It's not about the rioting....Sometimes the problem is not the issue.

I know I haven't written in 4 years, but this is important. I know I've dedicated this Blog to therapeutic insights I have learned.  Well, this is about my own personal growth in our culture.  Let me start by saying that I am not going to talk about whether rioting or looting or any recent events are right are wrong.  They are here.  We need to understand them.  Please bear with me....

I heard on a report that George Floyd called for his "Mama" at some point in his torture.  His brother said something to the effect that Black Men do not call for their Mama unless they fear they are dying.  I have seen that in the medical world and believe it to be true.  I have heard it echoed by Black men and women on the news.  Calling for "Mama" means something deeply frightening in this culture, possibly more so than in my culture.

Carl Jung spoke of the "Collective Unconscious" to which we are all connected.  I like that concept, unprovable as more than a metaphor, but useful.   He felt it was the root of the parallels in myths all over the world.  It is how good people tend to find each other and, unfortunately, evil-doers tend to flock to each other.   It is why we cry when we see sad movies and when we see children hurt on the playground.  It is why we gasped when we first saw the video of the killing of George Floyd.  The Collective Unconscious also has a "Shadow" or Dark Side, according to Jung's writings.  It holds the unresolved ills of all consciousness.  It transfers the "sins of the parents" to the children to be dealt with.   It is both why most Americans in my generation grew up with a relatively neutral image of the horrors of slavery, glorified in "Dixie" and why some still struggle to keep those horrors "in the past" or buried in the unconscious.  Fortunately, the Collective Unconscious is what prods us to have empathy and to forgive.  For too long, this balance has rendered our culture silent, but that silence has been broken and may not be silenced again.

I was reminded of a talk I went to in the early 90's given by Dr. Marilyn Mason about her experience studying the family dynamics in the Serengeti in Africa.  They are a tribal culture where all are family.  They all care for all the children, the sick and the elderly.  I remember her commenting that toddlers play near the fire pits and mothers do not panic because there is always an adult within arm's length, plus, the children learn early that it is not safe, not only because they know they can get burned, but because they know where they are safe and they stay there.  She was talking, also, about cultural shame.  She mentioned that African slavess were "ripped" out of their culture and lost their roots, replacing them with shame.  Sons were taken from their parents.  Husbands from their wives and children.  Fathers from their children.  Community members from their community. 

The rage that fuels the riots we are watching now is a cultural rage that began when healthy young men, probably teens and young adults were hunted down by strange looking foreigners who spoke an incomprehensible language.  They were chained and shoved into the foul conditions in the bottoms of boats, probably having been beaten into silence.  Sailing to the Caribbean or the U.S. in those days was long and hard and they were in inhuman conditions, being treated like animals being taken to slaughter.  They were hungry, thirsty, tired, confused, and lost, living in unsanitary conditions. I have no doubt that those men and boys went to sleep many nights calling out for their version of  "Mama" in their sleep.  Their mother, who would never hug them again, the mother of their children and those children who they would never see again.  The "Mama's" of their lives, their hearts, their souls, and their native home, ripped from them.

The rage of these riots is rooted in the rage that fermented when these human beings were auctioned off to the highest bidder and enslaved as laborers, forbidden to learn to read, beaten and otherwise demeaned.  It is the rage that is painfully played out in the most recent making of the movie, "Birth of a Nation," as a slave owner is pressured to whip his childhood friend, a slave, for disobedience.  It is the rage that is portrayed when that slave has no hesitation in killing the owner, with whom he had played as a child and whose mother taught him to read.  It is the rage that, I imagine, was played out, if not in their minds, in the hearts of those men and, eventually women, every night when they tried to sleep, as the vision and warmth of "Mama" escaped their souls.

The rage of these riots deepened its roots in such events as when slaves in Texas did not hear about the Emancipation Proclamation for two and a half years after it was proclaimed.  The feeling of having 2.5 years of your life stolen.  That kind of rage that must have echoed in their hearts on those first nights of "freedom" when they tried to comprehend what had happened, leaving them behind.  What else could their hearts exclaim at the end of those first days, but a cry to "Mama."

This rage has its story told  in "The Warmth of Other Suns" by Isabel Wilkerson.  My tour of Oak Alley also taught me the facts I never learned in history books that only the males were freed at first and that many of the men remained and worked on the plantation for meager wages to "buy" their wives and children from the slave owner.  Ms. Wilkerson writes how former slaves were then released to "freedom."  Uneducated intentionally, unskilled by design.  They had and no chance to broaden their skills and to break free of poverty.  They were told they could go anywhere they wanted....with nothing.  When they got there, they were relegated to what would become the slums, out of sight and were perfectly free to continue to serve as maids, servants, laborers and outsiders in a white world. Awakened by the cold splash of reality that "freedom" did not mean much to them, they found that another sun was not much warmer.  They must have called out to "Mama" as they drifted off to sleep in those desperate surroundings.

These riots are fueled by the rage of decades of being segregated in every way, without the vote to make change, given whatever education they could get in their separate and unequal systems.  They saw their inventions (the cotton gin, Jack Daniels whiskey, many medical inventions) taken and no credit given.   When "integration" happened, they could still be made unwelcomed enough to avoid everyday establishments.   Only now can I begin to grasp the courage it took for Clarence, a sixth grader, to come into my classroom in the beginning of school in 1966.  He was the only Black person in the class, bussed from the school he was familiar with and the Black teachers that understood his culture.  He was one of probably a dozen in that University Training School population.  How lost he must have felt. For decades, Black people were not allowed to buy homes in white neighborhoods, even when they could afford them.  They had no choice but to accept sub-standard housing in developments that were convenient to nothing.  How many times did they have to shake their heads and find the only word that expressed the depth of what they felt, but could not speak..."Mama."  

The rage of these riots has been buried under layers and layers of "normalization" and minimization. This timebomb has been ticking for years.  It had the perfect opportunity to explode.  The Black portion of those in poverty plus those others with Brown skin are a vast majority of those impoverished.  The statistics show that they are being impacted the most by COVID19 and have the fewest resources for survival, treatment and stability.  This morning, I heard a minister say "COVID was the powder keg, George Floyd was the match."  Yet, we are rushing to re-open, not for the executives to go back to work.  They never stopped working and getting paid.  It was to get the hourly workers that make the wheels of business turn so the money could be made.- they clean the floors, fix the HVAC, cook the meals, drive the trucks....you get the picture...to get them back to work.  Most of them paid wages on which few of us could live.  They want them to be out and about, exposing them to people who refuse to wear masks because it is their "right."  We, who have been able to work from home. want them to get back to work so we won't have to pay for delivery of food.  Exhausted, scared, angry for "no apparent reason" and feeling pressure to go on, when they finally get quiet, what else can they call out, but "Mama," not truly knowing what that mantra means any more.

What IS the Issue?
The issue is the abscess that is Racial Injustice is 400 years old and has been festering and developing pressure.  COVID19 squeezed the abscess and Mr. Floyd's murder was the pointed knife that has given the putrid rage a way out.  It must not be sealed up, covered over or ignored or it will poison our system and the chaos will continue to rule.  It, like any abscess, must be drained, packed with healing and slowly allowed to heal from the depths of the Collective Unconscious, lest it just return, with fortified encasement to build up more tension, anger and destructive putrification.

I am beginning to think that many of the protesters have no idea how to explain the magnitude of their rage.  That rage must be felt in their bones, something they knew without being taught since they could talk.  For some unconscious reason, when it is punctured and accessed by events, it rumbles to life and rockets them into destruction and behavior that says the same thing over and over, louder and louder and begins to take it out on buildings, cars, institutions.  While, today, the focus is the police.  That is the "problem, not the Issue."

Bumper Sticker:  Sometimes, The Problem is NOT the Issue!

The target at which we must focus the rage in order to find healing is all the institutions that have treated so many humans with so little civility in the name of "Justice."  They have known since birth that their life was not valued by many, that, because of the color they wear in their skin, their life is devalued by those with lighter skin, just as the value of others of color are less valued.  If you haven't watched the three NBC Today anchors talk about how they fear for their children and themselves, go to the website and watch it.(Today Video - watch to at least 13:00)  Watch it over and over.   I cried when I heard a mother say that her children cried when they heard that a policeman could kill a man and not be arrested and asked, if that wasn't the job of police, to protect.  They had to begin learning their heritage, imposed by the world. 

What is it going to take?

This process is not going to be easy.  We are going to have to see the "Us-vs-Them mentality as the most divisive tool in the argument and realize that we are one planet.  Brian McLaren, in his book Why Did Jesus, Moses, The Buddha and Mohammed Cross the Road, discusses the root of this problem, which is that it is not an external conflict.  The real conflict is that, if we truly embrace "them" and see how our "us-ness" threatens us, we could lose our membership in Us.  The fear on each side of the argument is, at least in part, fear of being thrown to the wolves by being ejected from "Us." 

From where it sits now, the Police and all that they represent ("Us") are going to have to sit on the ground, unarmed, and silent, facing the protesters and admit in a genuine fashion that the "Us" represent the root cause of their deeper rage and have participated in it, both consciously and unconsciously, much of the time benefitting from it.  All of the members of the "Us" team have to bring our fears and, like the fighting wolves, admit that we do not have what it takes to win and bare our proverbial throats, then admit nothing can ever fully compensate for all the harm that has been done. This is one of the first principles in learning to express our understanding of the losses caused by actions of generations that echo in every day, every place and every time.  This will lead to  learning to show the kind of empathy that has no words and, often, is spoken only in the weeping that comes when two souls connect and see how fragile and frail the other is and how impotent we are to ease their pain.  All that humans can do  can do is love them, whatever that means, in a way that reaches into hearts and changes lives.  Yes, some things we think are precious will be sacrificed.  By learning  to grieve those privileges and accept a more just and balanced culture, even doing without many things we really don't need, but feel entitled to.  A certain level of "profit" may be lost.  Finding out how to admit that the disdain that drives distance and fear for those who are different is ours and not about the "Thems" allows us to begin to focus on similarities, even if it is only the fact that, in the end, when we return to dust.  Learning that letting go of power does not mean losing strength, especially,  when sharing power with those who have never barely had any.  This can build trust that this country that we created is enough and will be enough for us all, and accepting that it will not be in the way it looks today.

For those who have been hurt, this means that fighting "Us" will never correct the wounds you carry in your genes and in the Collective Unconscious that only you have access to.  Beginning to heal this may well take a shift like this planet has never seen to move from fighting and defending to working in tandem.  Healing the losses of generations by grieving all the hopes that have been dashed and all the dreams that never made it to daylight.  To embrace and accept those losses and move them on to a safe place to continue to honor the grief they need to heal from within each time the sun shines the memory of them again.  Do not let them be forgotten until they are celebrated as the foundation of our future.  This will take learning to look into the eyes of those who you have feared and begin to find the same light you see in the mirror, flickering behind the fear and defenses, then begin to show your light to them.   In doing so, letting go of whatever image you had forced upon you by generations will help you to  see yourself differently, free of the constraints of fighting the past, accepting that age-old unmet needs of the past that reside deep in your genetic vibration. Somewhere in the soul of the beat of those vibrations is the connection with "Mama" in all her manifestations ripped from you over and over.  The answers are in the faces that have been afraid to look into the pain.  Only you can guide the way to answer the call, knowing it won't be fulfilled ever in its hisoric dissonance, then embracing the healing anyway.

When we join together to make a long term, long range plan that all can live with, hurt with and be patient with, accepting that the old thought patterns and stereotypes will not disappear immediately, new visions are able to form.  I feel guilty to admit that I still have to look into the eyes of a black man when we cross the street to remind myself that he did not get out of bed this morning to find a way to hurt me.   It hurts to see how difficult that is sometimes - he fears looking at me. Nobody ever told me that, but it is stuck somewhere in my Amygdala, the warning center of my brain.  I have to tell it to be quiet.  I once told a very big Black friend of mine, very timidly, that I was really scared of him when he first introduced himself to me.  I told him, long after he had demonstrated that he was smart, kind, gentle, understanding and creative, that this was my old truth.  He was puzzled.  He came back to me a few days later and told me that another Caucasian friend of his, about my age, admitted the same thing.  He just shook his head and chuckled.  Today, reminding him how glad I didn't act on my scaredy-cat feelings gives us a laugh and helps me to, hopefully, make amends for my stereotype.  By embracing and learning to appreciate each other's cultures as unique, not from a point of judgment, but from curiosity and understanding, we see individuals in a new light.  We have so much to teach each other about ourselves that we really need to waste as little time as we can fighting about it .

Some will lose some things we think we value.  Some will gain more than we ever thought we could.  If it keeps us out of this explosive state we are in, we will be glad when all the work is done.  I know Black people and people of all colors have it in them to make it.  They survived a culture that was unwelcoming, even hostile and made their way to have their foothold to be heard today.  We must keep talking and listening.....all of us.  The REAL issue is that we never listened to the cries of those we were hurting and we never turned the cries into a conversation.  We were afraid of "Us" reprimanding us and did not know that "Them" was not a threat.  We all have tears to shed and laughter to share.  Thanks for reading this. 

You'll be Here

Sometimes, my mouth says things that I ought to pay attention to. That happened recently and I decided I'd break 3 years of blog silence and write about it. Last week, I was asked in a group setting a key question in recovery. It goes something like this: "My spouse and I don't connect anymore, I am not sure I like my job, my kids are all growing up. I"m making all these changes and more is changing. When I get healthy, where will I be?" I thought about it silently for a while. Then, almost without my permission, my mouth began speaking --"That's pretty easy. You'll be 'Here'." Once I thought about it for a minute, I realized that it wasn't such a "smarty pants" answer after all.

One of the great gifts of this journey called Recovery is learning to be fully present in any moment.  That's where the journey takes us.  When I'm centered and working as I know I need to, I am fully present in whatever situation my life brings me to.  In otherwords, at any moment in time, I'm Here.

When things are great, I'm no longer need to fret about how long they will stay that way or what catastrophe will have to happend to end the party.  I can be Here.  If I'm running late, I'm not there yet, I'm Here. I can get all bent out of shape about the idiot drivers in front of me (those seem to congregate between me and my goal when I'm in a rush), or I can take the time to breathe and be where I am - Here.  When I'm sad, I can let myself be sad - a.k.a. - Here.  I could moan about how hard it is to be sad and how tired I am of crying or aching.  Or, I can be sad.

When life brings me pain, whether it is physical, emotional, financial, or spritual, I can try to make it go away with a pill, a drink, or a behavior.  Not only will it come back, but it will be Here waiting and compounding when I come out of my escape.  I can focus on my achs, my emptiness, my fear and my limitations.  Or, I can be with my pain, whether it tells me to rest or to move, to meditate or take action, to push through, or ride with the pain.  Whatever is immediately in front of me is, you guessed it, Here.

On those good days (sometimes downhill, with a tail wind), I bask in being Here.  However, more times than not, I seem to have that sudden sense that I should be somewhere else.  Maybe, I should have double-checked the gas in the car.  Perhaps, I forgot to take dinner out of the freezer,  Another good one is to remember during the work day that I forgot to make a reservation for that flight to the next destination.  Regardless, I'm just not There.  That's not an emotional place, like when I hear someone say about committing to a relationship "I"m just not there."  Not being There begins by noting where my feet are.  (A dear friend of mine says, "If you want to know where you are supposed to be, check out where your feet are!")  When I know where my feet are, I have the geographical point from which to start my journey.   Then, I can scan my environment and see what is immediately in front of me and what I can do with it.  I can look for "The Next Right Thing."  When I move out from my feet, I not only take action, I remain centered and anchored -- Here.

Change is never easy.

I know how fast information travels these days, so you have probably heard about the changes coming. I want to take a few moments to convey the truth for myself, as well as to share both the joy and the multitude of puzzling emotions that go with any change. To get to the point (something I’m not famous for doing), I will be leaving Santé in June. Yes, it’s true -- my time there has come to an end. This is the culmination of nearly eighteen months of confusion, challenges, resistance, mediation and bargaining. I am going to make a change.

SantéCenter for Healing has been a part of my life since before it opened. My journey into psychiatry began, primarily, because I was told I could NOT join Rip and Deb Corley in their work at Millwood Hospital in Arlington, Texas. The reason: I was not a psychiatrist. Soon afterwards, the Corleys left Millwood and settled into Charter Hospital of Dallas, alongside the Trauma Program run by Dr. Colin Ross. Being able to look to two of my favorite areas of work, led by experts in the same building, was a tremendous opportunityfor me, as I entered my residency.

Two months before I was to migrate to Dallas to complete the last two months of my psychiatry training in these two programs, Rip called to tell me that the contract had been cancelled; a big chain like Charter could no longer treat .” My plans were already in place, and I had procured my license, so I headed to Dallas anyway. I bunked in the spare room at Rip’s Dallas home. Many evenings were spent on parallel sofas, watching TV. I watched as Rip mused over a real estate prospectus on a place called “The Argyle.” It was a dream of his. A little over a year and a half later, that property would become SantéCenter for Healing and Rip’s dream would begin to come true.

Much has changed in the nearly fifteen years that have followed. I remember fondly those days of three or four patients, and of moving to that first magic hallmark of eleven patients. What a celebration that was! After roughly eighteen months as the first Medical Director at Santé, my time to move on came about. For the next four years, I followed my heart and the path ahead of me through three hospitals and back to Millwood, where it all started.

In 2002, I became intensely aware that my time of AcuteInpatientHospital work was about done (probably way past “about” done!). I bid farewell to that chapter in my life and walked away with the fulfillment of one dream, towards another. Early in 2003, Rickey Dovers and Dennis Wade had dinner with me to discuss the possibility of joining the Santé Team again, directing the development of an Eating Disorders program. It sounded pretty workable -- I began visiting Santé two half days a week. The next spring, Dr. Richard Prather migrated out of Santé, leaving a vortex that pulled me into not only the Medical Directorship, but also into the leadership of the Professionals Program. No longer filling a ten to twelve hour a week position, I began to make the trip to Santé three times a week. The split became too much and, in 2008, I closed my office in Dallas and finished my transplantation to Argyle.

During the last fifteen years, I have learned to present in PowerPoint and traveled to multiple conferences a year, usually presenting something at the majority of them (me and my big mouth!) In the process, I found that I had learned a few things that others wanted to share. I was now an “expert.” (Expert defined as "Having a PowerPoint presentation and being more than 50 miles from home!) I have been forced to learn to do so many things, many of them things I never realized I never thought I could do.

Santé has changed a lot in the last eight years. We have gone from a center with an average census in the lower twenties to an average census in the upper thirties. In fact, there have been times when all forty-six beds have been filled, and we had a waiting list. Rip “retired” and placed the program in the hands of the management team. In this process, Deb (at Rip's direction) challenged Ron and me to fill the gap. Since that challenge, Rip passed away. He took with him encyclopedic knowledge of what Santé does and how to do it, but The Team has picked up the ball and run with it. Santé has become more than any of us dreamed. As I look back on my journey to make a decision to leave, I see how much I have been torn between doing something I absolutely love to do with remarkable people, spending therest of my career with ease and comfort, as opposed to daring to look at a new vista, and a broader, uncharted horizon.

Somewhere in the last few years, a subtle tide began to turn. For several years, at the advice of some people I trust explicitly, I have answered calls from “head hunters” in psychiatry. This has allowed me to practice interviewing for a job – something I had NEVER done in my entire career. In 2010, more than a couple of offers began to raise new questions. One changed my thinking. This involved the request to envision my career in five years, and say what I would really like to have accomplished. Without permission, my mouth spoke a Truth I had not really embraced – “I would like to have taught five people what I know and how to do what I do.”
Suddenly, my entire horizon changed, forcing me to think in new terms and to see from a new perspective. I wanted to write, to teach and to grow within myself. I joined with Santéand with our best effort, these results didn't materialize. I found one consistent problem - I had woven myself into virtually every aspect ofSanté. The more I pulled back, the more I found I did not know how to remove my time and energy from any single part of the process. At this point, the prospect of letting go completely and starting again elsewhere became enticing.

That horizon began to broaden with the invitation by Dr. Carnes to translate my “sermon” on Post-Acute Detox and Detox as a Physiological Process into a workbook for people struggling with the first phase of Detox. While closely related, his offer has been independent of the invitation to explore a new career move, and that creation is still in process. As the option to begin a new venture became real, I was approached by PineGroveHospital to consider working with them. The possibility of working in tandem with Dr. Carnes and the staff there, initially, had a bit of a magical allure. Playing on that, the process began though it could not entice me to consider more than a passing fantasy in that iteration. As the year progressed, however, their interest became more intense and the opportunity began to become more feasible and to show some possibilities I had not considered. After some intense work and a long standoff, the fantasy began to materialize.

Beginning late in June, I will begin to “commute” to Hattiesburg, MS to begin my venture with PineGroveHospital and the Gentle Path Program. One of the aspects of this change that has drawn me is that, free of the responsibilities of the Medical Directorship, I will be able to embrace the task of creating new components of the program with the staff, helping to publish the data they have gathered there. While I will spend the majority of time with the program treating sexual addiction, I will continue to treat chemical dependency and other addictive processes, since my true “love” is the poly-addiction model – “An addiction is an addiction is an addiction.” I will spend three days a week in Hattiesburg, committing another significant period each week to writing and program development. The remainder of my time will be focused on work I have had on the back burner. All this, while doing what I enjoy!

This has not been an easy decision. I am aware that it stands to create a huge upheaval in my life. After all, my life has been well-contained in many ways for much of the time I’ve been at Santé. However, just as my thumbprints are all over it, Santé has become woven into the fabric of my life. I have had the gift of walking sacred journeys with incredible people, and being handed trust that goes beyond words. Santé has been the platform for me to grow and develop personally, as well. I can never express the depth of gratitude to the Corleys (and George Straw), the staff with whom I’ve had the pleasure of working, and, most of all, the patients who have touched my life and my heart in so many ways.

I am leaving Santé as it turns a page in its own history. Change and growth have been afoot for some time. I deeply grieve leaving before the physical expansion and program growth are completed. The staff has not yet finished fully integrating the hours and days of training in the CSAT course and its nuances into the program. The experience of that training has been an amazing one for all of us. New people, new programs, and new processes that will make huge differences in the already strong and successful treatment program at Santé are moving into place. These things will be the “bar” against which my future will be measured. That will not be easy for others!

No doubt, many conjectures and assumptions will be conjured up from the ethers. Most of them will be very entertaining and far from the truth. I am making this move because it is the "blinding flash of the obvious" in terms of my future. This has been a pairing of tremendous excitement and possibility with a huge sense of loss. However, this has been one filled with a very deep sense of serenity. I have been challenged by my life to actually DO all those things I preach, such as surrender, ask for help, and relax and take a deep breath while I wait for the answer. They truly do work.

At the end of March, the weekend of the “Supermoon,” I went to one of my favorite places – Golden Willow Retreat in Arroyo Hondo, NM. I asked my good friend, Ted Wiard, to let me be there to be in a spiritual place to listen quietly. I had an unsigned contract from Pine Grove and a lunch date with Deb. One of those two would end the weekend in disappointment. With the help of a bit of silence, a prayer labyrinth, and a Native American time of prayer and contemplation, I was able to find clarity in my heart. Shortly thereafter, I stumbled on a quote by Anaïs Nin: “And the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” (I never cease to be amazed when the “answer” lands in my lap, if I have the wisdom to simply sit with a question!)

I will not be disappearing. I will, of necessity, make some dramatic changes in my private practice. I will continue to live in Denton and to have my anchor here with my family and friends. Unfortunately, bilocation has not become a skill of mine. Thus, the reality is clear that I will have to let go of some things on which I have had a vice grip of control. I will be discussing with any and all my patients how that can and will affect their continued care. I know many of you have heard me say, “I’m grandiose enough to think that I do it better than anyone else, and realistic enough to know that this is not true.” Those words are haunting me these days! Regardless, I want exactly what I hope I’ve provided – that each patient continue to have the very best possible treatment and care. We will find the new version of that care.

In closing, I want to be sure that I have thanked each and every person who has entrusted their bodies, minds, and souls to the treatment process of which I have been a part. You gave me trust, when I had not earned it. You allowed me to share in your journey into places you had either never been or had sworn you would never go. Without knowing it, you embraced the notion that I could walk through that dark place with you, and that we would both come through touched only by healing. My time at Santé has been an unbroken series of very special journeys, some of them miraculous and all filled with gifts along the way. I can never express my true gratitude. In the words from Wicked:The Musical, "youwill truly be with me,

“like a handprint on my heart….

and whatever way our story ends,

I know you have rewritten mine,...” by being a part of my life.

Please stay in touch and keep me posted about the ups and downs of your lives.

Celebrating the Winter Solstice!

Happy Winter Solstice! Nature celebrated this difficult year for many by arranging a Lunar Eclipse as the Earth began it's turn toward light. Regardless of how dark or cold (or, in Dallas, how hot) these bleak days are, all we have to do is keep waking up to new days that will be a tad brighter. No night will be as long as last night.

This has been a particularly difficult year for many people who have crossed my path. In the last months, many close to me have lost loved ones, weathered anniversaries of other losses and made transitions that were very hard. As hard as I try, I still tend to ask, "How much more can they endure?" A quiet voice inside me responds, "Only as much as they have strength to stand."

For many, this year has been like a cold, hard, emotional winter that doesn't seem to end. I have no doubt that, in those darkest, most frigid nights, the sense that it will never end cannot be ignored. When these moments come for me, I am usually reminded of the amazing winter of the tulip. Buried in the soil, beneath the snow and in the dry, hard ground, the bulb lies dormant. I would imagine that, if it could think it like we do, it would probably ruminate as it faded into dormancy, something like, "I'm never going to survive this! It's too cold." Yet, it is that very dormancy that prepares the bulb to explode into flower when spring and the equinox approach. Without the dormancy, it would be a lovely blade, if it grew at all.

Today is the instant in which all that begins to shift. At an imperceptible creep, the days will gradually become longer and the nights shorter. Though we have many days of snow and freezing weather ahead, Nature has begun its journey to Spring. Today, somewhere in the Energy of Nature, a celebration has begun. I have a friend in the Northeast who has horses. This has been a torturous year for her. She shared with many of us recently that, in the grind of routine horse care, she was brushing the day's layers of dirt from the horses, when she noticed that she was coming up with hair that was shedding. This was not alarming, though. It is time. One of her horses always begins shedding on or about the Solstice. Even before the deepest of winter and the heaviest of snows, they begin preparing to shed their coat and run free in the spring grass and warmth. In a moment of heartache and loss, she stumbled onto nature's "postcard" to remind her that the world is turning towards hope.

I know it doesn't make the cold any less chilling and the short days ahead feel any longer. Yet, being reminded that the Universe is moving forward into Spring is a thought that brings something comfortable and warm to mind. It is, in a way, a reminder that we can get lost in the chill and pain of our Emotional Winter. In a subtle way, the Lunar Eclipse adds the message that the darkness of night is temporary. Just as the changes on the moon are not the result of the moon becoming dark or red, but because the Earth gets in the way of the Sun. Likewise, we often cannot see that our natural, normal emotional "orbit" is the very thing that takes away the light and blocks the reflection of hope in our lives.

Combining this image with the message of the Solstice, we can't help be reminded that we can't change these facts. Our "orbit" is carefully designed and perfectly in place, whether we feel it or not. (Remember, a shift of just about 6 degrees, yes, a mere six degree shift in the axis of the Earth's rotation would freeze or fry the earth and wipe us all out!) If we will just feel the pull of Hope keeping us in that balance, the cold may just be a bit easier to tolerate.

So, grab a cup of something warm and find a fire or a comforter or someone you love and feel the warmth that comes from within each. Be reminded that the path toward Spring just started unfolding before you. If it is still well hidden in the "snow" of emotions and darkness, be patient and gentle. Even if it means a bit of emotional dormancy and stillness. Nature has shifted and done so with a display of grandeur.

It's old (though some may have not heard it!) and maybe a bit tired, but take a moment and think of the words Amanda McBroom, sung by Bette Midler and find some peace:

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snow

Lies the seed

That with the sun's love, in the spring

Becomes the rose.

Happy Holidays, including the Winter Solstice!

(BTW, check out the story behind "The Rose." http://theroselyrics.com/ )

This is a repeat performance, but I think it bears repeating! Just Follow Rudolph!

Just Follow Rudolph!


I have to give full credit for these thoughts to Reverend Leo Booth, who is a colleague, friend and inspiration in some of my more whimsical moments of healing, as well as one of those who manages to remind me that spirituality is at the heart of everything we do!

Yesterday, Pere Leo was working with our folks at the Residential Center and inspired them all with his interpretation of "Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer." I am taking the liberty to share it in the Christmas Spirit. So, here is my interpretation of his interpretation one of the world's favorite Christmas myths (that he reminded me was probably a Polar version of "The Ugly Duckling" and others!)

We all went to school with Dasher (the Athlete/Cheerleader) and Dancer (the Track Star/Ballet Dancer), Prancer (the "Too Good Ones" who never talked to us) and Vixen (need I say more?) , Comet (the one we never could measure up to) and Cupid (our true "first love" -- the one we never even made eye contact with), Donder (the one who would tolerate us and talk to us in class, but never sit near us on the bus) and Blitzen (the one who tortured us with taunts and pokes that hurt more in our hearts than on our arms and legs). We WERE Rudolph. We were a little bit different. Sure, they let us INTO the Reindeer games...as the water carrier or time keeper. If we were really lucky (meaning they were desperate), we got to play right field. If we told the same joke they told, nobody laughed. If we had the right answer, they convinced us it was wrong.

Many of us grew up to be different in other ways. Maybe we had a secret life. We saw ourselves as waaay too fat or waaaay too skinny and never did understand what others saw. What we saw in the mirror never matched. We starved or had surgery after surgery. We walled ourselves up in our room or on the other side of town using drugs or on the internet or shopping.

Perhaps, we found that a few drinks made us "different" or more like them. They laughed at our jokes. They let us stumble into the parties. Yet, we were still different. We didn't stop. We gave them MORE stories at which to laugh. We heard about dancing on the tables and barfing in the fountain. We made it OK because we were AT the party and, after all, we didn't remember it any way.

As the years passed, though, we still ended up on the sidelines. They ended up calling us more and different names -- "Drunk" "Druggie." "Addict." "Annie Rexic." "Pervert." The list goes on. If we were lucky, we hid in the back of the crowd and tried to stay "like" the others, even though our hidden, painful lives became more and more hidden and painful.

Then, one Special Eve, in the midst of our fog, many times lost in the woods of our secret, painful lives, a Messenger comes to call.
"Rudolph, with your Nose so bright, won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"

Perhaps, this messenger isn't exactly Santa Clause. It may be a brick wall...literally. The one the car runs into or the back wall of the jail. It may be Homeland Security knocking on the door in SWAT gear. It may be our family circling the living room with letters written in hand for our intervention. It may be the cameras and crew of "Intervention" filming our lives without us figuring out that it is about our disease and us going to treatment. It may be THAT headache or the one time the money ran out or the one time the purging didn't work or whatever. Regardless, the Messenger is that thing, person, event in our lives that invites us to wake up, find our inner calling and move to the front of the herd.

Recovery isn't an easy journey. Embracing our very "defect" as the gift that makes us who we are and using it to bring gifts to others is the heart of why there's a "We" in the whole Recovery process. The cartoon doesn't show how very, very difficult it must have been for Rudolph to walk to the front of the line, past all those "Superstars" that had laughed at him, put him down, shamed him, and invited him to feel so worthless and useless for all those years. He looks so cute and innocent and happy in the images. Could he possibly trust that he would not be criticized, jeered, taunted and laughed at again. Shouldn't he watch to make sure there were no reindeer pellets in the midst of the confetti and ticker tape in the parade? How could he just forget all those years and all those times he looked in the mirror and ONLY saw that HUGE, RED, FLASHING nose? Isn't that all they saw? What about the huge burden of leading the very crew that had thrown him under the bus so very many times? That need to do it perfectly must have been immense! Surely, he would mess it up like he had done with every high fly to right field! Would Santa forget and hail, "On, Dasher and Dancer....(You know the rest)!" and forget to mention Rudolph. (If Santa is a parent, like I am, he'll forget at least one or mess up and call "...Blonder and Ditzen..." or something else at least once a Christmas Eve!).

Regardless, like Santa, Recovery is a call for us to step to the front, be ourselves and let the gifts that are within us shine. The pain of our past, the struggle of Recovery, and the reality that life is neither fair, nor easy, are all part of the Message. Rudolph didn't have to make the toys, check the list, pack the sleigh, feed the other reindeer, map out the route and figure out the weather. He just had to let that silly red nose shine and be the littlest reindeer at the front of the team, leading the way. (He also did not get to look over his shoulder and make sure that the other reindeer were eating his dust and their "crow." That was the job of the Messenger!)

It's hard work keeping our red noses polished, our eyes on the road ahead, staying balanced in our brief landings on rooftops and mountaintops, and just getting through the nights. On top of that, like Rudolph, we never know if all the gifts go where we think they should. We just let our light shine, do our job and move on. We never really know if all the joy we hope for comes to fruition. However, the reality is that the Messenger knows the List, having checked it twice without our ever seeing it, and just calls us to do our job with our silly red noses.

If we are painstaking in keeping our noses clean, we get to play in ALL the reindeer games and more. Life becomes a joy-filled journey, free of the burdens and baggage that we collected in all those years, when we believed our own fairy tales about how defective we were. The fear that pierced us when the Messenger called us no longer plagues us and sends us running. We are called upon over and over to just be ourselves. Things we never imagined can become real!

Whether the Messenger is one of painful reality or one that would have angels sing in the night or little oil lamps burn for eight days or any of the other wonderful traditions that carry us through this time of year into the light, may the light of a little red nose burn brightly in your mirror and challenge you to move to the front of the Team and be precisely what you were created for!

Just Follow Rudolph!

Thanks, Father Leo and Happy Holidays!

Recovery is a Wellspring of Resilience

(That's not really a bumper sticker like I usually make them, but it is a title that, as a bumper sticker would certainly bring about questions. To Marty and Janis - Thanks for the support and patience....I think! ;-) )

Recently, I had the privilege of attending the inaugural meeting of the Canadian Federation of Physicians Health Programs in Vancouver, BC. I have “borrowed” a phrase that was used repeatedly during that conference for my title. In its best practice, Recovery is a “wellspring of resilience.” I strongly agree and have experienced that. However, the Conference this week challenged me to look deeper into this concept.

How do I define “resilience”? Often, especially in the first years of Recovery, resilience seems to be relegated to the capacity to return to some magical baseline when the realities of life, addiction and Recovery knock us down. This is both true and dangerous. For one early in Recovery, the satisfaction found in NOT losing ground is, indeed, not only a major source of serenity but also one of the earliest evidences of “The Promises.” These moments of connecting with a sense of success are both useful and essential mile markers to note, claim and collect. They must not be lost. However, they are only the groundwork of building the foundation of recovery.

I believe that a key word here is “wellspring.” Taken to its fullest extent, Recovery is a source of unlimited, unrestricted growth, renewal and serenity, even in times of chaos and struggle. This requires that our entire perspective on Recovery have a paradigm of health and wellness. In order to do this, I am learning over and over that we have to reframe the entire course of our journey.

First, we have to begin to see the powerless and unmanageability as opportunity, invitation and, in essence, gift. While it is easy to celebrate the escape from the prison of addiction, many times, the pain, grief and loss of moving through the first five of the Twelve Steps cast a dark shadow on those years and events. In addition, the arduous task of turning the tide of the chaos, damage and devastation. Many times, we rely on the Serenity Prayer as though it was a magical incantation that would send out a host of sparkles to convert life into a colorful place of comfort and peace. Not so! It is only a reminder to pause in the struggle, assess the battles into which we pour our energy and know that our true empowerment comes from Acceptance. In reality, it is very difficult to find a gift in the process of wading out of the middle of the swamp in which we seem to have landed. The concept of a Wellspring of Resilience requires that we see the journey through the muck and mud of the swamp of unmanageability as an escape to a better place. That is precisely when we need to view “The Promises” as somewhat of a “postcard” from the mythical land to which we are headed, not the result that is expected to arrive in a moment.

Second, when we accept that Life itself is not a static, stale event, but an ongoing process, we can see the invitation to move through whatever current circumstances Recovery leads into our laps as a part of the process. If we can make this next shift, we can begin to see both Life and Recovery as a journey. Not only does this allow us to shift out of trying to “pass” the twelve tasks with some mystical “good grade,” but to see the Twelve Steps as a fluid process along which we flow back and forth, repeating components of each step each day. Thus, Life becomes a journey, filled with twists, turns, valleys, mountains, deserts, swamps, oceans, and plains. All of them are filled with unique forms of beauty, danger, serenity, and excitement. Our task is to keep moving on the journey, following the Higher Stars before us, within us and around us.

Finally, if we remain in contact with our Spiritual Center, having a sense of being guided along this journey, we develop a new understanding of “The Promises.” This understanding is not one that we “learn,” but one that we “come to know.” It’s a strange sense and experience, very difficult to explain. Much like height, maturity, gray hair and wrinkles, this “knowing” just seems to show up one day. We don’t see it coming and can’t force it to happen. It just comes. If we focus on the journey, the excitement, exhilaration, loss and healing and growth around us, we are able to be present on our journey and see that it is truly an Adventure. Doing so does not make the difficult times any easier. What it does is allows us to tap into that “Source” or Wellspring of Resilience that allows us not only to continue on the Adventurous Journey, but to rise above it. In doing so, we become guides and supports for others, almost inadvertently. (I believe that spontaneous, soaring experience is something reserved for the last of the Twelve Steps – Service. Yet, while the spontaneous experience “arrives” in the Twelfth Step, Service throughout Recovery is a key part of the foundation of sound recovery!)

What a wonderful Promise – if we just keep doing what is in front of us and be of service, the Source will be there! However, the concept of a Wellspring of Resilience is also an active process. Much like a spring of water, the wellspring of Recovery requires constant revisiting and attention. Without water, we dehydrate and die. In fact, without daily water (which we rarely drink in adequate amounts – recommended at ½ ounce per pound per day), our performance declines and our function is compromised. This has been tested in many venues. We would do well to pay attention to this as a concept in Recovery. We must constantly support and replenish our mental, physical, emotional, spiritual, vocational, and relational health, wellbeing and resilience.

The Wellspring of Resilience that is Recovery is available to us all every day. However, we must go to it, partake of it, and pause to allow it to nourish us, fill us and guide us. Here’s the catch – it lies deep within us, all around us, and, in most cases, can only be accessed through those who guide us.

Here’s hoping your journey is challenging, wonderful, and all that is promised!

(Half-fast apology - the first version of this went out as a comment in the Sante Center for Healing Quarterly Newsletter. Due to deadlines, it was imperfect - You're welcome, Marty - and I noticed some changes I wanted to make. So...here they are, in this format!)

Recovery is A Wellspring of Resilience

AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!

That's all I have to say. I have at least 4 posts started and not "perfectly" edited ....a.k.a. - finished. Somehow, this grandfatherly brain runs out of gas before my creative spirit can conquer them. I WILL write. I WILL! I WILL! I WILL!

Thanks for patience!