Staring Down Into a Spiritual Pit of Nothingness

Progress v. Imperfection. Some dreamy Auden joints. New tunes for the damned.

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As I mentioned last week, there were a little more than a dozen names in my old God Box that, to varying degrees, took over my life enough that I felt like I couldn’t move forward unless there was some outside resolution and relief from my disruptive and dangerous feelings, even though I couldn’t remember most of them off the top of my head. But what am I without big, giant resentments against those people? 

Granted, most of them were journalists or old work colleagues, but my dad was also there. He’s gone and along with him went that life-affirming resentment.

In my men’s meeting on Friday morning, I shared about it. I asked the room, “What do I do now that I’m healed?” I know I’m not fully healed, but those resentments gave me a goal and an identity. It wasn’t like I was wearing a personalized T-shirt I’d made on Etsy—“ASK ME ABOUT WHY I WANT TO BEAT UP [NAME OF FAULTLESS INDIVIDUAL]”—but it was close.

Hearing myself full of noodle-armed revenge fantasies gave me a sense of purpose, and I needed purpose. Say what you will about the efficacy of a spiritual program, but the consistent practice of ego-obliterating and defect-removing worked on me.

But now what? Imagine a cliff, a very high one, higher than the last cliff that was here six years ago when I had people to hate and a purpose.

And this is an essential moment for my spirituality since I have a frequent nagging sense of terror. (As inhabitants of Earth, I’m sure you can guess these terrors, give or take one hundred.) I realize there is a real opportunity for growth inside that terror, too. And that the best, perhaps the only way to work through it is to constantly put more good into the world despite it.

This week, I began constructing what that might look like: taking on another sponsee, beginning step work in D.A., and returning to more meeting service. Feels lacking, though, like the work should be more monumental or something. 

After the Friday morning meeting, good ol’ Peaceful John came up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and a hand on his heart, and asked, “What if you began to receive things? Are you willing to do that?” Too early to tell.

All the regular Sunday rundowns and recommendations are after the jump. See you down there, but if we don’t, we’ll catch up on Tuesday. (It’s the second part of the Body Dysmorphia submissions. It rips.)

Alright, go be good for someone today. — AJD