It's hard to pray in the public library. I know I need to do it, to calm my mind, to connect with God. It's been part of my morning "routine" since I stopped drinking and now my morning routine has moved to the public library. There's no room to pray and meditate in the apartment. I suppose I could go to a church or a temple or something, but then I'll be walking all over the West Village and it would be after noon before I could even get my day started! I guess I'll just have to get over worrying what other people think about me. And, I probably shouldn't get on my knees near the teen magazines or pull out a meditation mat right near the graphic novels.
Why does is sound funny when I talk about God, but not when Liz does? Perhaps it's because she's a more practiced and articulate writer. Or, perhaps it's because my pride and ego are worried about sounding like a fool. They certainly aren't going down without a fight!
I, also, don't have the guidance she has. And, she's struggling, too! It's funny, she spiritually struggles at the Ashram in the same way I spiritually struggled to get sober. The similarities run all the way to calling the more experienced individuals, "old timers". p. 147
We both received the same reassurances. "They would say this is perfectly normal, that every one goes through this, that intense meditation brings everything up, that you're clearing out your residual demons. . . but I'm in such an emotional state I can't stand it and I don't want to hear any one's hippie theories. I recognize that everything is coming up, thank you very much. Like vomit it's coming up."
How many times did I rant about a peak or, more often then not, a valley of my emotional roller coaster and an "old timer" would say, "yeah, that sounds about right" or "you're right where you're supposed to be." At the time, it sounded like platitudes to me.
And, then, Richard from Texas says, "Someday you're gonna look back on this moment of your life . . . [you'll see] that your life was changing and you were in the best possible place in the world for it - in a beautiful place of worship, surrounded by grace. Take this time, every minute of it. Let things work themselves out . . ." p. 149
It reminds me of when some one would ask me, "How are you doing?" and I'd say, "shitty." And, they'd reply with a comforting smile, "Well, you're in the right place". Also, this passage reminds me of, "when we straighten out spiritually . . . " then something abut the mental and the physical falling into place.
Letting go is hard. Changing is hard. They never promised me this would be easy. Just simple. Not easy. Whatever I've lived with for years, even the bad stuff, is familiar. It may have been painful, but it was familiar. I used to say, "the devil I know is better than the God I don't know." Looking back, it's clear to me that I was deathly afraid of the unknown (ironic choice of words, considering that which I was afraid of, has saved my life). The demons were killing me. The "devil" was killing me. But, I knew them. We had been "friends" for a long time. They were predictable in their destruction. And, even though the trajectory of my was life was a slow downward spiral, I was oblivious to it. It was best not to know at the time, to stay deluded. Now, with a bit of an awakening, I seem to be aware of what's going on around me, if not over-sensitized to it by my ego.
I know God is out there. I've seen Him working in my life. But, as God's winds blow, my pride tries to set the sails, steer the boat towards what it thinks are better winds, instead of gliding along with the ones that are blowing right here, right now. So, the massive change that is predicated by God's miracles are met with resistance, fear and resentment. My pride curses the waves for being too choppy or the wind for being too strong. That's a lot to contend with when all you're trying to do is sail.
When Liz was in Italy, she seemed "light". Even her dark times seemed poetic and, somehow, lovely. Right now, she seems dark and heavy in India. Things don't seem beautiful right now. We're both going through some dark times. Isn't that the quality of struggle? Dark and heavy? Isn't that the quality of the burden that blocks us off from God? I guess we have to push through the garbage, the dark, in order to get into the light (I guess that's what a Guru is for: to show us the way through). As an alcoholic, I have to do a thorough cleaning of all that garbage to get free. I have to admit my faults (as Liz had to admit she was a control freak) and then let God remove them.
It's ironic. We cling to some of our most valuable garbage with all of our might. And, we kick and scream as God tries to pry it out of our hands. He sends people to point our the filth that is blocking us, rotting inside us and stinking up the place and we lash out at those agents of mercy, unwilling to see. But, God loves us. He is patient. He lets us have our tantrums, our petty squabbles, our rebellions. But, He won't leave us alone.
Now, that the creative fire in me is stoked, it burns, clean and bright. It may still be a small flame, but it burns with a sense of purpose. It no longer seems to be a wild fire, randomly relighting or bursting into flames at the inspirational strike of lightning. It's there. I can't ignore it. It's alive in me, growing stronger at every word.
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