Within the literature of Alcoholics Anonymous, the word "recovered" comes up at lot, and come to think of it, why wouldn't it? Many an addict latches on to that idea as a desperate lifeline of hope. I, on the other hand, have grown to embrace the fact that until the day I die, I will be a recovering alcoholic. I long ago decided to make peace with this disease, but that in no way makes me immune to feeling frustrated and angry by the circumstances surrounding my relationship with the addiction.
I don't want to tell you the story of my drunkenness. You've heard it before, or seen it before, or a version of it. It is not unique. I don't have a tale to weave for you of bizarre miracles and angels and heavenly choirs. I want to tell you of simple amazement. I fell, upwards. I fell into a life, once I stopped shaking and twitching and seeing things and vomiting. This has not just been a sobriety lesson, but a life one. At school, with loved ones, even (perhaps especially and most simply) on my writing journey -- honesty, being open and willing to accept some guidance goes a long way.
I started by telling you about my own experience in the world of abuse. I did this because those experiences are what helped me understand the importance of healing in light of a frightening situation. These women -- our sisters -- need our support and understanding to heal. But we cannot forget the men. At some point we are going to have to turn around and help heal this man. Many will think he is undeserving, but he too experienced trauma in his life which he has had to cope with. I'm not talking about forgiveness, I'm talking about compassion.
Growing up in the 50's and 60's, my mother Lillian was primarily a "stay-at-home"mother. It's not that she didn't have high aspirations for her future, as she dreamed of being a dancer. However, times required she go to work directly after graduating high school as a bookkeeper for a dress manufacturer, her professional dancing dreams dashed.
Ten years ago at the 10th anniversary of the Rwandan genocide I went to Rwanda with World Vision. I knew it would be a difficult trip, but I had no idea the impact that trip would have on me going forward. Now, as we near the 20th anniversary of the horrific Rwandan genocide, my heart is still broken by the meaningless killing.
There were many times, especially in the beginning of my grief, when I turned to someone with a look that said, "What did you just say to me?" It took me a long time to not take comments too personally. I had to develop a thicker skin as time went by or I would've constantly been flying off the handle.
In a bee hive there are thousands of worker bees that all serve one bee, the queen bee. The only difference between the queen bee and the worker bee is their food source. The queen bee is the only bee that is allowed to consume the protein-rich royal jelly. Epigenetics tells us that we are in control of our genetic destiny.
When you drive up to Manitou Beach in Saskatchewan, you might wonder yourself what you are doing here and just how long you will spend. Not that it seems foreboding, dangerous or derelict. There just isn't much here and what is in place doesn't have visual appeal. Even the lake, the primary reason to visit, is murky and vacant. But residents insist there's magic in the waters of the lake
There's always a lot of talk about the heart -- both as a physical organ and as our spiritual centre. In yogic philosophy, the heart (also known as...