A Saturday reflection, again enjoying three days off from work. The personal time is pleasing, while challenging. I am spending a lot of free time in my new home alone, watching television and reading. My thoughts border always on the extreme, waiting impatiently for something to worry about. I am convinced I can control my thinking, settling myself down, aiming myself toward peace and contentment. Recovery focuses my thoughts upon exercises prescribed by my sponsor. Today, sharing a Big Book meeting, the idea of creating personal space, distance from others, while concentrating upon where I am at and where I am going. I recognize my contentious nature in dealing with the sponsor one-on-one. We speak daily. My obstinate nature seeks self-improvement. The man is sound and structured in his approach, following specific methods based upon experience. Opinions and beliefs are placed aside, at least to the best of our abilities: Part of a prayer he suggests: …Today, God we humbly ask for your direction, care, wisdom guidance, and love as we walk through these steps…and God please set aside everything we think we know about ourselves, the steps, the books, sobriety and you God…and God please help each and every one of us today to have an open mind so that we may have a new experience and discover the truth…. The idea of creating space, separation if necessary from those closest is essential. That void, assisted with impartial guidance, allows the formation of a new truth, a freed discernment struggling with itself rather than others. The detachment is different than the feel-good opposite extreme of self-effacement in which I declare ‘I am the problem’. To fall prostrate, surrendering under the guise, that my being wrong means others are right is set aside. Acceptance without judgement penetrates deeper. I examine myself, scrutinizing myself under the tutelage of another. It is not important to accept absolute culpability, nor to determine, in the slightest degree, the faults of others. It is not easy. Even with the sponsor, I will find myself internally attacking him. It is not difficult to find error. Regarding God, he introduced me to the God of his understanding, showing me a photo on his phone of a mother grizzly bear with three cubs perched upon her back. He explained how he saw the male grizzly bear as his God. I did not confront with the obvious observation that it was a female. Male grizzlies do not care for cubs. If anything, a male will kill the cubs. He went into a serious elaboration on why he saw the adult grizzly as God and himself as one of the cubs. Placing things in order, his perspective on religion does not matter. His role in my life is to assist me with recovery, a life of sobriety. I respect his intelligence, yet overall it is his organized approach to recovery that establishes him as a man I trust in regard to guiding me through the steps. There seems to be a gleam in his eye at times when stressing that it I must realize I will have to establish a whole new understanding of God. It would be easy to become defensive, comprehending there is something within him that would take pleasure in seeing me reject Catholicism. He was raised a Catholic. He is now proud to proclaim he has found a better way to form a personal relationship with God than the religion of his upbringing. I am not threatened, nor feel the need to debate. I explained that my new understanding of God would be centered upon establishing God as a daily means of embracing life. Internally and without being spoken, there is the absolute conviction I would never abandon, nor consider abandoning Catholicism. However, a new understanding and embracing would be welcomed. Religion, for myself, has included a rejection of life. My latest fascination with J.K.Huysmans delves deeply into such a spiritual pursuit. I have no doubt, and signs are apparent, that such a path is a true one for myself. Yet to strengthen that path, I must respond positively and productively to life. God wants progress on the natural level before grace deepens. Detachment is only healthy when one strives to serve God through his brothers, sisters, and the world. When creation is respected, and lived within honestly, humbly, and realistically, only then can grace emerge triumphant. The astute aspect of the sponsor’s charism is his ability to penetrate toward one’s true motivation. I contrast his approach to the originating group welcoming me to Cleveland. I identify the difference between feel-good sentiment, settling for easy group confirmed answers, opposed to a deeper insight determined to reveal enveloping truth—an efficient means of maturing. I can pinpoint matters with a focus upon mothers. With the original group, we discussed relationships with our mothers. They settled upon feel-good sentiment, emotional candy, telling stories how individually they hurt their mothers, accepting all blame, while emotionally proclaiming the immensity of their errant ways. Discussing the matter with my sponsor, I was surprised when he said he did not explain his relationship with his mother amidst recovery crowds. After serious deliberation, including consolation with his sponsor and wife, plus years of sobriety, he discerned he would not allow his mother an intimate role in his life. He approached her thoughtfully and carefully at family gatherings, while holding her constantly in his prayers, yet he would not allow her an active voice in his life. Throughout their relationship she trended toward chaos and drama, involving herself in criminal behavior when he was young. Time after time, she had demonstrated an inability to change; hurting and wounding her son after a lifetime of scaring. The door could be opened; however, he doubted the matter. He would not allow negative relationships to dominate his life. With his mother there was no middle ground, therefore separation was demanded. I make no judgements, nor verdicts. I respect his willingness to go above and beyond in order to establish a deeper embracing of truth. I think of my mother content with the distance we currently suffer. I will be patient, concentrating upon myself. I think of two female relationships important to me; emotional and difficult. Both pull deeply, lovingly, and longingly upon my heartstrings. I accept the distance, pointing no fingers away from myself, grateful for God’s loving whole-hearted attention. The sponsor told me of his thirty-year marriage, the fact his wife is in the program, and that when they both sought relief from alcoholism they separated. He came to understand how codependent they both were. It took the act of letting go of his wife before he could embrace her properly. It took his wife the act of letting go of him before she could accept his embrace with a mature and healthy love. This week they will celebrate their thirtieth anniversary. I am a witness to a new way of doing things, a new relationship with God emerging. I accept people for who they are, expecting nothing from them. All I can do is work upon myself, increasing my capacity for love with a renewed devotion and all-embracing relationship with God. I stop fighting with every and anything. The surrender of my will is in truth a tearful act of purging; a necessary act of healing. How in the world did I sustain fighting so much throughout my life? My sponsor told me about his first year of sobriety, and how he lived in a cloud of haze, sloth, and stupor. Looking back, he learned there was a physical and chemical component to the matter. His thought patterns, his brain patterns, were physically addicted, structured, to adrenalin rushes and an indulgence in the production of pleasure producing neurotransmitters: dopamine, serotonin, endorphins, and oxytocin. After a lifetime of substance abuse, his brain had to find a new way of functioning. His explanation assisted me in coming to terms with my dark and slothful moments when alone. During work, times of prayer: Mass, reading, and times of entertainment, I can function efficiently, able to achieve moments of peak production. However, left alone everything can become a struggle. Socializing is important to my well-being. Hospice work entered my life once again. Several received phone calls brought the matter to light. I went through an orientation process with a Catholic hospice organization, delighted to experience a smile producing relationship with the tutoring gentleman. He is an articulate witty man skilled as a caregiver. During the training, three of us wandered the halls of the hospice, seeking individuals to visit. The gentleman is scrupulous when discerning individuals to approach. He made it clear he only went where he was welcome, always open and attentive for a refusal. I relate it to the ancient Greek axiom: a kindness unwanted is no kindness at all. Consulting with a nurse we learned of two rooms hosting individuals who might be receptive to visitors. The first room provided a woman deeply asleep. We determined it was not wise to wake the woman. The next room I recognized upon approach. The man, seated and eating with a hooded sweatshirt drawn over his head, caught my attention when we walked by as his beaming eyes looked to those passing his room. We quickly established a joyful conversation with the man. The tutor commented the man looked like a monk. He responded he was cold. He continued eating his chicken while informing us of his preferences for movies. He surprised us by sitting up and drawing his hood away from his head, asking for our appraisal of his new haircut. I had to admit his head full of finely washed hair looked well groomed and attractive. He told us how a friend took him to his regular barber in Strongsville. It was obvious the trip away from the hospice did him very well. He said he was pleased with the haircut, yet now understood his beard stubble needed attention. He vowed he would shave that very afternoon. It was not long before I realized how much I missed hospice work, and the fact one received immensely when giving. I received no calls this weekend, while looking forward to filling my weekly three days off with hospice work. Another socializing incident caused reflection. After Mass and a Holy Hour on Friday at St Paul Shrine, I fell into a political discussion with three men in the lobby. The four of us were on the same page, yet overall I felt I could have behaved better. I am convinced in these divisive chaotic times no one is served by seeking like minded individuals and bashing perceived opponents. One of the men was highly intelligent, sickly in appearance, yet obviously a cultured and well-educated man. I thoroughly enjoyed conversation with him. Today during communal prayers, he joined us, while sitting distant. Possibly I am wrong, yet I feel I have piqued his interest. Our leader Shirley informed me of the man’s identity. He has been formerly brought to my attention under the moniker of Big Myron. I am curious now to pursue further conversation. I am confident he will be familiar with J.K. Huysmans. Finally, regarding socializing, St Charles Borromeo charmed today. The call for reconciliation brought me to the church for an early evening visit while a Mass was in the process of dismissing. I seated myself waiting for the attending priest. A young mother stopped close, conducting some type of information gathering effort guided by a child’s Catholic religious publication. The mother and her three children were venturing about the church, seeking out pieces of the church the educational magazine asked them to identify. They stopped at the reconciliation booths and the mother checked off their successful discovery. She asked her children if they knew what the booths were for. A young boy answered it was where you went when you were bad. The mother responded not necessarily bad, rather we sought confession when we acted in ways that were selfish, mean, and against the ways God wanted us to behave. She asked her children to think about times when they behaved in ways that were not recognized as bad, yet still they knew they were not good. She went on to explain the oldest boy would soon be making his first confession. As they moved on to the next item on their search list, heading toward the alter, I noticed a father trailing behind holding a new born, eyes bright and observing. Of course, me being prone to tears, it was not easy hold back an effusion.