Remembering Freedom

One o'clock in the morning, and I'm (more or less) wide awake.

Not a gripe, honestly, just a fact, and a flood of remembering/realizations.

This is called Freedom.

Two days ago, I was physically released from a (mental) prison. The Salvation Army ARC is not a prison - the door is always open (for exit), as they say. Addiction (alcoholism, etc.), and its consequences, are a prison, with chains and bars as strong as any physical cell.

Today, I am free to sit in a soft chair at 1 am, in a quiet, dark room, a computer on my lap; attempting to capture with words the gratitude I'm feeling for the seemingly smallest freedom (really, the most profound freedom there is). One of the 9th step promises (typically read to close AA meetings) says "That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear." It's really true. It really does disappear, replaced by a calm (serenity) realization that nothing is wrong or out of order in my life today - though "rational" judgment (old thinking pattern) would scream otherwise.

I'm reminded of a person I love who's clearly having a bad time of things, and can't help (and I understand the feeling) being bitter (and complaining). I really do understand, and there's something I really want to tell that person (who knows? perhaps it's you!) from where I'm sitting - outside the prison.

That thing is this: To get out of that prison, nothing has to change except your mind.

There aren't any words that describe adequately what serenity (gratitude - flip the coin) feels like. I notice people on the street (strangers) wanting to talk to me - we're all attracted by serenity (amid the gaggle of less productive attractions, admittedly).

I want to drive home that message (the one-liner above) with rational comparison (you do the math):

- hard of hearing
- sometimes (rarely, really) dizzy enough to barf
- unemployed
- homeless (technically - I love that word, spoken from the comfort of this rocker)
- 50 (by that I mean not 25 - the physical annoyances)
- alcoholic (an incurable, fatal illness)

Serene, grateful.

- I really appreciate what it means to listen
- with rare exceptions, I walk absolutely anywhere I need to be (and hardly ever barf)
- I have the opportunity to choose and do my real work thoughtfully
- I am home wherever I am (right here, right now)
- I know and understand so many (helpful) things today that I couldn't possibly understand at 25
- I have a daily reprieve based on the maintenance of my spiritual condition (12 steps) - and I have serenity

The first list is appearance - outside.
The second list is reality - inside.

The cynic (old me) will say I don't know their pain. You're right, I don't. I only know mine. Pain is fear distilled to its hopeless essence. Being drunk on pain is the loneliest place in the world. But no amount of pity (self or otherwise) can cure it - nor can cynicism (I tried that for most of my life).

What cures it is conscious contact with God (whatever that means to you) - something that replaces fear with serenity. That serenity isn't situational or circumstantial. It isn't found by thinking (and definitely not found by thinking with a broken alcoholic brain). Situations and circumstances are adventures now. Pain is still annoying, but that's life on life's terms. When I appreciate that, I can appreciate you. And appreciation (gratitude) is the opposite of loneliness.

I'm Paul, and I'm going back to bed. :)