The Absurdities

Is that not the ugliest thing you have ever seen? OK, not the leg, the stocking. It's a compression stocking and is used after surgeries to prevent blood clots from shooting to your heart and knocking you dead, and to keep circulation moving. But, why, I ask you, can't they make one that looks like black fishnet? I mean, really, how difficult would that be, and how much better would I feel wearing it if it were? I wonder if healing would occur more quickly if one could feel just a little bit sexy in the process, you know? I could just get one for the other leg and drive the cowboy nuts while I'm recuperating. Prime that pump so to speak.

If the stocking itself isn't absurd enough, imagine my dismay when I realized I was down to two people to help me change it: my dad or my boyfriend. Arrrgghh!!! Somebody save me from this humiliation! Funny that I don't mind the gorgeous PT changing it - must be because I know he's a professional and he's seen tons of hairy, un-cared for legs and feet in his job(remember, my injury occurred on Jan. 19th and I have not been able to reach my left foot since then!). I have PT again tomorrow and an appointment afterwards for the sutures to be removed. And even though I don't have the money for it, I'm treating myself to a pedicure afterwards and maybe a pair of black fishnets to go with it.

Yesterday, they let me switch from this leg brace to this one. The first one I have actually had to sleep with since surgery. Trust me, I'm definitely ready for something else to be sharing my bed. Honestly, can you imagine having to sleep in that thing??

I guess the biggest absurdity was receiving a pink slip three days after surgery, when I was in the most extreme pain and surely not in a psychic place to be hit with not having a job. I experienced hurt, anger, dismay, that someone I worked hard for for two and a half years felt I could be treated with such abject dismissal. And then I remembered the source. And I remembered that I had been toying with looking for another job for quite awhile, and I remembered being ambushed on the pontoon boat, and I remembered the week that I went to detox in September of 2006, which I was paid for and which got me off that awful drug, ativan, and I figure it all worked out in the end. I have acted with integrity, which is certainly not a given, but which is something I will take with me to my next job - whatever it may turn out to be. In the meantime? I'm just relaxing.

Knee Sundae with Whipped Cream and a Cherry on Top

A friend of mine gave me that card. Isn't it great? Now, I will admit to having felt picked on in the past few months, and to having been sorely tempted on numerous occasions to fall into that old yucky Victim mentality. But I've decided that whoever is doing the picking knows exactly what they're doing. Me? I'm just gonna relax.

I'm far enough away from the surgery now, and dealing with enough less pain to realize the absurdities and blessings that have occurred from this unplanned interruption in my life. My mom and sister, Pam, arrived the day before surgery. Mom flew back to Georgia last Sunday and Pam just left this (Sat.) morning. Dad got here yesterday and will stay until I feel comfortable driving myself again. They're doing me in shifts. I'm sure this is for their sanity as well as mine and is just a brilliant plan.

While I'm definitely ready for some alone time, I sure did hate to see Pam go. I've only known her for 44 years, but I learned something about Pam I never knew: in her daily life she's a school-bus driver - a no-nonsense benevolent dictator with the kids on her bus and the lung power to be heard over 20 or 30 of them. But by night I think she's a frustrated Florence Nightingale. She patiently fetched me water, food, and anything else I needed, washed my hair, did the grocery shopping, rented movies for us to watch, drove me back and forth to doctor's appointments and physical therapy, and generally took excellent care of me. And I only had to nudge her a little to keep the floor swept and the dishes washed. I'm really lucky to have the relationships I do with my sisters and I appreciate them more and more.

Speaking of physical therapy, I've decided it takes a special kind of person to deliver such torture all the while convincing you it's for your own good. I hit the jackpot with my physical therapist as he looks like this guy and despite myself I find I kinda look forward to PT. Wouldn't you? It's great to have something nice to look at when you're being twisted, and stretched, and prodded and pushed and you know you're going to hurt like hell when it's over.

You might call all that stuff one flavor of ice cream in this scrumptious little sundae I'm making. The whipped cream?

On Monday, three days after surgery, my co-workers, Peggy & Tom, showed up at my house with a letter. The letter was from my employer of the past two and a half years, and in its entirety read: "Due to seniority, you are laid off effective March 1, 2008." It had postage on it and was ready to mail which is exactly what that cowardly lion was going to do.

The cherry?

I can't seem to make myself unhappy about it. As a matter of fact, my sundae is covered with a mound of cherries on top. I'll tell you more about them in upcoming posts.

Thanks to all of my blogging friends for the great support and encouragement. It is appreciated!

I have just one thing to say

They did not exaggerate. I am not a happy camper. I hope to be back soon.

100th Blog Post

Well, this is my 100th blog post and it seems as good a time as any to review where we've been for the past few months. I began this blog as an exploration into recovery from alcoholism and drug addiction. I had been trying many different recovery modalities, but had yet to find one that seemed to fit me personally. You may have noticed that not every post, maybe not even half of them, are actually about addiction or recovery. There's a reason for that.

What I hope I show here is that there is a lot more to me than the drinking problem I defined myself by for so long. A whole helluva lot more. What I hope others with similar problems may realize is that they, too, can make the choice to define themselves differently.

One of the first decisions I made was to stop attending AA. There was a time in my life, which I've written about, when AA was a catalyst for positive change, but that time had long passed and I was only hurting myself by continuing to try and find something appropriate for me there. When I would go to AA and attempt to stay sober indefinitely, and then fail in that attempt, I would beat myself unmercifully and the deep and intense guilt I would experience was much worse on me than the actual drinking. Plus, some folks in and out of AA seemed all too eager to assist me in the lashing. So I decided to quit doing that to myself. When I stopped doing it to myself, I stopped letting anyone else do it either. I think that's called empowerment.

Some of my best friends are members of AA. In keeping with their 12th tradition, I would like to say thank you to two very special women - you know who you are.

I gave myself permission to explore the things I was really interested in and the things that I felt could lead me out of alcoholism. I had this idea that a life lived with deep passion and joy would leave little room for addiction. So I deepened my inquiry into astrology and how it could help me make sense of life. I also began work with a woman who had identified as alcoholic for many years, but who had transcended that label. She introduced me to Caroline Myss' work on archetypes which was a perfect accompaniment to astrology as astrology is really all about archetypes. I decided to explore the relationship between sex, guilt and addiction - specifically how feelings of guilt around early sexual experiences could morph into addiction disorders. Eric Frances over at Planet Waves provided a space for this exploration. I intended to write more about that here, but I haven't gotten comfortable enough to be quite that open. I maintained my spiritual practices - yoga, meditation and writing. Writing is a spiritual practice for me because I cannot hide from myself when I write. I can still hide from you if I want to, but not myself. None of these explorations have turned out like I thought they would; mostly they've turned out better than I could've imagined.

The first and most wonderful change came when I noticed that I could drink without guilt. I could enjoy drinking in a social fashion. This doesn't mean that there was an instantaneous switch to moderate drinking. I sometimes still drink too much, but I no longer beat the crap out of myself for doing it. I've observed that when I am in a difficult situation or having a hard time emotionally, I can still go into heavy drinking as a coping mechanism. And I've observed that I can stop it.

As long as I believed in powerlessness as the 1st of the 12 steps requires, I really was powerless. When I would drink under that premise, I literally felt that I couldn't stop drinking and the binges could last for days or even weeks. These binges were exacerbated by an addiction to a drug called ativan which I finally broke in September of 2006. What it feels like now is that I'm backing out of alcoholism. I like to drink. I practice harm reduction by not driving when I drink, not letting it interfere with my work, and not adding anything else to the mix. I believe as long as I am responsible to my fellow human beings, I can maintain my private life as I please. No harm, no foul. This is not a popular notion these days. At the same time, I have become much too aware of where my real joy lies to get too far away from that, which is where excess drinking takes me.

I have gained more confidence, more joy and more fulfillment from following my own path, however crooked it may look to someone else, than I ever did by trying to maintain abstinence from alcohol. Anyone will tell you that abstinence from alcohol does not equal recovery. Very few, if any, people will tell you that recovery is possible while continuing to drink. But I know there are others out there like me, who believe it is possible and who will follow that belief. Some may consider us stupid, a little crazy and even hopeless. Others may consider us courageous and ground-breaking, while most of you could probably care less one way or the other. Which leads me to the second wonderful thing that's happened for me. I don't base my decisions anymore on what someone else thinks is a good idea for me. I think they call that liberation.

A few weeks ago the woman I was working with had me make a list of the positive changes I'd seen since we began working together. Here is that list:

I've had more instances of drinking and enjoying it than I have of overdoing it and regretting it.

I've felt my confidence soar.

I've done some excellent writing.

I've felt the Universe filling me up from the inside out.

I've drawn lines in the sand with people and been utterly prepared for whatever response I got.

I've spent a lot of time letting myself move through grief.

I've created a sex life for myself that doesn't require a partner and I've also enjoyed great partner sex.

I have redefined some relationships in my life to be on a more equal basis.

I'd like to add these to that list:

I've been true to myself.

I've moved out of blaming anyone, most especially myself.

I still feel the naysayer's judgment. I still wonder if they will be right in the end - if I will ultimately move back into full blown alcoholism and possibly lose my life. And then I remember: none of us gets out of here alive. Today is the day, baby. What are you going to do with it?

And on that note, this will probably be my last post before surgery. I've added some great new people to my blogroll, so please check out: Crazed and Confused, Frankiecon, Lee's River, Rae's Confessions, and The Electric Orchid Hunter.

And oh yeah, that picture? I took it with the cowboy on top of that snow-covered moutain, on a very sweet and sacred Sunday afternoon. Peace, ya'll.

Hangin' out at the . . . . cemetary?

Yeah, this is what we do for fun in Polson on a Saturday afternoon. Actually, the Lakeview Cemetary is atop a hill that overlooks Polson Bay, the narrows and the mountains of the Mission, the Swan and the Flathead Valleys. It's one of the most beautiful views in Polson and one of the quietest spots in an already quiet town. I like to go there to think and ponder, to daydream and reminise, to pray and stand in awe. My prayers go something like this, which are the lyrics from a Joan Armatrading song I'm listening to:

They're singing secular songs in the churches

And there's not a word of God

It's all Schubert and Beethoven

Oh and lots of french love songs

So let's go down on Sunday morning

To hear that Jacob sermon read

Everybody's dressed in their finest apparal baby

Listening to the preacher eulogies

Then we'll pray

Pray

Pray

Yea we'll pray

Our souls will rise upon that date

Pray

Pray

Pray

Pray we change to better ways

They're telling stories about love's passion

All about menage a trois

Hear those heart felt Leider

Coming from that deep bass voice

And whilst some sleep through this music

Others weep for all the pain

As they sing secular songs to the churches baby

It's time to kneel let's kneel and pray.

That's followed by the chorus again with lots of soulful hallelujah's thrown in and at this part I can't decide which to sing - Pray or Hallelujah!

I brought the cowboy to this cemetary yesterday. We seem to have burned through all our illusions about each other in the past few weeks - and decided we still think it's a good thing to hang out together awhile. I feel good about that.

One of the artists I was working with, Nancy Greenfield, came up today and collected the inventory of hers I still had. Nancy and I had a great, though short-lived working relationship and made friends in the process. I sold a little of her work for her and we ended our business relationship on very good terms. Plus, I made another new friend. Hi, Joe! Hope you found me.

I feel good about that.

I'm prepared for the upcoming surgery and am eager to get it over with and start the process of recovery. Ya'll remind me of that two weeks from now when I'm wanting to kill my physical therapist! I feel good about that.

And there's one thing for sure. I'm not "asleep in Jesus" yet. And let me tell you, I feel very good about that!

Cupid's Shadow

For many years, Valentine’s Day and the week surrounding it was just a week of intense work in the family flower shop. And don’t think your small hometown florist likes it. It’s hard, brutal physical labor. It’s rose thorns and 5-gallon buckets of slimy water and last minute men desperate to have something in their hands when they get home. It’s commercial and frivolous and ridiculous. It’s anxiety producing, guilt-ridden and fake.

Working in a flower shop you pretty much get to see it all. Flowers are bought for celebration at birthdays, births and weddings; for remembrance when someone passes on or is ill; and for good old getting out of the doghouse every day of the week. But I always think of those Valentine red roses as our own collective sexual/love/romantic shadow. Maybe because I was privy early on to the commercialization of Valentine’s Day, because I saw how men reluctantly did what they were “supposed” to do that day, and how women measured their men by whether they did the right thing or not, I am not sentimental about Valentine’s Day. You know how some people hate Christmas? Well, I hate Valentine’s Day.

In 1991, I received 7 dozen roses for Valentine’s Day. A few months later I married that man. A few months later I left in fear for my life. But, those roses – well, that and the 1 carat solitaire hooked me good. And even recently I have been seduced by pretty gifts and compliments and the promise of a little romance. But none of that is the real, real thing. Sometimes the real thing comes without nicely wrapped packages and sparkly diamonds or compliments you don't know whether to believe or not. Sometimes it comes very plainly, at the foot of a snow-covered mountain, and with the truth – no matter how unattractive it may be.

The Soul's Companion

Behavior Patterns

"When I become aware of destructive behavior patterns, they can serve a wonderful purpose: I can use them as indicators of where my inner work lies. Any situation to which I have a constant over-reaction is telling me something about myself that I need to listen to. My first task is to realize the reaction is not fitting the circumstance, then to sit with that realization, and see through association where it takes me. No one knows my history better than I do, if I allow myself to know it.

When I make the decision to come into conscious awareness, to find meaning in my life experience, I begin to experience life as an adventure - my adventure. When I raise the source of the unwanted pattern to consciousness to better understand where my pain or reaction stems from, I can begin to see it for what it is and let it go. Then I am no longer repeating history, I am making it. " Tian Dayton, Ph.D.

I've been sitting through the aftermath of some bad decision making on my part this week and at times my body has felt like that picture above (taken at Yellowstone). It feels like some alchemical fire is burning out all my. . . karma, for lack of a better word. Instead of continually berating myself for making some bad decisions in the first place, I am moving forward, trying hard to not get stuck in the negative emotions and to remember that in 5 minutes everything will be ok. Time to make some history.

Eclipsing Personal Myths or Advanced Truth Seeking

There is a partial solar eclipse tonight at 10:44 EST. In the language of astrology, eclipses are opportunities to either make or break patterns, or if you will, personal myths, we've set up in our lives.

All of us have personal myths that we live with and by whether we're aware of them or not. We come by these myths in a number of ways and from a number of different sources: parents, friends, teachers, our culture, and yes, we even come up with some of them all by ourselves. I've noticed that alcoholism treatment websites like to report myths about alcoholism. The most interesting thing is that there are very few real facts about alcoholism so the "myths" these sites report usually coincide with whatever treatment option they are trying to sell. On one site you'll find that they consider the "disease concept" a myth and on another you'll find that the myth is that alcoholism is a behavioral disorder.

When I went through treatment in 1988 I was told that I had a medical disease (alcoholism) that was incurable, progressive and eventually fatal. I had no reason at the time not to believe these well-meaning professionals and I accepted the diagnosis, followed the protocol (12-Steps) and stayed sober for six years. Obviously, that concept worked for me for quite awhile. At the time, I never questioned whether I actually believed any of it for myself.

But later in my life, when those concepts were no longer working so well, I was literally forced to question the validity of what I had learned . . . against my own experience. And here's what I'm finding - the more gray area the subject has, the more people become attached to their myths around it. It only makes sense that in the absence of few hard facts, myths will tend to abound. Alcoholism, eating disorders, gambling addiction, sexual addiction - all fertile ground for Facts and Myths. And here's what I'm coming to believe - your facts about your problem may be different from mine. My myths may be your facts. Your myth may be solid fact to me. It doesn't mean that I am right and you are wrong or vice versa.

In my study of archetypes, I've seen these personal myths come to life in the form of archetypal patterns of behavior. Addict. Victim. Goddess. Pioneer. Storyteller. Hedonist. When I view my behavior archetypally (which is exactly what astrology does by the way), I'm able to detach from the simmering emotions that surround the issue. Not only that, when I'm aware of other archetypal patterns I can substitute for the one causing me trouble, I'm offered a solution that doesn't require me to blame myself for anything, blame anyone else for anything, or even declare myself right and someone else wrong.

I'm beginning to form a theory about this called Advanced Truth Seeking. An Advanced Truth Seeker seeks out as much hard truth is available about any given situation (which is usually not a lot) and then decides what myth to make her truth. I think this is what most of us try to do in our lives, but we're usually not very conscious of it. That's where the Advanced part comes in. When we become conscious of it, we can decide with eyes wide open that we're going to make a particular myth our truth. I think this is the power of intention, the power of story, and the power of co-creation. I figure we're all just a myth in the eyes of the Goddess anyway.

I'm deciding on a few very empowering personal myths at this eclipse, how about you?

Something to Fear but Fear Itself

My ACL reconstruction surgery is scheduled for Friday, February 22nd at 12:00 pm. I had my first pre-surgery physical therapy appointment yesterday afternoon. The surgeon, physical therapist and physician's assistant aren't pulling any punches with me about just exactly how painful this is going to be. I know they're just trying to prepare me, but honestly, it's freaking me out. Apparently the first 48-60 hours after surgery can be pretty excruciating and I am not looking forward to it! It's keeping me awake at night.

Proactively, I can strengthen the muscles around my knee as much as possible before surgery and that will speed recovery time. Proactively, I can take care of myself and maintain a positive attitude and I know that will help. Proactively I can focus on how much better I'll be after the surgery, how I won't have to worry about protecting it so much and how within a year I should be able to do anything I want to - yoga, hike, swim, bike. But right now I am just utterly afraid. And I feel like a 3-year old pitching a tantrum about something she has to do but doesn't want to. I want to stomp my feet (well, the right one anyway), scream and yell that it's not fair!

The worst part is I have two+ more weeks to ponder it, consider how bad it will be, obsess on it, anticipate it and dread it. Or maybe I could use those weeks more constructively. Right now, though, I feel pretty powerless over the thoughts. I'm up for any and all suggestions. And as the day approaches, prayers will be appreciated.

Imbolc

Tomorrow, February 2nd, is the cross-quarter day known in the pagan religions as Imbolc. Imbolc marks the half way point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. I have heard that Imbolc derives from words meaning "ewes milk" or "in the belly" and in the pagan religions it refers to Spring being "in the belly" of the Mother - earth. Lactating, gestating, preparing to burst forth with the lengthening hours of sun.

Imbolc is important to me because it was the first holiday I learned about when I began studying pagan religions. Also, for some reason, it has always felt like the beginning of the year to me. It feels like it "in my belly" and I don't care when you call the year over - this is my New Year's Eve.

To celebrate, I'll be visiting the Arctic Mermaid, which is what the cowboy calls the house he's building on a mountanside in Montana. I love going there because I actually rest while I'm there. When I'm home I'm always doing something. Always! Well, unless, of course, I can't walk. But when I visit him I feel free to just lie on the couch and watch movies if I want to. I don't feel compelled to be loading the washing machine or sweeping the floor or feeding the kitties.

I will cook us venison steaks with a salad and sauteed portabello mushrooms. He will keep the fire going in the old woodstove and it will be warm inside while the snow and cold await just on the other side of the wall. We will drink wine and make love and for a few hours, all will be right with the world.

Hey! I'm thinking I'm not depressed anymore! Have a great weekend. Here's an Imbolc blessing for everyone:

Blessed be the earth, and all who dwell upon it.
We give thanks for the season now departing from us,
For the blessings it has bestowed upon us,
And upon those with whom we share this world.

Blessed be the new season.
We pray that it will be a time filled with peace,
With abundance, with prosperity,
With wisdom,
With love.

Blessed be all who share this feast.
Let us now prepare for the time ahead
By opening our hearts, and our minds, and our spirits.

Blessed be.

An Update on the Dirty Lowdown

Surgery it is. Probably in about a month. I actually have a blown ACL which is not what they initially thought, but which will continue to cause me trouble if I don't have it reconstructed. As for now, I'm getting around pretty well as long as I keep the brace on and the pain is down to a 2-3 on a scale of 1-10.

Health is the great leveler, isn't it? I know in the scheme of things a messed up knee is pretty minimal as far as actual life-threatening illnesses, but it sure is teaching me a few lessons. First, everything clicks into proper perspective. What's important? People, love, compassion, people, family, friends, people,havng a roof over your head and food on your table, people, people and people. I'm discovering some things about myself I imagine people close to me have known for awhile (sorry, ya'll!). First, I'm a terrible patient. I mean, really, I may may be worse than men! Second, even though I do it, I still don't like asking other people for help. Third, as long as I can still sweep my floor I will probably keep my sanity. And fourth, it doesn't do me much good to try and fight depression.

In my last post I valiantly declared that I would not be depressed about this. But over the weekend, like an old friend you really don't care to see again, it came knocking on the door, wanting to sit and have a cup of tea or 50. Finally, I looked at everything that's happened since Christmas. My hours at work were cut in half, my chimney crumbled and I was without heat for a few days but first the inside of my house was covered with soot, I was taken for a quick ride by a married man, I found out one of my best friends has breast cancer and then I fell and tore up my knee and could barely walk for a week. Just to put a cherry on top, the cowboy is not sure this thing with us will work out - and that's when I opened the door and invited my old friend in. I realized most everyone that had had the few weeks I had would probably be feeling a little down and I just embraced the sad mood that settled around me. I learned that when I'm depressed I don't care about much. Especially my big three pleasures: food, drinking and sex. But I knew as long as I still cared about sweeping the floor, and I did, I would probably be ok. And I am.

There's a lesson in here about those big three pleasures of mine and while I'm not entirely sure what is yet, you can be sure I'll let you know when I figure it out.

Of Knees and Friends

First, the bad news. Can you say "torn meniscus"? No? How about "medial collateral ligament tear"? One of those little terms is what happened to my knee. The treatment? Well, if it's the first, I get to have surgery. And if it's the second, I get to wear a brace for 6-8 weeks until it heals. That's 6-8 WEEKS PEOPLE! Prepare for bad language. I can't even begin to tell you how fucking depressing this is.

And just because it is that depressing, I absolutely refuse to get depressed about it. Because in my life the good news always outweighs the bad. So, here's the good news. One of my dear, dear friends had surgery for breast cancer yesterday. The surgery went well and there was no sign of cancer in her lymph nodes. Can you say, "Glory! Hallelujah!" Talk about perspective. I invite you to visit her at The Practical Vampire Slayer and send her all your good love and healing energy. This woman is practicing some principles that will work for anything. You don't want to miss out.

The cowboy (who just for the record was not the bad guy of the "Girl, you've been had!" post) came over last night, brought me dinner and had the good manners to make me totally forget for awhile that I'm in pain and can hardly walk. Then, this morning, he drove me around town to take care of errands that would've been a lot harder to do alone. These Montanan's - I swear, I want to be one of them.

Another dear friend has offered me a part-time job that will nicely supplement my income while I'm waiting for my real job to pick up again.

Tom, my co-worker and fellow deer slayer, picked up Kisster's medicine for me and then attempted to engage in some cock blocking with the cowboy which was absolutely entertaining for me.

I'm the proud new owner of a cast iron skillet bestowed upon me by a member of my writer's group as well as some vintage glass and pottery that I couldn't afford, but that magically appeared on my front porch along with a "paid" receipt. That friend with breast cancer? She also left me a container of wonderful soup before her surgery.

It is my sincere hope that I will be judged in heaven (or wherever the hell I end up) by the friends I have in this life.

Of Wolves and Women

I wanted to do something special with my parents while they were here so I went web surfing looking for activities for us. I considered snowshoeing at Glacier National Park, or visiting a hot springs I hadn't been to yet. But then I discovered something that I absolutely couldn't resist. Wolfkeep. The Wolfkeep Wildlife Sanctuary is dedicated to the preservation of the wolf and the study of wolf behavior. Their mission is to educate the public about the wolf and its place in the ecosystem.

Now, the wolf is a subject that carries a lot of emotion in these parts. The environmentalists love them, the ranchers hate them and even though there are only a little over 300 wolves in Montana today, the delisting debate continues. The gray wolf was extirpated (that means to remove or destroy something completely) from the western United States during the 1900s, primarily due to loss of habitat and conflicts with people. Wolves as a self-sustaining, breeding population were probably extinct in Montana by the 1930's.

Since moving to Montana I've had the unique opportunity to see grizzlies, black bears, moose, eagles, hawks, even a bobcat once. But I've never seen a wolf in the wild and it's not likely I will so I jumped at the chance to at least see them in a natural setting.

My mother and I have an affinity for wolves, sharing books about them: The Ninemile Wolves by Rick Bass and Shadow Mountain by Renee' Askins are a couple we have enjoyed reading. Even though they're pack animals, there's something lonely about the wolf. Their eyes hint at something longed for but never found and yet their search goes on. Their midnight howl is the music of this ache, this longing. When I watched the wolves at Wolfkeep I felt that longing in my own soul and I think my mother feels it to. It connects us to these animals and it connects us to each other. And sometimes that's as close as we'll get to understanding another person, or a wild creature, or the nature of the universe.

I leave you with a quote from Clarissa Pinkola Este's' book, Women Who Run With The Wolves:

We are filled with a longing for the wild. There are few culturally sancetioned antidotes for this yearning. We were taught to feel shame for such a desire. We grew our hair long and used it to hide our feelings. But the shadow of the Wild Woman still lurks behind us during our days and in our nights. No matter where we are, the shadow that trots behind us is definitely four-footed.

I love you, mom.

You Make My Day

Hey! I got an award. How cool is that? And from two of my favorite bloggers, the lovely hostess of everyone's favorite OTV, Olivia andMiss Annie at My Spiritual Journey, where you can take bushwalks through the Outback of Australia. It's a "You Make My Day" award and these two always do that for me.

These are the rules: Give the award to up to 10 people whose blogs bring you happiness and inspiration and make you feel so happy about blogland! Let them know by posting a comment on their blog so that they can pass it on. Beware! You may get the award several times!

Here are my picks: Julie at S'up, Sherri at Sherri Blossoms, Rick at Hamguin's Hide-not, John Eaton at Country Don't Mean Dumb, Miss R at Tales of Inglewood, Kelly at Kikipotomaus the Hippo, Carla Sanders at Carla Sanders Touching Art, Chani at Thailand Gal, Jane at Painted House 52 and Anybeth at Swimming in Clear Water.
I know some of you have already gotten the award, but too bad, you're getting it again. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to post comments on all these blogs about the award - if you see your name here and you want it, take it, if not, no big deal. Also, it's hard to pick only a certain number of bloggers for an award. If you're on my blogroll - I'm reading you and I'm reading you because you make my day. And some of you I would've picked, but I know you don't want the award anyway - so there.

Now I have to tell ya'll something hilarious. Remember in my last post how I was re-committing to walking and yoga and all that great stuff? Well, yesterday I twisted my knee - badly. It hurt so bad when I first did it I got nauseated and actually thought I might have broken my leg. This has happened before - I have a weird tendon or ligament or something that sometimes gets popped out of place. I've had it looked at and I could have surgery, but it happens so rarely that it doesn't seem worth it. Sometimes I can ice it and stay off it for a few hours and it goes back into place and is good as new. Not this time. Last night I had to use one of my dining table chairs like a walker! Talk about humbling. Talk about irony. Talk about the Universe saying, "Hey you - learn to be still." Like, ok, I get it.

Poor Me, Poor Me, Pour Me Another Drink - or - A Lesson in Archeypal Patterns

As I re-read that last post I realized I'm beginning to play out an old pattern here. The old pattern is to get sidetracked from the things that are important in my life - get sidetracked by my struggle with alcohol, get sidetracked by boys, get sidetracked by the oh-so-intense drama of it all. Once I get sidetracked I put myself in a very vulnerable position and I often get taken advantage of by bullies and petty tyrants. Then I blame myself for all of it and usually continue a pattern of drinking too much until I literally have to stop. Learning to accept responsibility for my life without blaming and shaming myself in the process seems to be one of my big lessons. I'm at a choice point. I could do the same thing: drink and duck under the covers until I have to come out for work Monday morning. Feel awful, not solve a damn thing and make myself really sick in the process. The archetypal patterns that play out when I make that choice are Victim and Martyr.

Here's what I'm going to do. I'm not going to drink and I'm going to move out of this pattern before I'm forced to. I'm going to walk daily come snow, sleet or rain and I’m going to resume my yoga practice. I'm going to prepare myself some healthy and nourishing food and treat myself with herbal infusions. I'm going to go to work on the soot in my house and finish reading "The Kite Runner". I'm going to embrace the archetypes that feed my soul: Domestic Goddess, Friend, Storyteller. I'm going to play with my camera, love on a couple of sweet kitties and make myself available for friends in my life going through their own difficult times. I'm going to make the choice I can live with - the one that brings me back to a place of joy. I'm going to chop wood and carry water until I feel that deep sense of contentment of which I've had a taste. But first, I'm going to shovel snow.

Thanks for all your comments in the past couple of days.

Girl, You've been had!

Here's the short version of what we will call the most recent week from hell. After dealing with the heat and furnace situation and thinking the worst was over for awhile, I went into work Tuesday morning and was informed that my hours have been cut back further. I'm down to 20 hours a week, but that's not the best part. I'm now working Mon-Fri 8-12 so I got my three day weekend and my yoga class cut out on top of it. If there were a good reason for the business that this be my schedule it wouldn't be so bad. But, there's not. Not one.

To add insult to injury, I had another situation occur this week which Roberta summed up quite nicely. She said, "Girl, you've been had." Yeppers, got the wool pulled right over my eyes and never even saw it coming. I got played by a real player. What's worse is that in the process I may have hurt someone I really care about.

Now if I were just your average Jane without a clue about the real world, I may be able to wallow around is this for awhile. But I'm not so now I have to ask myself some very serious and difficult questions. Questions like, "What part of me continues to allow things like this to happen? How much does the fact that I've been drinking more than I want to perpetuate these situations? And just what, exactly, the fuck am I going to do about it?" And these: "Is this process I'm doing working or am I just becoming a happier, safer alcoholic? Am I once again allowing Neptune to lead me down the road of delusional thinking and denial? Am I still waiting for some pie-in-the-sky Higher Power to zap me into a beautiful, happy, carefree life?" And, of course, the final ultimate question: "When am I going to step into the responsibility for everything that happens in my life and take full credit for the good and the bad and the totally in-between?"

These, and other pressing concerns will be answered, one way or another, in the upcoming weeks of Eclectic Recovery. If there's one thing I'm sure about today, it's my commitment to being authentic here on this blog. It's absolutely up for grabs right now as to whether it will turn into a signpost or a warning.

Me and Mr. Murphy

Please meet two of the finest people you would ever wish to run across - my mom and dad - Eve and Luther Nolan. We had a fantastic visit which I'll be writing more about later this week. But for now I want to discuss Mr. Murphy and his dad-blasted law.

Last week I was putting up dishes I had washed the night before and I noticed this black stuff on my white plastic collander. "Well, that's odd", I thought. The next day I was noticing that this black stuff was showing up on everything white in my house - the toilet, the bathtub, the curtain hanging in my bedroom doorway and I began to realize that something was seriously amiss. I figured it must have something to do with the ancient and decrepit furnace that's in my basement and called an HVAC guy. He came to look at it Friday, the same day as my parent's arrival and sure enough, it was leaking creosote and soot and all kinds of gross stuff. Luckily I was to be out of town with mom and dad most of the weekend because he couldn't get back to work on it until today. What he thought would be a fairly quick fix turned into a day long project as the inside of the chimney had crumbled and it was totally blocked! This is only the most recent in a long list of problems I've had since moving into this house - which while beautifully remodeled, only serves to divert attention from how functionally remiss the work was. I'm still waiting to hear from the clean-up people as I am living with a fine layer of soot over almost everything. For a woman that some consider a bit of a clean freak this is a real challenge.

At the same time as this little drama was unfolding, I came home to a kaput computer monitor and have been without access to my computer since last Friday as well. I called the greatest (and most handsome) computer guy in the world and he got me hooked up with a monitor about the same time as Irwin, the greatest (but not the most handsome) HVAC guy finished up with my furnace. So I'm finally connected and my house is beginning to warm up and I guess I can live without both heat and computer access longer than I thought.

Forever the optimitst, I'd like to tell you what is great about all this. First of all, it's great that I didn't die from carbon monoxide poisoning! I now have a detector and I highly recommend everyone get one. Next, it's great this happened while my parents were here because I was scheduled to be gone with them most of the weekend and I didn't have to spend much time in a freakin' cold house! Finally, because I live in a small town with exceptionally wonderful people, I have a used computer monitor that cost me only $20 - and it's bigger than my other one which is a good thing since I'm getting older and don't see so well without my readers anymore.

None of that really compares to the greatest thing that happened over the weekend, and that's that I became great aunt to an 8-lb. boy named Chase Allen. Congratulations, Coley!

Wellness Wednesday - The Soul's Companion

From The Soul's Companion by Tian Dayton, Ph.D.

Organic Life

I am biologically programmed for development. Just as a flower grows from a seed, blooms, wilts and returns to the earth. I, too, have a life cycle. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, I will come and go, be born, bloom and die. I am organic. I eat from the earth - I am a part of it, dependent on it. This is why I will love the world, becaue this world into which I am born is my spiritual and physical home.


I come from and will return to this world.



In the laboratory we can see daily things that come into existence and then disappear, that pop into existence out of nowhere and then fade away. These are subatomic particles so it is all on a pretty small scale, but we can imagine that if we apply quantum physics to the universe as a whole, the entire thing, all the matter, energy and space could come into existence out of nowhere, spontaneously, as a gigantic quantum fluctuation . . . . . . Quantum physics' contribution is that of a universe that is not predetermined but an evolutionary pattern that is governed by probabilities, which creates a true openness.


Phil Davies



This will be my bow-out Wellness Wednesday post as well. I'm just not a stick-with-the-program kind of gal. I will, of course, continue to visit Lunar Musings and appreciate the opportunity to have participated.

I'd also like to say a fond hello to John Eaton whose blogging I miss very much and whose photo I stole for this post because I couldn't find that cool picture of The Soul's Companion that I used before.

My parents are in town from Georgia for a long weekend, but I'll be back early next week with that archetype post I promised.

Peace to all.

Sacred Sunday

This will be my final Sacred Sunday post. I haven't done very well with keeping up with my Sacred Sunday posts, so I figure it's time to bow out gracefully. I'd like to thank Carla over at Zena Musings for giving me the opportunity to embrace my Sacred Sunday's wholeheartedly. Carla is a candle practitioner of the best kind - and get this - she has Full Moon specials. Please visit her at Zena Moon.
You won't be disappointed. Plus, you get a cool little box of matches with your order!

Now, on to my Sacred Sunday. Do ya'll get that that's a man's hat on my coffee table -- in the morning!?

I think you can tell a lot about a man by the hat he wears. :)

Coming up next - the Archetypal Wheel. Happy Sacred Sunday's to you all.

Addiction and Recovery in the Natal Chart

The first thing noticeable about my natal chart is that I have a 1st House stellium in Scorpio. A stellium is four or more planets very close together, usually in the same sign or house. It's not that common an occurrence and most of us that have one wish the hell we didn't! What a stellium does is up the amps about 10 times for the house and sign in which the planets fall. A stellium suggests a challenge in the life of the individual to learn to fully integrate the energies involved.

Scorpio - a fixed water sign, is the sign of sex, hidden agendas, extremes and intensity. Also, deep loyalty, passion and commitment. How would you like to have five planets in that sign! My Scorpio stellium falls in the first house - the house of self - the most personal and powerful house in the Zodiac. In astrology, the first house is thought of as a giant lens through which the rest of the chart is interpreted.

The five planets in my stellium? The Sun, Mercury, Venus, Mars and Neptune - in order of their transit time around the sun. Knowing that both Venus and Mars reside in that Scorpio stellium will go a long way towards explaining the "sex" process of my recovery models. But that's for later reading.

Within the stellium is a Sun/Neptune conjunction. A conjunction occurs between two planets when they are within 0-9 degrees of each other. This means they're so close together that their particular energies seem to merge.

Neptune is the planet of illusion, self-deception and "smoke & mirrors." And oh yeah, addictions! Neptune conjunct my Sun has always presented a challenge to my perception of reality. Neptune is the master distractor and I've fallen directly under his spell for a lot of my life. But the higher side of Neptune is all about communing with the divine, tapping into Universal Source and achieving enlightened states of consciousness. Neptune says, "Follow me, my sweet, into the land of oneness with god and egoless love for all beings." Neptune wants to take you there though practices like yoga, meditation, chanting - any spiritual practice that gives your mind a break. But if you're not very careful and aware, he will take you there however he can - through drugs, alcohol, sex and obsession.

Neptune is a slow mover and for the past three years, his current transit has formed an exact square to my natal sun. Squares indicate tension, a sort of battle between the planets with both determined to come out on top. I've gotten used to these energies (can you tell!) and am just riding it out until 2009 when Neptune will finally move on. It's my belief that this square and my learning to work with the energies of it was the beginning of Eclectic Recovery.

There's another key placement in my natal chart related to Eclectic Recovery which I'll discuss in a later post.

Various and Sundry

While I'm working on getting an astrology post under a 5-minute read, thought I'd just write about some other things I'm working on. I purchased the domain, eclecticrecovery.com with the intention of moving the blog there. It was suggested to me that I might want to place ads and see if I can generate some income from the blog. The actual term she used was "give the Universe an opportunity to say thank you." Only the Universe is not cooperating! I've so far been unable to import into Wordpress or Typepad and have gotten very frustrated with the whole process. So, here's what I'm currently considering. I think I'll start a new blog, transfer the relevant posts (there really is a lot of fluff on this one) and keep both blogs going. If any of you have any advice, I'd love to hear it! And thank you, Miss Sherri Blossoms, for your help.

The business I began has proven to be more of a drain than an asset and I'm trying to decide whether it's worth it to keep it going. It was a fun experiment and despite the lack of sales, I'm very proud of all the work I did. At least it should help me out with my taxes this year!

And finally, on a recovery note, a friend recently asked me why I wanted to be able to drink. She made the choice long ago, due to heavy drinking within her family, to not drink and she wondered why I didn't do the same. Well, I had to think about that one and the answer I came up with was, "Why wouldn't I want to? Why wouldn't I want to be just like anyone else who enjoys a drink and goes on with their life?" The second answer, which was a little harder to admit was, "Well, I've just not been able to do that so I had to find a different way." The third answer, which I find terrifying sometimes, is "Maybe I'm not just doing it for myself."

History - Part II - The AA Years

The AA Years

The AA years were 1988-1994. These years served a valuable purpose in my life and I wouldn't change them for a thing. I came out of my 30-day inpatient treatment program a changed woman, certain that I had finally discovered what was wrong with me and just exactly how to fix it. Well, of course, how could I have missed it! I was an alcoholic and drug addict and the 12-steps were to be my key to liberation and fulfillment.

There was just one tiny problem. The 12 steps never proved to be a positive force for change in my life. I especially had difficulty with the 4th Step which states: "We made a searching and fearless moral inventory." The initial process of this step begins with listing all your resentments. Only I'm not a person who carries around a lot of deep-seated resentments. So if I couldn't even get started, how the hell was I ever supposed to finish? Still, I gave it my best shot and attended lots of meetings, which were a fantastic social outlet, had sponsors and worked the steps even though I tended to sink into a deep morass of self-pity by focusing on my character flaws. I was already painfully aware of those things!

It's my belief that the steps are a great recovery model for the personality type described in the Big Book of AA:

Selfishness - self-centerdness! That, we think, is the root of our troubles. Driven by hundred forms of fear, self-delusion, self-seeking and self-pity, we step on the toes of our fellows and they retaliate.

So our troubles, we think, are basically of our own making. They arise out of ourselves and the alcoholic is an extreme example of self-will run riot, though he usually doesn't think so.

Here I was, a young woman with a stunted if not fully crippled ego structure, who was all too eager to take 100% of the blame for my troubles. Why, it would just be way too painful to think that maybe there were other circumstances and people in my life who may actually have contributed to the state I found myself in. So I found the perfect venue to fly right over all that painful stuff. At what cost to my soul I am only now making friends with.

But, remember, I was a changed woman, sure that I had found the answer to my problem. And so forge forward I did. And you know what? I did it sober. And sober was a whole new ballgame in this little girl's life. So despite myself, I grew up a lot during these years and another great thing happened. I got really healthy physically. Which maybe kept me alive through the relapse years - which will comprise installment #3, and maybe even 4 and 5 of "History".

I'll be on retreat for a couple of days, but will be eager to read your responses when I return on Monday. This is hard work! A girl's gotta get a little break now and then.

Peace to you all.

Eclectic Recovery Would Like to Honor the Passing

of a brilliant, courageous woman. May she guide us all from wherever she is.

Alcoholism, Astrology, Archetypes, and Sex?

My four primary healing modalities in moving away from alcoholism are astrology, archetypes, writing and sex. That may seem like a strange combination to some people, but they're perfect for me. If you're attempting to leave an alcohol or drug problem behind, your three or five or four processes may be quite different from mine. Yours could be golf and religion, or Reiki, Gestalt therapy and getting in touch with your inner child, or maybe AA, creating art and volunteering in your community. Whatever they turn out to be the important thing is to discover them for yourself and intentionally begin applying them to create a life that will be much too passionate, fulfilled and large to have time for an addiction problem.

Now, I didn't sit down one day and say, "Ok, these are going to be my healing venues." It's taken years of exploring different things that came into view and caught my enthusiasm and interest. I studied a lot of different pagan religions and went to a few circles, but that didn't turn out to be one of my key processes, even though I thought it would be. I explored every alternative recovery program I could find, but none of them are a main ingredient in my alchemical pot. The important thing is that I never stopped searching. I was stuck in the "abstinence is the only way" mode for so long it probably took me a little longer than it needed to. One of my hopes for writing all of this out here is that others for whom abstinence may not be the answer will save themselves some time.

I began an in-depth exploration into astrology a few years ago. I'd always been interested in it, but now I really dove in and did a lot of reading and research. I also retained a personal astrologer, Anita Doyle, with whom I meet about once a year. My work with Anita has proven more helpful to me than all the many years of therapy I did. Astrology was my initial foray into reframing my experiences on a cosmic scale. I don't approach astrology on a predictive basis but as a language of the psyche, a poetry for the human soul and a magical way to explore what has made me who I am today. You might even say, if you wanted, that the planets, stars and myths of astrology became my higher power because it's freaky how accurate they are. I discovered that my heart much preferred to view my addiction problem as a manifestation of Neptune conjunct my Sun and realize that there is a higher side of that aspect I can move into. Framing it that way is much more palatable to me than determining that I have a life-long sentence that I can never overcome and that will either kill me, send me to jail or land me in an institution. For all its "out there" reputation, astrology has proven to be one of the most practical tools in my arsenal.

More later on archetypes, writing and sex. Have I got your attention?

Poetry

Can save our world, or at least our souls. These are two of my favorites at the moment. Probably, most of you have read them, but I would hate to think one person might've missed out.

The Invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.


Oriah Mountain Dreamer



and


Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.

How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night
with plans and the simple breath
that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness
as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow
as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness
that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day
to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

By Naomi Shihab Nye

Happy and Warm Holidays to you all.

History - Part 1

The story I am here to tell won't make much sense without a litte history, so here's installment #1. These will be very shortened versions because if there's anything I hate it's a blog post that takes me more than 5 minutes to read. I grew up in a small town in Georgia, a few miles from Atlanta, the eldest daughter of three girls. Born in November of 1961, I barely missed the 60's generation and have always been just a little pissed off about that. There was nothing unusual about my childhood. I was cared for, loved and part of a normal, happy, if slightly dysfunctional, middle-class family. At the age of 13, my relationship with my mother became somewhat complicated (yeah, yeah, I know, who's didn't?) and I began to act out with drugs. I started smoking pot and doing some drinking, but I still had lots of other interests that meant a lot more to me than any of that stuff. My parents caught me smoking pot early on and I put it all away for awhile. I picked it back up my senior year in high school and by then it seemed that alcohol and drugs were a way for me to assert my independence, unfortunately having not found healther venues. At 18 years of age, I married a sweet boy and moved to California for two years - a couple of years I remember as mostly happy, carefree and fun. We did a lot of partying, were very much in love and were pretty much clueless about what real life entailed. When his time in the Navy was up we moved back to Georgia and I quickly decided that I was way too young for this married life. At the ripe old age of 20, I was a new divorcee', back in an element where I was comfortable and ready to get on with having some serious fun. Enter a man I will call Sean for this story. Sean was/is 16 years my senior and he was a drug dealer at the time, dealing in cocaine. Unfortunately for us, Sean fell crazy in love with me and I feel crazy in love with his drugs. I'm not sure how I made it through the next 8 years, but I'm sitting here writing about it now, so I guess I did. These years were spent snorting, drinking and running the streets. I did manage to stay employed and take care of myself most of the time, but needless to say, it took a lot out of me. I would go weeks with little sleep, little food and lots of drugs and alcohol. The toll on my health was tremendous and after a few years of this I began to be sick a lot. Strep throat I had several times, bad flu's, long cold's - immune system stuff. I was sick so much I quit my job and went to work in my mother's flower shop. After a particularly nasty binge which lasted a couple of weeks, and in a state of complete exhaustion and guilt, I confessed to my parent's what I had been up to. The next night I went to my first 12-step meeting. It was a Cocaine Anonymous meeting and I met people there that I am still friends with today. I celebrated my first 30 days clean with a nice pitcher of magaritas. It's 1986 now, and the next two years were spent in going to meetings, staying clean and sober for awhile and then relapsing. I began to feel that something really must be wrong with me, as other people seemed to find a "home" in the 12-step rooms, and while my intentions were good, it just wouldn't seem to stick on me. Everyone was entering "spa" treatment programs then and I decided this was what I needed. In July of 1988 I attended a 30-day inpatient treatment program and began a period of sobriety that would last six years. I fully immersed myself in AA culture and belief and it worked - for awhile.

Alcoholic or Adolescent Acting Out?

When I let go of the belief that my alcoholism was a disease - something I would have to live with for the rest of my life - I wasn't fully aware where that would take me. That's probably a good thing because I'm not sure I would've had the courage had I known exactly what it would entail. When I chose to quit hiding behind a victim mentality, which is what the disease concept became for me, I had to face up to some hard truths. If I didn't have a disease , well, just what the hell had I been doing with all that crazy drinking behavior?

Hard truth #1 was admitting that I had been running around playing out all the drama and unresolved issues from my childhood in a very destructive and hurtful manner. If you think it was easy to admit to myself that a lot of my adult life has been spent in acting out like a 14-year old, think again. No wonder I tried to run back to the somewhat comforting belief that alcoholism was a disease from which I could never fully recover and for which I really couldn't be held responsible.

I had another hard truth to face up to. I used my alcoholism as a test for people in my life. Could you continue to love me if I went on three-day binges in which I would totally withdraw into an isolated realm of self-imposed destruction? Would you still be there if you knew what I did in the confines of my own home - drinking, passing out, drinking, passing out until I could finally drink no more? This truth was even harder to face than the acting out, because until I was confronted with it, I had no idea I was doing this to people in my life. Really, no idea whatsoever. But as soon as my teacher brought it to my attention, I realized it was true. And I hated that about myself.

Which is where, of course, radical forgiveness comes in. The only way I can really move forward through these realities is to fully and finally forgive myself. That entails a lot of contemplation, a lot of prayer, and a lot of tears!

I also have gotten tremendous help here on the physical plane. I'm amazed how once I opened myself up to getting brutally real about my alcoholism, support popped up from all over. Teachers, friends, mentors, ideas, concepts, books, cd's (oh! and don't forget the kitties) - everywhere I turned I was given all I needed to move through this process and begin to heal.

I'd like to end this post with deep gratitude for all that support - support I continue to receive on a daily, sometimes momentary basis. As corny as it sounds, it really is the wind beneath my wings. You know who you are.

Sacred Sunday - The Jagged Edge

Radical Recovery. That's the term Lillian and Murdoch MacDonald use in their book, Phoenix in a Bottle, for their recovery from alcoholism. Why is it radical? It's radical because despite all the commonly accepted beliefs that society has been fed about alcoholism, these two people found a way up and out of it and they feel no need to abstain from the occasional libation. Among the beliefs they have discarded are the following:'

Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic.

Alcoholism is an incurable, progressive and fatal disease.

The only way to recover from alcoholism is through abstinence.

All alcoholics are egocentric, ruthless and care only for themselves.

If you're lucky and you confess all your character defects and all the rotten things you've done in your life, you may have a spiritual awakening which will grant you a daily reprieve from alcoholism. However, it is always there, waiting in the wings to once again take control of your life and lay it to waste.

I've been dancing around this issue for awhile now for several reasons; not the least of which was the vitriol directed at me when I admitted to a drinking episode several weeks ago. But the time has come for me to take a stand and I'm finally ready to do it.

In the past few weeks, I, too, have discarded all the beliefs listed above. It's been a painful, sometimes excruciating, but ultimately liberating process. I've ridden the jagged edge of every belief I ever swallowed - hook, line and sinker - without ever asking msyelf if it was true for me.

I've raged and cried and yes, I've even gotten good and drunk a couple of times, but I've continued to ruthlessly examine every single concept I once held as true. As I've done so, I've released myself from guilt that never belonged to me; I've found honor and respect for the hard journey I've been on and I've stepped into the full essence of what it means to be me, Angela, here on this planet at this time. In the process, I've experienced drinking as an enjoyable accompaniment to life - as something I can choose to do without fear of slipping into full blown alcoholism. I finally get what they mean when they say that the power we need lies within. It's always been there, but it had to be excavated - slowly, painstakingly and with great tenderness.

And yes, it's an ongoing process, but I feel I'm through the bulk of it and am ready to begin sharing it - without fear of retribution - without regret. Because it just might be possible that someone else out there could use a fresh message around this problem. And if one person could be saved years of needless suffering, well, that would be good enough for me.

My goal is no longer abstinence from alcohol. I am joining Lillian and Murdoch in being satisfied with nothing less than Radical Recovery.

Accidentally Green

When I moved to Montana it wasn't with the intention of creating a more "green" life. But that's exactly what's happened and I couldn't be happier about it. I figured my carbon footprint here: carbonfootprint.com and mine came in at 12.245 tons of CO2 per year, well below the average of 20 tons. I figure it's even a little lower because some of the questions, like: "Do you eat red meat?" I answered yes to, but the red meat I'm eating is a deer that my friends killed and we all processed over the weekend.

Why is my footprint lower? Here are some reasons:

I drive a Toyota Corolla and I only drive about 1500 miles a year.

I eat probably 90% local organic produce.

I buy a lot of my clothes and household appliances second-hand.

I wash in cold water.

I don't have a dishwasher (now, that one was really an accident, but I've turned washing dishes into a meditation opportunity!)

Most people aren't aware that one of the biggest energy sucks in our society is the food industry and how we as individuals choose to shop, cook and eat. In "The Balanced Plate", by Renee Loux, she talks about this:

In the last 50 years, however, the food industry has radically changed. This change not only pervades the growing of food but also the processing, distribution, politics and consumption of food. Farm productivity has increased 80 percent since 1960, butu the population living and working on farms has dropped from 40 percent to 2 percent. Family-run farms are on the verge of extinction, and in today's global economy, the dependence on seasonal, regional food no longer exists. Moreover, modern farming has truncated tried-and-true systems with a chemical revolution. We are growing more food on less land with higher profit margins, lower prices, and the loss of a majority of the once prolific varieties of any given food for two, three or maybe four standard varieties, which dominate the market without contest.

And if like me, you're interested in why we should be concerned about that, I'll offer another quote from "Diet for a New World" by John Robbins:

Less than half the harvested agricultural acreage in the U.S. is used to grow food for people. The majority of it is used instead to grow livestock feed. . . . It takes sixteen pounds of grain to produce a feedlot of beef. It takes only one pound of grain to produce a pound of bread. It is hard to grasp how immensely wasteful the feed conversion ratio for beef is. By cycling our grain thorugh livestock and into beef, we end up with only 6 percent as much food available to feed human beings as we would have if we ate the grain directly. If Americans reduced their red meat consumption by 10 percent, enough grain would be saved to feed sixty million people!

I highly recommend both of these books for anyone interested in becoming more aware of how our individual choices can make a big difference in healing our planet as well as ourselves. The agricultural methods prevalant today lay waste to the land and produce food with little to no nutritional value.

Oh, and if you're wondering about heart attack, cancer, osteoporosis, ADHD and ADD, you can find the reasons for it by researching the food industry, the beef and dairy lobbies and taking a good look at what's on your dinner plate.

I did really well with my first deer processing experience. That is until they brought that carcass out that you see in the picture - at which point I had to take a serious break. Peggy & Tom were real understanding about it though and took over until I could get back in there with them. I have enough meat to last me until next year. All it cost me was the gas to drive to Peggy & Tom's and the small amount of beef and pork to add to the burger and sausage to provide some fat. And not only that, I feel a deep sense of gratitude for the sustenance my little buck is going to provide me over the next year and I feel very connected to this food. We tested the breakfast and italian sausage yesterday morning and it was so good! I've got roasts, tenderloin, fajita strips, stew meat, burger and sausage. It's healthy meat and there was no extreme energy suck to the planet to produce it.

This week I've decided to go one step further in the "greening" of Angela. I'm going to start composting. Look forward to more appetizing photos in the future!

I invite you to visit Renee's fabulous website to begin your own personal exploration in going green, eating well and helping save the planet.

Please tell me about your "greening" experiences and any resources you know of for further education. Thanks, ya'll!

A Lesson in Expectations

Sometimes the Universe serves up lessons on a silver platter, seemingly custom made for us. I got one of those this past weekend. I planned an open house for my new business in which I represent a collective of Montana artists on an etsy site. The etsy site has been slow getting going and I really wanted to get some work sold for the three artists I'm currently working with. For two weekends I worked on my house pretty much non-stop - mopping, scrubbing, sweeping, polishing, decorating. I sent e-mails, put flyers out and told everyone I could think of about the open house.

The event was planned for Sunday afternoon and as the time approached I felt so confident that it was going to be a success. I wouldn't even have called this "expectation" at the time because I entertained no thought of a less than stellar event. I did everything right - even the astrology looked good for it and it never occurred to me that the response wouldn't be excellent.

The open house began at 2:00. At 3:00 when only one person had shown up I began to get a little nervous. I ended up with only a dozen guests in three hours and a dismal amount of sales. Suddenly I was face to face with how much it hurts when expectations are not met and how it would have been good to have been prepared for a different outcome.

When I did my yoga Sunday morning, I offered the entire day to the service of my community, the artists I work with and to Spirit. But by the end of the day it was painfully apparent that I only wanted to offer it as a success. Yesterday I wrote the artists to let them know how it went. Ouch. I even rallied and decided that maybe I could salvage it by inviting all my friends and my Monday morning yoga class to lunch - I mean the house was still gorgeous, I still had food and everything was still out just waiting to be purchased. Three people came and no additional sales were made.

On a side note, it's very interesting to me who buys and who doesn't. It is the people who don't necessarily have a lot of disposable income that will usually come through. When I attend something like this, I always go prepared to spend money to support the event - even if it's only $10. It just seems like a good way to spread the wealth. If I don't want to spend money or don't have it, I usually don't go. So it was interesting to me that of the 12 people that came, the ones with the appearance of having the most money didn't spend a dime. Some of my dear friends, ones I know are struggling financially, bought a card or a candle or just some little something and I appreciate that so much. Some people don't even look at the stuff - I think they just come for the food!

This is an ongoing lesson for me. I've wanted to feel much more of a sense of community than I do from several groups I'm involved with. I like to get out and support people, to boost them up and in the process hopefully take us all to the next level with whatever we're doing - writing, yoga, business, art. But I expect it to be returned. And I keep getting slapped right in the face with that expectation over and over.

I'm also facing that this business, the way it's structured right now, won't work for me. I'm doing a tremendous amount of work and since none of the art is actually mine, I won't ever make enough to even cover my expenses. I am currently re-thinking the whole thing but am not prepared to give up on my commitment to the artists yet.

I'd like to know what ya'll think - how do you handle expectations, how do you make yourself vulnerable without fear? How do you decide that it doesn't matter who or what responds to your best efforts and trust that in the long run someone will notice? How do you truly offer yourself in service with no expectation of the results?

I'd also like to thank Claudia and Julie for coming over early and helping me out with some last minute details. If it weren't for some of my very good friends, I would be experiencing a lot more disappointment.