Today: I love, therefore I am...

Hi.  Been a while.  So the smartypants expectation that I would and could sustain a daily sober counter accompanied by some prosaic wisdom or poetic weaving has been proven wrong.  Once again, I have proven that my words can very easily outweigh my actions.

Oh well.  Shit happens.

I could get all "oh, the sorrow of it all..." or "oh, poor Sheldon let himself down again..." or even use it as an excuse to imagine myself a failure and keep on keepin' on in a downward direction until I have taken a final pull on the devil's dick and this unbelievably strong heart just rolls over in exasperation and quietly says "Ekosi maka."

Strong heart indeed.  The things I have done, the things I have seen, the things I have put myself through.  <sigh>  Oh my.

I yearn today, this moment, to be kind to myself.  Looking outside, the blue sky, the green grass, the ringing sound of children's voices:  These are the things I would long for when I was at the end of yet another rope.

Or these were the things I chose to ignore when I was en route for another score, from my dark, lonely hiding place in the bush in a beeline to the inner city, then scurrying back to my hole - truck on fumes, smoking cigarette butts from my ashtray, picking up and tasting sesame seeds, snot particles or styrofoam from the carpet of the Chev, checking to see if they were more of that bogus, smelly rock that's being passed off as crack...  Nice...  way to cherish the universe and spread the love Mr. Hughes.

Well, I am here, I am clean and I will write when I am able, inspired, feeling too much, wanting to share... et cetera, et cetera.

I don't need any more pressure in my life to expect to sit down and carve out an hour each day to wax on and on, shedding light on the trainwreck that I had been trying to live and call a life.  It's only part of the story anyways.

I won't show you all my scars, all my fears... I won't tell you all the hardwired action stories or all of the sad, painful or insipid truths.  This is not a barometer from which you can gauge all that I am or all that I want to be.

This blog was started because I thought having a thousand eyes (or even twenty) on me would help keep me accountable, help keep me home.

Wrong.

It is the love that I feel and allow to flow through me that keeps me here, keeps me from calling all the dealers that pretend to be my friends and then sell me horse tranquilizer laced bullshit, or some concoction that tastes like transmission fluid and rubber gloves mixed together.  Death in a baggie.

Bleah.

Life is a blessed event that is ever transformative, ever fluid and dancing, and can be missed if you blink.

Today, God willing, I will not blink.  I will not avert my gaze from that which is real, true and suffused with love and light.

Today I will live and walk with Creator as my guide. Today I will hold hands with a big, juicy family who loves their daddy/hubby and we will allow our steps to be guided by a Heritage Festival food map!

Bring on the sheepkebabs!

hearts and smooches,
S.

Today: Blast from the Past...

Haven't written in a week.  Trying to find some solace in action, not the words.  No energy right now.  It's coming.  Slowly, coming.

No day counter.  Too much pressure.  There is just today.  Only, always just today.

Today I am writing for a friend.  For me too, but for a friend, who so quietly reached out and asked politely for a glimpse into my soul, into my storm.  Not knowing why but it doesn't matter.  Funny. When our friends need us, sometimes we can just give without asking why, without expecting anything in return.

Sometimes we can't.  Sometimes it's our family, those closest to us, who spurn us, deny us, turn away for this reason or that.  Sometimes it hurts but more often than not it don't even register anymore.  We've been spurned for so long.

"Yeah, yeah," we say to ourselves, "I didn't 'spect you to come anyways.  Just had to ask you know."

More often than not I kid myself that it doesn't hurt.  It hurts like fucking hell.

My friend politely reminded me I've undertaken a yearlong blog expedition and that she wants some of this action.

Hmph.

Well, just to show her what's what, I will cut and paste something from the annals of our conversations and emails that captures some of what I feel, what I think, what I know... right here, right now. (I hope you are not upset that I am sharing this...)

 These unexpected obstacles that slow us down, they cause us to reflect on what's important. These are what help us to see our true selves: Our true natures. It's tough cuz the pot doesn't help us at all.. Only hurts us. It's hard to see it while we're in it, but by helping us "relax", it actually prolongs the agony. Our relaxation is premised on the silky, green dragon smoke's ability to cloak our problems, to mask them in a green-tinged mockery of true love. "YEah mon, it's all good mon... " When really, inside, we're hurting, sad, scared, lonely beyond our comprehension, and just ACHING for real expression, real happiness, just REAL in general. And sometimes, real sucks; real hurts. Real is not exciting, not immediately fulfilling. Most times real is just a pain in the ass. But it is real.

That is what we yearn for. To find our real place in this world. A place where we belong. Where we can feel love. The real secret is that all along, while we may be looking for a geographical location or perfect job or relationship to discover that love, it only exists in one place: in our hearts. We just have to choose to unlock it. To discard that which keeps us mired in guilt, shame, fear, doubt, etc. To make an ACTIVE decision to love and accept love. 

Sweetheart, I hate to be a broken record, but true enlightenment and understanding and all that love is only possible when we are clean and sober. When we have stared the gaunt and sombre eyes of the tiger that is our craving, and taken back the ownership of our soul. 

"No," she said, "I will NOT succumb to you oh mangy and flea bitten tiger, whose eyes shimmer with the glaze of physical pleasure. I will not hide behind the promise you give with your temporary salvation, your short lived pleasure. I will instead surrender to these feelings of fear and doubt, and in that unique position of surrender, I will feel the unexpected strength that flows from the mountain, the snow; the waters and the sky. The strength that comforts me with the recognition that the very same strength courses through my veins and makes up the seat of my soul. I am one with the universe, and the universe is one with me. And it is love, sweet love, that ties me to this plane; that connects me to all and caresses my bare feet as they touch the ground. I choose today to honour my body, mind and soul by staying pure and treating myself with love." 

So fuck you devil weed; fuck you coca plant; fuck you cancer sticks.. fuck you sweet alcoholic vapours! I choose today to celebrate my life with a few chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and some green tea. And maybe a little word of thanks to my ancestors, in whose steps I humbly walk, and to those yet to arrive, whose way I hope is gentle.

I choose today to honour this planet and this life in the best way I know how: by learning to listen to my heart.

And tonight, when I lay my head down in my soft bed, between the sheets and eagerly anticipating my dreams, after I have given thanks for making it through this day and showing myself love, I ask that I have the power, will and wherewithal to do the same tomorrow. And if anyone up there is listening: Thank you."

So, there's my two cents. No "solving"; just the simple explanation of the daily battle that I engage in. These awarenesses are what keep me here. What keep me believing that the best is yet to come. I choose today to walk with the universe, clean, sober and mindful of my spirit; rather than fight against the naturally flowing current of love.

"The finest qualities of our nature, like the bloom on fruits, can be preserved only by the most delicate handling. Yet we do not treat ourselves nor one another thus tenderly." - Henry David Thoreau, from "Walden."

I love you more than you can know.
S.

Day Seven: Homeward Bound...

I was sitting in a railway station, got a ticket for my destination...  Mm-mhm...  Man I love Paul Simon.  This guy inspired me to play, to sing.  What a talent. What a beautiful soul.  Onstage with Willie Nelson.  Nice.

I have to go to Hinton, Alberta tonight.  Two days of meetings with the Canadian Boreal Forest Agreement Regional Steering Group.  Cool.  My home.  My place of birth. Homeward bound. (Gotta show Art too! Can't have Simon without Garfunkel)

Other things have come up as well; beautiful things.  Opportunities and rewards.  Terry says to me, "life just keeps putting these amazing things in front of you."

I know.  <sigh>  I know.  Like I expect the world to reward me just for being me.  Special treatment all my life. Mr. Manipulator; sell a screen door to a submarine captain - just for the hell of it.

My friend, the loudest most arrogant asshole of a recovery pro (and the sweetest, most generous man I know) says that he suffers from "terminal uniqueness."  I can relate.  The sense of being so unique, so special, so separate from the world - ALWAYS get my way... ALWAYS find a way...  ALWAYS....  Turn on the charm and by the time I'm done, not only have you done my bidding, but you figured it was your idea.

Sick.  Ever sick.

Pages 60-63 of the Big Book of AA.  I have read it over and over again.  Mostly because I have been directed to read it over and over again from folks that know. I know it by heart practically. And still I play God from time to time.

"The first requirement is that we be convinced that any life run on self-will can hardly be a success.  On that basis we are almost always in collision with someone or somebody, even though our motives are good."

This is the trick.  "Even though our motives are good."  Selfish is still selfish.  I remember wanting to stop the whole world just to listen to me tell them how ridiculous it was that they were at war, or stockpiling nukes or starving three quarters of the world's population so the rest of us could enjoy bologna and kraft dinner.  For their own good, I wanted to impart my wisdom.  My way is the right way.

Wrong.

My way is my way.  Their ways are their ways.  My job is to keep my side of the street clean, not sweep up theirs.

We find a way to lead by example.  Show the way.

"I am the light of the world, whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life."  John 8:12

Jesus rocks.

So I'm going on the road tonight.  My cousin and I.  Mountain bikes and fishing rods and notepads and laptop.  Mostly work but a little play.  My hometown.  Hell, it's even his hometown.  My first kiss, first love, first pube, first drink, first toke, first .. well, you know.  *blush*  A lot of firsts.

I love this place.  The rivers, the lakes, the mountains, even the smell (pulp mill).  I am pulling my trailer and parking at a beautiful ranch nestled in the foothills.  Maybe even squeeze in a horsey ride.

Day seven and all is well.  Bills paid, work copacetic, wife happy, kids healthy.  Body, mind and soul feeling not bad at all.

Just got to get a little wiring fixed on my truck.  And I'm on my way to do that.

Love to you all.
S.
xox

Day Six: Linking Heaven and Earth

Wow.  Google rocks.

I remember spreading out our Encyclopedia Brittanica nice, juicy red volumes all over the carpet when I was a kid.  So in rapture from all the information, tidbits and trivia.  I loved the "H" volume with its plastic page overlays of the human body.

We even had the Childcraft supplementary volumes - 15 coloured hardcover books; Stories and Fables, Crafts, Holidays, Cultures - all manner of interesting fare for a wunderkind readaholic 12 year old.

I remember when mom bought them from a door to door salesman.  How I gave her hell.  ("We don't have that kind of money to throw around on encyclopedias!") How she argued the point and didn't give a rat's ass how broke we were.  We needed the 1983 set of Brittanica and each supplemental volume of "Year in Review" every year thereafter.  And that, asshole, was that.

Now, I punch in a word or two, carefully bonded together by a space bar punch, and BOOM, 171,734,231 hits, organized in order of importance, views, relevance, etc.  Google rocks.

Today I punched in the number "6", preceded by "significance of the number."  Whoa.  Very cool.

The number 6 is represented by the Hebrew word "vav" which is the word used in the Torah linking Heaven and Earth.  Like a "hook" the vav links heaven and earth.  The physical and the spiritual.

Whoa.  Six used to be significant to me because that was the increment in which beer was sold.

Six.  It's pretty big in the House of David, the Jewish House.  Six pointed star and all that.

Six.  The sense of wholeness or oneness:  The whole of an object - back, front, right, left, top and bottom.  Six sides.

Today is the sixth day in this, the journey of recovery of one S. Hughes.  Feeling grounded, whole.  Balanced.  Healthy.

Things are not perfect but they are whole.  I am part of this whole.

I mask my feelings with practical realities...  (as in "I shouldn't be feeling this") And it is not a very healthy thing to do.  I am choosing to learn to honour what I feel, when I feel it.  A time for everything and everything in its time.

But choosing to act or not on those feelings is another art within itself.

Feel them, yes, but perhaps it is best to not say "go fuck yourself" to someone who signs your paycheques even though the overwhelming desire to do so is front and centre.  How to honour and value one's truths without stepping on the toes of the world or compromising your health and sanity.

This is the message of the day.

Brought to you by the number 6.

xox
S.

Day Five: The way to eternal happiness...

Hot bath after a day of household chores and some fresh pickerel battered and fried...  Another good day in a pretty good stack of good days that this life has brought me.

Bruce Lee in HD and a houseload of kids and beautiful women.  What have I done to deserve these, life's sweet rewards? 

Part of me thinks I was a real tortured soul in a previous life because, as one of my recovery friends has so aptly put it "you have no idea how lucky you are."  Another part of me thinks it may have something to do with the so-called difficulties that we faced when I was young. The trials and tribulations and patient, abiding tears into my pillow night after night seem to have earned me some celestial credits.

Matters naught.  I am here now and that is all that matters.  The world is a beautiful place and so much of what is in it is also beautiful.

No need to dig too deep today.  I am a little fearful of what the cat may drag in.  (By the way diesel, thanks for the mouse on the front step today.  Gave the ants something to do besides ravage our peonies!)

Strange dreams these last few nights.  So thankful for my bedmate.  It is like sleeping beside Mother Earth so grounded she makes me feel. 

I have always had this strange delusion about my writing.  That one day I would just settle down into myself and just write, and be instantly grand at it.  That I would write the "Great Canadian Aboriginal Poor Beginnings Champagne Finishing Smartypants Heartfelt Novel" and live happily ever after, raising kids and goats and chickens and cows and grow beets, snowpeas, carrots and spuds on a little patch of bush somewhere in the mountains.

I had a therapist one time who, while I was waiting for her to help me with my philandering, asked me if I thought I had a drug problem.

"I smoke pot," said I, fully ignorant of my own complete disregard for truth, personal or otherwise, "and I will smoke pot till I die."

"Hmph," said she.  "Well, you will not make any personal growth until you admit you have a problem and decide to stop using substance chronically."

"Hmph," thought I.  "What does she know, this krinkly old lady."

"And another thing," said she.  "You will not write the Great Canadian Novel, Aboriginal or Otherwise, until you start writing.  Not some Magnum Opus;  just writing."

I distinctly remember that statement resonating deep within me.  That she was right.  That to dream and delude one's self about writing the perfect blend of pain and joy and truth and bullshit on the first go round was pretty vain and self absorbed NOT to mention fairly akin to self-sabotage.  So I tried.

But the slow, steady pitter pat of safe, responsible steps toward enlightenment and happiness was and is still foreign to me.  I was and am much more familiar with the staccato sounds of sprints and stumbles of oxfords on the cobblestones.  Sprints and stumbles.  Leaps and tumbles. Up and down, sink and swim.  Look like you're just about to get ahead and then pull the whole thing down on yourself.

Magnum Opus be damned.  I am just going to do some Sunday single panel cartoons, but they'll be good, trust me. Fuck the Great Novel.  I'll write a song or two, dazzle the onlookers and continue to undermine my own path to sanctity and satisfaction.

In the words of the Late Great Slim Pickens "WTF?" 

Just like I knew in my heart that Louise, the most talented therapeutic practitioner I have ever known, was completely right in all her recommendations and analyses, I know in my heart that I have sadly shortchanged myself by living in the shortcut for so long.

Doing my homework at my desk 10 minutes before class begins 30 years ago or finishing a project for work on the day of the deadline - procrastination didn't kill the cat, but it sure made him fat and lazy. ; )

So part of my rationale for this blog is to write.  Simply to write.  To allow the cloudy, muddled thoughts and feelings that are "coming out all over" in early recovery to sweeten, distill, steep and settle into poetry and prose of which I can be proud as we get nearer to this time next year.

You know, I have been an addict since I ate my first Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookie at 5 years old.  Even the sadness that has been my companion for all my life, I believe, is a guilty pleasure that has addictive roots.

I was the Captain of Team Chronic since the age of 11.  Blackout drunk at 14.  Playing the most dangerous game of stimulant addict for nearly 12 years.  In all that time, the longest time I have mustered without using anything chronically is 5 months.  I did that about four years ago.  Then, when everything was perfect...  "Hm, think I'll call *insert dealer name here*.  Celebrate my newfound happiness and success."

I have had two, three, four months.  Two, three, six weeks... numerous times, but no sustained "pitter, pat, pitter, pat" of slow and steady winning the race.

I admire all you folks that walk the talk.  Day after day, week after week, year after year.  Some of you drink and smoke now and again.  Good on you.  You wake up with your kids every day.  Some of you fuck around and chase shits and giggles at the expense of your better halves.  I don't think that's wise or kind.  Somewhere in the middle of all this is a path worth walking.

I have historically waffled between some twisted version of Super Dad and insane, no show cracker jack.

Today, I choose to be here.  In the now.  Sharing a bed with my soulmate, and two sweaty three year olds.  Allowing the flotsam to drift away and the gems to be revealed.  It doesn't take long.  All the clean time I've mustered, all the growth and understandings and truths  - they are still there.  I can't go backwards and lose them.  They become clear and reveal themselves as I stop muddying up the stream, stop stirring up the shit and silt and caca.

It's not when it gets hard that I go and fuck up.  It's when it gets good. 

It's getting late.  In deference to the late, great Bruce Lee who is currently lighting up the 46" in High Definition, I will finish with a couple of his quotes.

"Real living is living for others."

Nice.  Putting in the time and the effort with this beautiful, deserving family.  I managed to help our beautiful Teen Queen onto the winning float for Strathcona County's Canada Day Parade.  Still some work to do after disappearing on her birthday this year, but it's a start.

Maybe finding some way to grow in recovery and share what little truths or tools I may discover.  Maybe I should finish a set of steps...  Can't teach what you don't know. 

This is living for others. 

I also like this other Bruce Lee quote.  Self fulfilling prophecy.

"You just wait.  I'm going to be the biggest Chinese star in the world."

My Love to You.
S.

Day Four: Up the Creek without a paddle or "Can someone bring me some toilet paper please!?"

I have found something in my chest that I forgot existed.  A good heart, strong and true, with a love for life and all that it brings.  So funny all the things that are coming forward now; a never ending barrage of memories, fond and painful, trickling over my mind's eye like the headwaters of the Skeena converging in the verdant meadows of northern BC.  Reminders of all that is true - of all that I believe with every fiber of my being.

And the bullshit, slowly floating to the top, easy  to see, easy to smell and able to be caught with a small butterfly net and filtered away.

Yesterday was a new moon.  My mom used to have the odd new moon ceremony.  This is a good time to begin something; to chase away the clutter of the past and commence anew.  I feel it in my bones.

Addiction and all that it brings has been a part of my life for many, many years.  Even before I was a separate breathing entity, I was part of a duality within my mom's womb, where addiction played a role.

Funny. I always knew it.  That our history - her history, helped to forge this alchemical soup that I had become.

My mom used to tell me stories when I was young...   (I LOVED hearing about myself and our little travails and twisted, happy/sad life stories).  But stories that would shock.  Stories about how I was conceived.  About getting punched in the stomach by a drunk when she was pregnant with me.  About crying herself to sleep with me inside of her.  Stories of violence and fear, pain and sadness - but also of hope and beauty and all things that made this life worth living.

I used to think of this poor 16 year old Indian girl.  It's 1970 and she's in a small redneck forestry and mining town.  She is pregnant by the bad boy son of the strict disciplinarian high school principal - an English principal, no less.

Whew...

What pain, what fear, what stigma.

What stress.

What stress...  Stress.  The emotion that wreaks the most havoc on a teenage girl's endocrine system, and most assuredly on her developing child.  I always wondered what it must have felt like in there.  In the dark, warm, comfort of the womb - a place that is generally considered to be safe and sound - a warm wet reprieve from the ills of the world.  In there, among her pain and fear and sadness and other emotions, as she found her way past parental alcoholism and the other goodies of her teenagedom.

I always knew in my gut that I was not "unscathed" from her travails.  That somehow, in some way, they touched me irrevocably.

Dr. Gabor Mate, Canadian physician and author extraordinaire, has written some books which speak to this truth.  In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts is an amazing book (thanks Dad) that speak about some of the most cutting edge brain research that steps out some of these causal factors.

He is the staff physician at the Portland Hotel in Downtown Van.  The only legal injection site in N. America.  He has a few insights to say the least.

It has been through rifling through his work that I have discovered that I am, in fact, ADHD.  Some of you probably figured this out 20 years ago!  ; )  But mostly that I am not alone in my struggles.  At about 5:59 of the video attached above, he touches on some things that make sense right down to my core.

Something interesting that I have finally realized is about the nature of the stimulant addiction I have maintained for nearly 12 years.

See, I used to work with kids in care; I supervised group homes and staff and some of Alberta's most troubled youth.  All came with their own alphabet soup of diagnoses and prescribed medical reprieve.

I had many kids who were ADHD and who seemed to be unwilling passengers on their brain's joyride with their bodies.  We didn't prescribe them "downers"....  They got ritalin - a psychostimulant.  This stimulant flooded the brain's chemoreceptors with dopamine and norepinephrine, effectively allowing them to "slow down" and react in more normal operating levels.

I've known people who are addicted to stimulants and, when they take them, they fly off the handle.  They turn into cleaning machines or sex machines or whatever.  Not me.  I would turn into a zombie.  I would slow down.  Calm down.  I couldn't handle company or other people.  Always alone, always quiet - no music, no sounds.

I understand now.

Self prescribed medical reprieve from ADHD.  Nice try Dr. Hughes.

How bout some other ways to manage ADHD... Like diet, exercise, high energy/high adrenaline hobbies, proper sleep and nutrition.  And love.  Lots of love - both self and for others.

You know, my recent discoveries about the nature of my addictive self destructive tendencies do not absolve me from my responsibility of dealing with them; managing them - mitigating them.  They do not pass off the blame to my parents and the circumstances of my life.  They bring light to dark shady places.  They shine a penetrating unwavering spotlight on those narrow twisted curvy places in my psyche that threaten to undermine who I am.  They threaten to take an otherwise beautiful person and separate him from love and light.

It's nice to know where the "Crazy" came from.  But it don't change anything.  I still have to deal with it, walk with it, and learn how to keep 'er saddled and between the lines.

No pun intended.

Much love all.
S.

Days Two and Three: Prologue...

Time is what keeps the light from reaching us.  There is no greater obstacle to God than time.
Meister Eckhart


Happy Canada Day all.  Today is a beautiful day.  Suffice to say right now that I am so filled with love, life and family these last two days that I have had no time to write.  <smile>

I will follow up this weekend with some thoughts, feelings and obfuscations...  I mean observations.  Enjoy your fireworks wherever they may be tonight.  Kiss and hug those you love and be thankful for all that you have and don't have.

later,
S.