11: Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him/Her, praying only for knowledge of His/Her will for us and the power to carry that out.
Lay flat, in darkness, in silence. Alone.
Close your caffeinated eyes.
Now imagine a wall full of light switches. Each switch represents a thought you must shut down before accessing the deeper, divine Self.
The friend who did the thing. The election. The election. The election. (Sometimes it takes three tries to make sure it’s all the way off.) Your child whose butt stinks. The child whose heart hurts. The Cheerios on the ground. The brown grass. The neighbors thinking about the brown grass. The neighbors. Project Runway. The coloring books plastering the dining room table. Etc. Etc. Etc.
Until you’ve got none left to flip.
Now imagine Jesus’ back yard, or front porch, or wherever. Jesus isn’t your thing? Imagine someplace where Love flourishes and Light pierces and all the energy of Life spills out in a wave of peace.
Remember that place you once met God? Go there.
Got it? K.
What does it smell like? How old are you there? What do you see? What can’t you see? Reach out and feel something, what do you sense?
Now what does God want to show you? Where is Love leading? Follow. Trust. Keep breathing.
Wait until it’s over. Wait until you’re not afraid, wait until you have permission to leave.
Exhale. Exhale. Exhale.
Open your eyes. Write down what happened. Or don’t. But I always do.
This is called a Resource—it’s yours. A tool, a prayer, a meditation that can (and does) take you near to the heart of God, the heart of Love.
Once in a Resource Jesus pulled out flashlights from a man-purse He was wearing and massaged my throbbing legs with their warm, reddish-blue healing light. I came out of the meditation pain-free & able to smile.
Months ago, I saw a Lion (who was a representation of God, duh #Aslan) resting at the base of Mt. Sinai. I searched His mane, not knowing what I looked for, until I found it. The name of every soul tattooed on His flesh. This image helped me the other night as I watched a brutal, Good, bewildering, and hard election unfold.
Donald Trump’s name is tattooed on God’s flesh, I saw it. So is Hillary’s.
Sometimes I sit on the grassy, warm shores of the slow-moving Still Waters mentioned in Psalm 23. I rest in the waters and relax as liquid pass under my naked, weightless body, anchored by some large, smooth river stones.
“What were you doing in there, Mama?” My children ask me as a smile-stumble from the dark master bedroom.
“I was talking to God.”
Resourcing helps me not whack my kids, and prevents the venom from spewing out of the mouth. It’s where I go for help with a husband, or a reminder of my Goodness. Once Jesus let me hold a friend’s unborn baby, and eat apple pie with my deceased sister, Ellen.
It doesn’t matter if it’s real or not. Though the unborn baby came, the pain was healed, and my heart for Trump softened. It just helps—a lot.
Maybe it’ll help you.
Which leads me the final, 12th step: Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics/addicts/everyone, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
Once, years ago, I went to rehab. And there, God showed me how deeply S/He adores humans, even the really fucked up ones. The 12-steps teach us how to find serenity in this spinning world, how to accept (or maybe even love?) humanity, and they encourage us to extend that serenity and love to others. All in the name of a Higher Power. God. Love. Light.
It’s a gospel, a Good News.
I can’t stop talking about it.