In two different meetings this week, the chairperson has come up with the topic of "Hope" and while I've enjoyed hearing everyone's shares about how much hope they've come to have in their lives since getting sober, I was reminded by an article I read once written by Thich Nat Hahn, the Buddhist monk from Vietnam. It was called, "The Danger of Hope" or something along those lines.
His main point in the article while there's much good to be said about "hope" -- there's a somewhat hidden danger in placing too much stock in hope. The danger, according to this wonderful Buddhist monk, comes about when one's hope is based on a belief that there is something unacceptable about the present moment or our present condition or circumstance. Thich Nat Hahn would have loved my grandsponsor Earle (and vice versa) because Earle was always saying that "everything is just perfect, just the way it is" -- and, as was often the case, Earle was talking more about "emotional" conditions and reality than he was about anything else.
To be honest, I thought Earle was off his rocker when he would chant this philosphy of his to me in his persistent manner. He'd sit next to me (or, more often, I would sit next to him) and ask me how things were going. At first, I'd lie by answering "Fine..." -- but he would smile and look deeper into my eyes and chuckle/ask "You wouldn't lie to an old man like me, would you?". Caught again, I'd laugh, "Well, I guess I would!". But he wouldn't let me off the hook, he'd follow up and repeat the initial question: "Really, how are things going? How do you feel?" And then the dance would begin, I would give him a high level view of what I was feeling by saying, "Oh, I guess I'm feeling a little tired or worn out...." And then he would answer that answer with, "And what's wrong with that?" Now, I hadn't really said there was anything wrong with that, but there was I suppose and that's why I had so wisely answered his initial question with "Fine" and why I really wanted the meeting to start soon!
But I'd made the mistake of getting there early and it would have been rude of me to get up and find a less annoying person to sit next to... So I answered him with a little less high level perspective on what was going on inside of me and I'd disclose that "Well, when I get like this, I start to feel kinda depressed." He'd look at me like he was really listening but the truth would come out when he'd ask me again, as though time was going in reverse, "And what's wrong with that?" And that's how the dance would go, back and forth, me getting a little deeper and closer to the real truth of the matter, him remaining in the comfort of his mantra of "Well, what's wrong with that?". It could go on forever it seemed, so ultimately, I'd want to skip all the preliminarys and jump to the heart of the matter in terms of what I was feeling and why, goddammit, these feelings were so goddammed wrong: "Earle, if I keep feeling this saddness or anger, I'm going to start wanting to drink again!"
He'd laugh deeply and kindly, then pause, and then ask with all sincereity: "Well, Mike, what's wrong with that?" I didn't have the heart or the time to follow that up with my ace in the hole, "Well, Earle, if I keep feeling like this, I might very well get to the point where I actually do drink! Take that!"
Now, almost 8 years after getting sober and 7 years after Earle's death, I still feel like I'm just starting to assimilate this truth about hope and hopelessness. And just as there can be a danger in assuming "hope" is all good, there's an equal danger, it seems to me, in portraying "hopelessness" as all bad.
When I hear people talking about hopelessness, oftentimes when they are referring to the hours, days and weeks before they got sober, they seem to portray this hopelessness as this horrible state of being that made even the horrible thought of life with alcohol as more attractive than the hell they were experiencing after alcohol seemed to stop working for them. While that's true of course, Earle used to talk about how much he cherished those moments of despair and hopelessness in his life---particularly after he got sober!---because were it not for the fact of these moments (short- or long-termed) of despair and hopelessness, we would have never had the following experiences of enlightenment, of waking up! He even wrote an article for the AA Grapevine called, Thank God for Despair along these same lines. What he would do during those moments of despair, would be to remind himself that in every prior experience of despair, there was always an end to the despair (eventually) and that following the despair (always) came a moment of enlightenment. A moment where things made sense. A moment of clarity. An "aha!" moment.
I try, as best I can to remember these strange truths about both hope and hopelessness. Nothing intrinsically good or bad about either one of them. Hope seems healthy and beneficial when it's for something that's possible and loving. Hope seems unhealthy and harmful, for me and others, when it's for something that's not possible (e.g., an alcoholic like me trying to be a non-alcoholic) or harmful for me or others. Hopelessness, on the otherhand, seems bad when I feel unable to do/be someone I am not. And seems good when I let go of trying to be someone I'm not.
Take care!
Mike L.
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Buddhists are the ones who sit on sidewalks and make elaborate and intricate murals one grain of sand at a time, and upon finishing, stand, admire it, and wipe it away with a single swipe. The message: everything's changing all the time: it's inevitable.
The spot-check inventory is exactly that -- a brief snapshot in this dynamic process of constant daily change of where you are at right now. We take our wills back just long enough to stop, take a look, sweep it away with a single stroke, and then realize we need to keep moving.
Spending too much time stopped is not healthy for us. The eternal now is hopelessness because there is no possibility for the kind of change that allows us to meet the conditions of daily life. This is trust in self, not trust in God.
Life is not the picture on the sidewalk (or in our minds); Plato would say that this is false because the material form is thrice-removed from the true essence of its "it-ness" (1: the thing as it truly is, 2: the thing as it appears as a concept or idea in our mind, 3: our materialization of it in the world); Buddhists would call this "formlessness." Life is the reality that is moving around us that we are a part of, but which stops when we remove ourselves from it long enough to take a snapshot.
The Great Reality: life stops for us when we are not living it. Our prayer life guides our thought life, which manifests the reality we experience -- it CREATES it. When we interact with others, we construct our thoughts, then refine it with prayer. Is life really our jobs? Our bills? The things we own? No.
Bottom line: Attempts to have constant contact with our Higher Power will make our lives better.
When we drank we were killing not just ourselves, but all of life. Everything. It's amazing that we can see this now. The price of admission to this new way of life was a real bitch. Thank God we stopped in time.
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