Tag: higher power

high powered

The community I’ve joined to help me contend with my brain’s propensity for malfunction requires the acknowledgement of a higher power. This is not foreign to me, given my churchy upbringing, and it’s not a far stretch to acknowledge that I am not the most powerful force in the universe.

As I’ve cited more than once – if I am the most powerful entity, and this whole societal simulation is loaded for me and me alone (narcissistic as that sounds), and I am ALSO unable to control myself around a box of donuts, then by definition, that box of donuts is the highest power.

And that’s fine. What I have is more powerful than all the powdered sugar in the free world, but I struggle to name it. God feels funny, as that term feels like it’s spoken for already, and The Universe feels a bit unspecific. Terms like ‘Great Spirit’ don’t feel like they’re mine to use, and most other terms feel ingenuine or dismissive in their lack of power.

“God” is an obvious placeholder, I guess.

Biblically, God famously said “I am the great I am” which tracks well for me, as I do like the idea of God being within all of us, whether he was invited in or not. It aligns with other phrases I’ve heard that I identify with, such as “you are the one you are waiting for” among other introspective and possibly cliche sayings.

In recovery, I was told to essentially make up a God. I think that’s funny as I type it, but I also think that making him up is what makes him real. I believe that Odin exists because the Norsemen decided he should, and that’s that. It would be difficult for me to say he’s not real at his point, as a person who can and does sit down with a pen and a notebook and conjures a song into existence when moments before, there was no song. Any artist does this, really… I mean, how many brush strokes does it take to turn a canvas into a painting? I digress…

The prospect of being made in God’s image is also of interest to me. First off it tells me that The Creator made me a creator. It also indicates – and this will piss a few people off, I’m sure – that God almost certainly has darkness in him, as he has certainly created some dark things for us to dwell on, as well as dark forces that keep things in balance… and really, that’s fine.

There’s an element of selfishness in any good deed done that I think needs to be acknowledged – not to the point that we should relish in taking selfies of ourselves giving money to homeless people or anything particularly brazen, but just the fact that it feels good to do good. It might not be conscious in the moment, but when I pull over on the shoulder to help some stranger change a flat tire, or I boost a coworker’s car, or drop some of my girlfriend’s baking in the lunch room at work, it feels good to know that these things are appreciated to the point that I’d be inclined to do it again because I felt some reward. This is in it’s very nature, selfish.
It feels even better to do something for a stranger.
But can you, or I, do a truly great deed for a total stranger and never have them find out who it was? Would we be able to contain that level of joy in ourselves, realizing of course that to share the experience would only accentuate the selfish act?

Really, if doing good things for people didn’t feel good, we’d have wiped our species off the planet eons ago.

So even at our absolute best there’s a darkness inherit in our actions. I write songs and share them with as many people as I can but I want the credit for the craft… I’m happy to help someone reach their goals but it works best on my timeline, and if I feel truly appreciated. Even for someone to beat the odds of surviving a serious health diagnosis means that a lot of people have to get hurt or killed by the same ailment in order for that story to be noteworthy.

These are things we cannot control, and yet we celebrate them. That doesn’t make these things any less special for the recipient of a good deed, nor should the fractionally selfish component of doing a good deed prevent us from helping one another. As far as biblical text goes, God created Satan, and Satan didn’t create anything… and when Satan was cast out of Heaven, he was not cast into Hell. He was cast down to earth.

I’m rambling.

All that to say – if we are truly made in God’s perfect image, then it’s worth entertaining the idea that our flaws are by design, and that the balance of the universe is far too complex for any of us to ever understand… so we have to take God on our own terms.

So I am searching for balance, I suppose.
Light means little without the prospect of darkness, and vice versa.
Same with happy & sad.
Sunny days don’t mean anything without the threat of rain… and to further push the metaphor, crops need both. People need both.

So I won’t let the dark parts of me take over completely, nor will I ignore it completely and be happy-go-lucky all the time… both versions are balanced.

the price of admission

“The first step; a frequently cited trope, is admitting you have a problem…”

On September 9th, 2023, I accomplished a personal first. I attended a gathering of people who I am simultaneously happy to see, and wish I didn’t have to see; however, we’re united by a common struggle.

The first step; a frequently cited trope, is admitting you have a problem, and although walking through the door of my first 12-Step meeting is an experience that echoes off the walls of my subconscious like some clanging gong – abrupt, and disarming, I have to say that the impetus for actually going has been a slow-moving yet still unstoppable growth, like mound of shit built by lazy insects. In essence, It’s taken a long time to get here, but I’ve known I would eventually arrive for some time now.

Yes, I admit I have a problem…

It’s probably the far reaching arm of my ego preventing me from actually putting a name to this problem – I thought I checked my ego at the door, but it still seems to be peering in at me – it’s hard to articulate your propensity for shoveling cookie dough into your mouth with a spoon, or your insatiable love of pop-tarts while attempting to put words together that don’t make you appear completely foolish.

I’m a poetic and a romantic – why can’t I come up with a better word for this problem? Ohhhh… right – it’s because it’s actually not fucking cool… and in this room you’re not fucking cool… and in the presence of these people – these honest and vulnerable and hopeful people, your “out there in the world” coolness factor means precisely nothing. In this room, you are the complete and total embodiment of embarrassment and humility, and you are sitting in a circle with other people who are the same… so no, there’s no fun word for this, so the narrative goes as follows:

Member of the groups: “My name is ___ and I am a(n) ___.”
The rest of the group: “Welcome.”

The “Mad Lib” answer-key version of this is: “Dave” and “I don’t really know, but I know I have a fucked up relationship with food, and I use it to cope with my problems” before I give a coles notes sample of how I inadvertently caused myself an extra 20 minutes of work while doing a home-renovation project and rather than doing the 20 minutes of work, I consumed a couple thousand calories while trapped in some strange, feckless trance – likely for longer than the aforementioned 20 minutes, but in the end I still had to do the extra work I caused myself, so it was a fruitless endeavor.

I’ve transferred my compulsion numerous times in my 41 years of walking around on this planet… but my first fascination was with food, and after I systematically pushed all the bad habits out of my life, I was left with my first love – and the only one I couldn’t truly abstain from: Food. I have other distractions… fitness, my car, music… and they do help me cope with life, but they’re not unmanageable compulsions that have driven me to negotiate terms with a higher power.

I tell my story with a hint of mist in my eyes because I don’t even like remembering it. I’d love to forget it and fill it’s place with music, or art, or some brilliant reflection of what life is supposed to be but instead I have this story – an insignificant blip, and a weak example of why I am really here, but these are strangers and I’m not ready to let them in yet… and when I’m done speaking, I look up from spot on the floor I was staring at – just beyond my left shoe as it cradles my right shoe on the end of my outstretched legs – and rather than seeing judging, laughing faces, I am met with nodding heads and appreciative smiles.

My story ends; as I tell it, in a rather strange place where any other group of people would keep waiting for the resolve, or some calamitous punchline, is instantly relatable in this room. I don’t just feel seen, I feel understood.

As an aside, Today marks 1 calendar year since my last alcoholic drink. I can’t say I was ever counting the days, but I will say this: You can do whatever you want to do, and if it helps you to align yourself with your purpose then you should probably start now if you haven’t already.

Much love.