the god in the mirror

When I was finally forced to realize that I needed some help with the whole alcoholic train wreck that was my life, I was really aprehensive about going to AA.

I knew about the serenity prayer, the whole higher power deal, and I was skeptical to say the least.

Religion, as a rule, gets under my skin.  I've been burned.  Burned in a way only the truly intimate can be burned--at the stake as it were...

I started college with the intention of becoming a Southern Baptist minister, as much to purge the evil, sinful gayness of my soul as from any real calling to the task.  It was more of a bargain: I'll buy off my wretchedness by bringing some other better souls into the fold.  During my first semester, though, I found another way of drowning out my inherent 'wrongness' with an altogether different kind of spirit.

Although I abandoned my theological training, I remained fascinated by religions--all religions.  I studied everything from Aryuvedics to Zoroastrianism.  I became enraptured by mystical systems and paganism.  The Golden Dawn and the Tarot.  Astrology--Western, Indian, and Chinese.  I read the Dalai Lama and Thich Naht Hahn.  I waded through Tillich, Teresa of Avila, and St. John the Divine.  I got completely lost in the Unipishads and fell in love with the Stephen Mitchell translation of the Tao Te Ching.  And of course, I became a disciple of the brilliant, incomparable Joseph Campbell.

Despite my investigations, however, everything came up empty.  And the more I drank, the less I cared.

Oh sure, I could knowingly nod and utter cryptic phrases full of weight and wisdom.  I could pull some really esoteric and arcane trivia out of my ass at parties.  But somewhere along the way, I got frustrated with religion, mysticism, and spirituality.

So a few weeks ago, approaching my first meeting of an admittedly 'spiritual' organization, I had my reservations.

Magically, miraculously, or synchronetically--whichever you prefer--that first meeting was all about people and how they deal with the issue of a higher power.  I heard some amazing things.  Things that made me start thinking, but in a different way.

I love to believe I have control over my life.  I get very frustrated when I can't control the things in my life.  Especially uncontrollable things--like the lengths of checkout lines, the speed of time, and the thoughts and emotions of other people.

I began to realize that all my study, all my research and analysis over the years into the realms and traditions of spirituality, were really an attempt on my part to get a handle on god, so I could control him, or her, or it...

Intellectuality is a big part of my defense system.  I'm 'smart'.  I know big words--in several different languages.  I'm a quick study.  I can figure out concepts, analyze systems, and philosophize til the cows come home.  But my brain is far from perfect.  It has a gift for distortion.  It has amazing editorial powers that allow me to filter out great chunks of reality.  Nevertheless, my modus operandi is to absorb and process life through that big gray organ.

The trouble is, knowing what you should and shouldn't feel, doesn't mean you actually do feel.  Knowing what you should and shouldn't believe, doesn't mean you really believe.  My approach to the spiritual realm was acquisitive and colonial.  I wanted to claim spirituality as a subject I'd mastered and could now use to my own advantage.

I didn't want to find god, I wanted to be god.

And that, my friends, is where ol' step number two kicks in on this ascent from madness.

"We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity..."

Humph.

Don't like that at all. 

A Power greater than ourselves?  What about self-determination, triumph of the human spirit, the freedom of self reliance?

Well, those are all noble ideals, and for many folks they are probably principles to live by.  But when I checked, my self was determined to drink to the point of passing out--every day.  The triumph of my spirit was waking up, wading through a hangover, and wrestling with my workday as a functioning drunk.  And the freedom of self reliance?  At the point I went to that first meeting, my self had nothing to rely on except a plastic bottle of ten dollar gin in the freezer.

And so I decided, trepidatiously, to allow myself to consider, even briefly, that there may just possibly be someone else out there--a voice at the other end of the line.  So I started talking.

I can't really explain what has happened since.  Certainly no trumpets, burning bushes, or Damascus lights.  Something's up, though.  Random people will say random things that for some reason slice right through my bullshit and hit me where I live.  Coincedences happen.  Books open to certain pages.  Things connect.

What I'm working hard to do now is maintain a willing ignorance.  Not try to figure it out.  Not try to analyze, explain, or theorize.  The Great Cloud of Unknowing.  I'm talking, trying to be humble, and doing my best to listen.

I'm a long way from sanity.  But for the first time in a long time, I do have just a little bit of honest-to-goodness hope.

Honesty, serenity, and hope, folks--one day at a time...