept it. Whether I'm part of it, or not.

-The Traveler

Food for Thought: A Paradigm Shift

I ran across a discussion today wherein a Catholic priest arrived at Step 1. He was describing his experience at his first AA meeting, and it really caused my thinking to do a paradigm shift.

What he said was how touched he was at his first AA experience. Figuratively and literally, he meant. In the meeting, he shared about being a priest, and at the end, he was freely hugged by many people in the meeting.

And what he said about that made me see differently, than I had ever, before. What he said was that, as a priest, people do not tend ever to touch him, because they see him as different than a normal human.

And he does not feel free to touch others, because of so much publicity of sex abuse scandals in the Catholic church.

Stop, and think about this.

And how much he had needed to feel those hugs.

This is no statement whatsoever about the Catholic church, or any religion.

It is a statement of humanity.

It's not just people locked outside the principles of religions. It's people locked inside, as well. Both are between a rock and a hard place, in terms of the principles.

I wonder if, in the case of religion, we in the rooms need to focus on the persons, and not the principles, of those religions.

Food for thought.

-The Traveler

On Practice makes Possible

I received an email last night from a disgruntled and distraught friend, who clearly needed to vent. They had just passed through a month dealing with family crisis and a death, and had stored it all up for me in detail. A whole lotta detail. They called me today, and let loose.

It took about an hour for it all to come out, and as I was listening, the Second Mind was thinking about listening, and how I need to practice this, now. And so I did. I had to quiet the Second Mind, and get myself into the moment, and on point, and just listen.

And I practiced some other things, too. Like not owning. I have another scenario about to ripen in my life with another person where this latter skill is gonna come in handy, as I'm going to be asked to own a lot that isn't mine, and I don't want it, either. The question will be how not to own it, kindly. So, I'm practicing not owning things in the meantime, to prepare myself.

I had a lovely lunch today in a gen-you-eine 50s diner with a companion. The food was authentic diner food, alas, but I did love the ambience. The formica on the tables was so old that the pattern was rubbed away, smooth as glass, showing the underlayer of plain brown.

There were little juke boxes on each diner booth table. Tall coat hook poles at the end of every booth bench. Mosaic tile floor with grungy black grout stained through the decades of moppings. Stainless steel just about everything else, including a massive 2-over-2 4-door fridge where I saw an impressive stash of pies of all flavors behind door #1.

A glass counter behind which was a collection of Coca-Cola memorabilia and shiny colorful metal models of 50s cars. I think that's where the pies and cakes used to be on display, probably before health codes forced them to be refrigerated. What can I say, I'm a fan of nostalgia. Probably because I'm getting up there.

What pleased me most was that last time I visited this same diner, which was years ago, the air was infused with cigarette smoke throughout. Today, it's a smoke free establishment, and I left with my clothing not smelling of smoke, and was able to fully taste the exquisite finer points of my gourmet diner fare - ahem.

Incidentally, this was not the drunk church diner, but a different one. I think I'll look for more, to visit. I hear there are a lot of them in my vicinity. I always thought I could tour the world, based only on visiting food establishments. I have the engine of a foodie inside me. I think the best meal I ever ate was in Belgium, although it was essentially French cuisine.

Did you know that currently 8 of 10 of American adults over 25 are overweight or obese?

Think about that! 8 of 10.

I am of the opinion that the reason for this, among other things, is that our food is so unsatisfying. It is completely tasteless compared to REAL food, such as Europeans traditionally have eaten (before so many of them took up our habits...). I'm also completely convinced that the glycemic index folks are onto something. The food we eat causes cravings for more.

I'm just rambling here, going free-flow. And I know it. The reason being, I have a number of posts ripening in the "vault" right now. They have to stay there, until they are ripe. And, I'm still soaking in my recent epiphany, before I finish writing out that series.

I need more practice listening, than talking (writing). I'm just not all that impressed with myself. My story is not as sordid as some, and I'm not putting details out there anyway. I don't think I need practice writing, or thinking, as my top priorities, right now. I need to do. But maybe I'll still need the exercise of reflecting after having done. Not sure yet. I don't see the point of blathering on things that are not of enduring value. There's plenty of that already out there. Like this entry, for example.

And ever since my epiphany, I've lost interest in a lot of things. They've turned into noise, for me. And I want to get rid of noise in my life, and focus on the epiphany, see where it takes me.

I'm still thinking about it, letting it all ripen. For now, it's Blog Lite again, at least for today. I find that Practice makes Possible, in growth. For me, this blog is practicing the thoughts I generate in my own recovery path. I should think they are heavy, and boring, for most readers. I practice them here to clarify them, before I go off and do.

-The Traveler

Incredible Lightness of Being

I've lost an awful lot of weight, in recovery. And it feels pretty good - healthy.

It's gonna take me a while to process through defects - I'm thinking a lifetime. They're like the buttocks or the beer belly of recovery weight, if you ask me.

Resentments are variable, but some of them fall off in big chunks over not too long a period. Others, well...

But one aspect of weight loss goes very quickly: losing that which doesn't belong to me - other people's lives, feelings, choices, consequences, reactions. It reminds me of the chipmunk-cheeks-and-puffy-face and overall-even-layer-of-"insulation"-throughout kind of weight. Just a little loss here, and you look different. Your shape changes.

It's startling to discover how much I have been carrying around, in this lifetime, that isn't actually mine. And how heavy it is. And how, like adipose tissue on a corporeal body, it can strain me and make me prone to illness, to carry this excess weight. And how, if I'm not careful and paying attention, it can creep onto my frame over time, day by day, and accumulate.

I actually own very little, I've discovered. A few items, and when they are whittled down to size, they aren't terribly heavy. Or complex. I'm kinda skinny, under my excess weight. I look forward to getting down to size. To right size. Now that I've lost a bunch, I'm motivated to keep going until I'm trim.

Imagine that.

-The Traveler

Things I Want, in Life

I want:

1. To have a gentle and steady spirit.


2. To be aware of when I'm judgemental and call the IBSC on it, and make them behave themselves.


3. To be ever mindful that humility - like sobriety - is lightly held, and so easily lost if we get careless or complacent.


4. To maintain a streaming dialogue with my HP, as second nature.


5. To have a generous heart toward others.

What are your top five?


-The Traveler

HQFT: Highlighted Quote For Thought

On occasion I'll put in a Highlighted Quote For Thought, something I've run across. I will paraphrase them at times. Well, here goes:

Let go, or get dragged.

-The Traveler

On A Mind-Fuck, and Epiphany - Part II

Part I: ...We must get to our elemental state, broken to pieces, before we can Surrender.

Now, the thing about Surrender is it's never perfect. I don't care what you say, I don't believe it is. It is a taper process, and I'll explain what I mean shortly, here. We are only human, and we have Self-Will. There's a vestige of Self-Will left in any Surrender. That is exactly why we have to be pulverized to bits to reach our BOTTOMS, to Surrender, because we are so resistant.

For myself, I have begun to recognize a benchmark for Surrender. And that is that I begin to feel grief. If we truly have separated ourselves from whatever it is we have surrendered, it means we have given it over, given it up, to our Higher Power. Which translates to us mere mortals into:

We Lost.

And, when we Lose, we grieve the loss.

So what I think a lot of people don't get is that they think once they surrender it should be a lot easier. They don't get that this means the beginning of a grieving process, first. That we must traverse the grief of the loss, before we come to the other side, the promised land of Serenity.

Surrender is one of those quantum leap things. High activation energy. High threshold. But when we cross that threshold, it isn't magically delicious. It's a beginning of a process. It's the beginning of a journey of grief.

They speak of the pink cloud in recovery - that period of great, euphoric relief when the light at the end of the tunnel suddenly comes on, and an addict sees there indeed is a path to the Promised Land. It lasts a while, until reality sets in, in recovery. That reality is the beginning of the work of transformation, which includes the processing of all the grief, for everything the addict has to Surrender, to follow the Path. Yes, it starts with giving up the substance, or behavior of the compulsion.

But that is only the crack in the floodgate.

It is the beginning of a total life remodel. A restructuring of our ways of thinking, believing, behaving, acting, reacting. And to change any of them means to Surrender That Which Was Not Working. And each Surrender is a loss, and each loss must be processed through grief.

This is the real work of recovery.

I am getting to the Epiphany, but the set-up is taking a while, and I'm pulling things out of my thinking that I hadn't realized were there, so I'll stop here for today, and continue in Part III.

-The Traveler

On Concept, Action, and The Goal

I know of a person who frequents a very technical hobby forum, whose signature reads, "I am, and always will be, a newb."

That resonated with me, thinking about life, and working the Steps. That we're always to be a work in progress, never finished. On a staircase that keeps going, a lifelong ascent.

I don't like to be a coward. But I also aim for the discipline of prudence. I've been thinking a lot about my motivation to blog, and what it is, and what it perhaps should be. And I do know this: I want to be prudent, but I do not want to be cowardly. I will push my envelope, discussing things here as I write. I will lean into my fears, go where I haven't gone before, traverse the Land of New Territory.

But at the same time, the Executive Committee, the one that makes the Executive Rules, has made it quite clear to me that these efforts are not, for me, to be self-indulgent narcissism. If I'm to write, I'm first to think, and then I'm to work.

Writing should lead to work, in the moment, in the real world.

Which brings me around to my topic, this post: On Concept, Action, and The Goal.

I put up what was for me a courageous post earlier today, and as God would have it, I managed to do that sandwiched between two Step 11 meetings in the day. As I look back on the day, I see the elegance of that. I take no credit, but do appreciate it.

If there's one thing I'm profoundly grateful for in my Program, it's that as I work, I first get conceptual understanding of what the Program means, How to Live.

One of the things I think about a lot is how the Steps separate out, quite distinctly, the coming to willingness from the initiation of action. They are not separated only by words, or clause. They are built into entirely different, self-contained steps. And there's a reason for that. They are entirely different entities. You can do without thinking. You can think without doing. We are called to do both, mindfully.

My whole Program is like this for me. I first grapple with the concept that emerges. I need to wrestle with it in my mind, turn it over and examine it, explore it from different angles. Try to understand what it means. Try to come to terms with it, and accept it. And then decide on willingness.

And after willingness settles in, I begin to plan for action, for actualizing implementation.

The thing is, without this separation of concept from action, I would tend to act, but without the same sense of deliberate purpose. The deliberate purpose is a gift for me, because it is the directional, the set of instructions, the blueprint for me, for... a goal.

I've come to realize that for me to sit around and generate goals is not prudent. Goals will flow from being in the moment, from Practicing These Principles in All My Affairs. That is to be the source of my goals, not my ideas of how life should pan out. In other words, Goals will come to me; I need not go hunting for them, but rather focus on the now, on the Practice, and they will present themselves.

And it turns out to be one of those things that is inversely simplistic. What I thought to be a complex web of goals I needed to determine, stretching out into the future, turns out to be only one. The Goal.

And The Goal, for which I labor, for which I stay in the moment, is to remain teachable to the Concepts presented.

Then, it's just a matter of Acceptance - which translates into willingness - and getting down to work. Once I get the Concepts, the rest follows.

And I thought it was going to be complex. But God's an ironic kind. He makes the most powerful the simplest. Gotta appreciate God's little touches.

So now that I understand the Concept behind my writing - that I'm to think first, and result in work for my Practice - the rest flows, and I know how to proceed.

I feel good about that. Settled.

-The Traveler

A Mind-Fuck, and Epiphany - Part I

I need to do that post on Bamboo that's swimming around in my head, because when all this discussion is done, it relates to what I'm about to say, here.

I had a moment yesterday morning as I was waking, where a fissure in the iron armor suddenly appeared. Like a pressure cooker, a stream of Via con Diablos spewed forth, catching me off guard. B-u-r-n-i-n-g the shit outta me, I might add. White hot.

We have these corners of our minds - the blighted slums of the psyche built up from our formative experiences - that are so infested with peril we have stuffed them way down deep. Because our lives - our equanimity - depend upon doing so. We encase them in a sarcophagus so rigid, so steeled, so reinforced that it is a still and silent structure. The sarcophagus becomes a mirage of the psyche. Apparently quiescent, it begins to blend in over aeons of time, and we wittingly ignore its presence, shrouding it in the overgrowth of denial, in the landscape of our minds.

Trauma and recovery initiate tremors of the psyche. They quake our infrastructure in the most basal way, leaving hairline cracks. Radiation begins to leak, the poison spreads. It's one of those snowball phenomena, where it gains momentum and gets beyond our control too quickly - jettisons us back to Step 1 in a flash.

For myself, there's no eidelon that the 12 Steps are a once-and-done process. I know my psyche, my resistances. This will be a lifelong process, ever cycling in tautology. When I suck myself from the slough of denial, I fumble around in the process, groping, feeling the hard edges of that sarcophagus, and become afraid, very afraid, of its power.

I wanted to bolt to the keyboard, encode the crux. I discussed with one of you lately those moments where the compulsion to write comes, when you want to capture something before it slips from your mind as a dream does upon surfacing to consciousness - leaving you in its wake, feeling only a ripple of what has left you.

But, life got in the way, and it faded. So instead of that white-hot moment, you are getting the cool-down, which, in retrospect, is much more prudent.

I went through a certain series of thoughts and raw feelings - a mind maelstrom if you will - that led me to a mini-break down and - damn - recycling to Steps 1-3: a session of wailing, an anger-fest, a pool of hatred, and, finally, to an amazing revelation. Something that had never occured to me, before.

Be careful what you wish for, because if you ever by chance get it, and it's all that you dreamt of, and then it's taken away, it's the biggest mind-fuck, ever. When that ol' Higher Power starts re-arranging the life, to make His point. To tell you that His way is better. To make you what He wants.

And damnit if His way doesn't hurt like fucking hell, to get there. I will say I've had enough experiences by this ripe age to now know that the arrival point is worth the painful journey, in the end, and His concept of what is better is invariably better than what my paltry imagination can come up with. I'm not old enough for it to change my willfulness, yet. Not where The Dream is concerned.

Sometimes, we believe in something. We believe in it such that we remove our walls, our boundaries, are roaming freely, reveling in it, unguarded and utterly exposed. And when we do, we set the inner child free. Our inner child gawks in wonder, frolics in joy, takes in the scenery with the most essential virginity. And when we experience our inner child in such a manner, it is the fulfillment of the yearnings of the psyche.

And to have life rip such a Dream from our grasp in a trauma sends shock waves that will crush, cripple a psyche. Especially when it comes out of nowhere, with no prodromal symptoms. No spiral, no indicators, no scent of what was to come. Of course, as I process the grief, the denial will fade, and the indicators will present themselves. But, damnit, Time is moving so slowly. And wallowing in the acid of pain and grief seems endurable only so long, before we simply cannot endure, any longer. I have to pass out, and let God. I still cannot Let Go.

Such a mind-fuck, on an armored mind as mine, causes a prolongued bottom, a Step 1 where, like a wild mustang colt at the end of a lasso line, I choke myself by pulling, and yet I pull, until I drop from lack of oxygen. Refusing to Accept such a mind-fuck, integrate it into my new reality. My Now reality. No. No, God. I don't care Who You Are. Not my Dream. Bludgeon my knuckes, but I won't Let Go.

And it sent me to an epic battle of selves. One self wanted to fight, turn back the clock and re-constitute what was, fight it out with God, what Should be. One self want to go forward, but was left with the choice of Surrender, or Self-navigate. We all Self-navigate, don't we, until we have exhausted every corner of the maze, and finally just break down. We must get to our elemental state, broken to pieces, before we can Surrender.

The epiphany is coming in all this, but it's getting too long, so I'll stop here for today, and continue in Part II.

-The Traveler

On Can't, and Can

I popped into a coffee bar the other day to say hello to somebody whom I had promised to visit, who works there. I wasn't really prepared for what ensued.

I had met this person as an acquaintance of one of the folks I know in the rooms (a recovering multi-addict/alcoholic). For several weeks, now, I've been getting streamed data about the living arrangements for both of them. One of them will see me, their mouth opens, and it all comes out.

My acquaintance owns a horse farm and lives in the main house on the property. Coffee Bar Person found themself in dire straits later in life and landed on the doorstep of the farm owner - homeless, broke, broken - and ended up boarding in a bedroom of an auxiliary house on the farm in exchange for farm chores.

The auxiliary farm house is populated entirely by active spiraling addicts and alcoholics, save for Coffee Bar Worker. CBW and Farm Owner are both purportedly sober, but sure act like they're dry if so.

I sat through a barrage of about an hour's length, listening to a detailed account of how buried and impossible the situation was, to get out of. Interwoven into the situation were details of choices they both had made, that had effectively closed doors for other possibilities. And now, whenever I see either of them, I get an earful of how they have no choices, and are stuck in a miserable situation.

If I'm ever able to extract myself from the trees, and look at the forest, and look at my forest, this makes me realize that what was bothering me most was a pattern, and it went like this:

Blah, blah, blah, BUT, so I can't... and woe is me!(repeat cycle).

I wondered why it felt so painful, so hopeless, to listen to the details, even though I was trying to keep apart from them. And after a few days of letting it soak in, waiting for a bubble to surface in my thoughts, I think one did.

Back to my need to get myself into the moment. It's almost creepy-scary how these themes come back around, as soon as we slide toward complacency.

What my take-home lesson became, out of that barrage of seeming hopelessness, is that the focus was entirely on what was, and what had failed, and what doors were now closed. When I look back to the content, I realize there was a total absence of letting go of what doesn't work -no focus on looking for what may work. What a powerful lesson.

Enchained by the past, projecting failure into the future, not looking at the present, to see the next right step.

Hmmmmmmm. Do I do this??

Now, maybe this seems like an obvious, boring, insignificant entry, today. But, I write it out, because I need to see it, I need to read it, and I need to go think about it.

Simplicity, for me, is often so deceiving. That which appears simple is often what needs the most inspection.

And besides, this is the fourth post I wrote for yesterday; the first three didn't sit right. Executive Rules prohibited me from publishing them...

-The Traveler

Let's call this picture RELAPSE. Nice.

(In case you're wondering, it's a nice Pit Bull doggie that had a run-in with a porcupine.)

Well, hola! It seems Blogger has finally fixed the software bug that has prevented me from using images on my own computer.

So here I go... playing. You see, this is a visual beast, I yam.

Now I will have to pound myself and think carefully about graphics.

You see, I'm not sure if it's too simple or too complex of a mind in my head, but I get terribly distracted by graphics, since I'm visually oriented.
They tend to take over my bandwidth, and then written words get lost.

So maybe I won't use so many images, since I have a funky brain.

But, it's sure fun to know I can, now. I feel the power.

OK, so I'm behind the curve, a little. But catching up.

Stop snickering, at me. I can hear you, out there.

-The Traveler