I say tell them it is not AA  that is the Giver...it is Life itself!  And it is not any Religious Group either. Nor is it any national symbol writ upon a piece of paper with a seal.

And it's for everybody on equal terms. No one is excluded. And joyful fulfillment is the result of a real life...really lived. AA is a symbolic aid for calling a meeting of folks who want to have a better experience. Think of it like the torch in the hand of lady Liberty welcoming all the world to come. That's all. We can only point to what has always been so. Alcoholics 
tend to be desperate enough to listen is all. 

True Self has the answers for each one of us insofar as we remain in line with divinity's beam.

HASTEN YOUR OWN EVICTION

You have allowed yourself to become entangled in the blues.  

Pay close attention to the entanglement to hasten an eviction. 

But, do not tarry.  

You have allowed yourself to become entangled in the blues.  

Pay close attention to the entanglement to hasten an eviction. 

But, do not tarry.

For this task you will require a great deal of the deepest sensitivity of the kind only truly wild creatures carry

observing the entanglement of your plans up in blue to the point the pain is more than the boiling point in you, you shall un-der-stand…once again

observing the entanglement of your plans up in blue to the point the pain is more than the boiling point in you, you shall un-der-stand…once again

observing the entanglement of your plans up in blue to the point the pain is more than the boiling point in you, you shall un-der-stand…once again

whether you be or whether you be not… 

and beholding Parallel Heaven’s amazing similitude so grand you cannot withstand caterwauling gratitude 

hasten a sudden eviction…

You be taking nothing with you from the home of the blues, so,

before you go, nail up a notice with fiery fingers of conviction 

to any soul lost tonight in the sorrowful blues fearing eviction 

I be outta here, Blues… 

nail it up so tight it will never be forgot…whether I be or whether I be not?

Finding my feet in a new world. there is nothing to follow, nothing to keep, nothing to change.

There is a pitcher.  Everyone alive has such a pitcher.  A pitcher that something fills with precious fluid.  I keep pouring mine out on the ground, leaving me holding an empty pitcher in wonder.  The pitcher is refilled for me.  I do not know what the fluid is for.  I want to do something with it.  I pour it on the ground and wonder.  This has been going on for more than forty years.  I am no more aware of the purpose of the precious fluid today than I have ever been.  Still, the pitcher is refilled.  It is not refilled because of any merit on my part, I know.  I continue to pour mine out on the ground and stand holding an empty pitcher wondering what this has all been about.  This is my story.  And still the pitcher is refilled. 

 I have learned this much.  Each time the pitcher is refilled,  I can feel the fullness within it and that feels good, I know.  It is satisfying, I know.  It took a long time for me to understand this much.  I lived many years ignorant of the feeling of satisfied contentment available at such a trivial price and with so little required of me.  Those years were chaotic.  I lived in dread most of the time.  I was trying mightily to achieve some goal or other that might bring me satisfaction and peace.  Nothing I tried brought more than a fleeting feeling of excited pleasure that seemed always to dissolve even before the goal was reached into another faraway goal to be reached.  All the while,  this feeling of satisfaction was lying inside as a refilled pitcher of precious fluid, refilled for me time after time by some unknown source that must have been taking an interest in me even though I was pouring the precious fluid out on the ground.  

In truth, I have explored possible ways to use the precious fluid and none have seemed to be anything other than simply pouring it out on the ground and standing rather foolishly, embarrassed, in apologetic wonder.  I have heard of people who are able to do something worthy with their pitcher of precious fluid.  They use it to grow some lasting fruit trees that continue to produce good fruit.  I must admit I  do not have evidence of it.  Only stories. Whenever I have attempted to locate one of these people they elude me.  Like smoke they elude me.  So, I am left here holding a pitcher of precious fluid that has been refilled by grace without my deserving a drop of it and , not knowing what else to do,  am  pouring mine onto the ground to stand again in wonder.  How are you doing?

A STILL MIND

Once man saw himself dead he was afraid. Maybe what spurred him to create language was the urge to converse with others about his fear of losing his life and plan ways to resist death. It has had no real effect, has it? Perhaps it has even increased the fear which is so often expressed by killing someone. Strange. They say those who most fear death are enjoying life least. Weird.

I am aware that we are being spoken to by the whole world constantly. Are you?

Of course, are you listening?

The stars, the wind playing tunes on so many flutes, the calls in the dark night, the paintings in every sky are but a few of the whole world’s many songs. What are we being told? Why did we let fear take our attention? Can we get it back? What is anonymity, really? How precious is it?

Are you aware there are humans alive who are really happy who have no fear of death? They tell of a happiness, or joy, that removes any worry about it. And, they never kill anybody. Never hire anybody else to kill for them. What is anonymity, really? How precious is it?

I sometimes see children in reading circles at school being taught the effective way to learn and digest all that fear. The fear of lack is the fear of death. 

We have two minds, all of us.  One is still.  The other is very busy thinking.  The one that thinks is not the anonymous one. The one who fears is a person who thinks he has something to lose. Now we are near to it.  It is clear that there can never be wholeness as an experience when two minds are working. Join those who have only a still mind. Listen for your invitation. 

A New Day

It is a new day. The old way will not serve us now, never did, as anyone of us can tell.

Yet there are a million voices coming from that  dead, defunct, most hopeless time.  Mechanical voices calling to everybody else “follow us” as if they are certain we are certain 

we must follow some body.

That’s the same bus full of nuts that brought us to want to close the shop and give it all up.

It’s these identical parrots from the museums and crusty old school houses groomed in the old way to stand apart as leaders who want to ask us to give another chance to what has never worked, I tell ya. It’s a gaggle of authors, musicians, actors, film makers, therapists, entrepreneurs, politicians, scientists, all of them afraid not to be bosses. They must think us inept.

To top it off, these gangsters turn profits that satisfy paltry, selfish motives by capturing on legal documents the ownership of all the art made and being made by lonely, devoted individuals who go venturing into the deepest recesses of life to keep promises each remember were made to life’s giver at the moment of first breath. Do you recall you made such a promise? If you do, this is a new day for you.

The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so free one's very existence is an act of rebellion.    Albert Camus