I’m grateful for a rainy morning. I’m grateful for what happens when it’s time. I’m grateful for letting things happen, even the scary things. I’m grateful for pretty excellent coffee. I’m grateful to be sober today.
This was going to be so good today. The new lifestyle requires much more regimentation than this pirate is used to. Frankly, I have a very poor record with regimentation, but old dogs learn new tricks all the time. At least that’s the operating thesis and/or fantasy. This is a long way of saying that if I had more time, this would have been really good.
But, on the positive side, the sotw is already picked out, so it’s fine to get your expectations up for Friday. Anyway, I’ve started reading the Big Book again with a new sponsee. The AA nerd in me (ask Sean what he got as a “leaving NY” gift), is really excited to be reading “Bill’s Story,” again and seeing the spark start to get lit in someone else. We spent our second week on “Bill’s Story,” and we barely got past the dinner with Ebby—just so you get a sense for my pace on this.
I read a lot and think I have pretty decent taste; I’m really not sure if there is another piece of writing anywhere that I find more vibrant, more real, every single time I read it. I’m serious, I get a little tingly when I read the part about Ebby arriving, it’s like I’m in the living room waiting to see what happens when the door opens.
And that’s exactly it, because every time I read it, I more deeply see, scratch that, feel, “Bill’s Story.” The buried realizations and the unnoticed turning points of Bill’s Story were fundamentally similar to my own story. The thing that unlocked the power of the Big Book was a sponsor having me write my story in the style of Bill’s. That is powerful stuff, it showed me how similar the story arc was, how similar the thinking patterns were, and how similar the process of “coming in” was. Every time I read it, particularly when read aloud, it just penetrates this thick skull a little deeper.
Last night, we were reading on page 10 and I was completely struck by this passage:
I had always believed in a power greater than myself. I had often pondered these things. I was not an atheist. Few people really are, for that means blind faith in the strange proposition that this universe originated in a cipher and aimlessly rushes nowhere…Despite contrary indications, I had little doubt that a mighty purpose and rhythm underlay it all.
Big Book, page 11
That is the sum and substance of Bill’s theology, the religion that must be adopted to join the AA cult: That there is a purpose to the universe; A point to all of this.1 The next paragraphs go on to explicitly reject the precepts of the Christian faith tradition; that there is a God personal to us, that Christ was nothing more than an example, a symbol. On page 12, he restates it:
I could go for such conceptions as Creative Intelligence, Universal Mind or Spirit of Nature, but I resisted the thought of a Czar of the heavens, however loving His sway might be.
Big Book, page 12
It’s when Ebby tells him sure, pick whatever conception of “God” makes sense to you. That’s when Bill’s metaphorical jaw hit the floor, “his icy mountain melted.” Bill could plainly see that there was some force at work, a mysterious one, because Ebby had been a completely lost cause. I mean, a really bad alcoholic. And if he was sober, well, wtf…..
That’s how it works, by the way. It’s the power of example, and the example is not necessarily the person who says the brilliant thing timed to be last share of the meeting, it’s the person who you know was a complete disaster, you can just tell, and they’re sitting there and they look peaceful. They laugh and smile, they look as though they belong. Because they finally do. Those are the people who show that the Program works.
And all one has to believe is that there is some purpose to the Universe. A purpose that is well beyond the comprehension of humans, or at least this one. But a purpose that is findable and tune-in-able. A purpose that snakes around and makes completely improbable, fantastical things happen. Bill’s conversion began well before the drinking stopped, when he realized the true nature of the necessary theology, his view of “miracles was drastically revised right them.”
It had to be; a hopeless alcoholic sat in front of him, sober. How else to explain that, other than as a miracle? The thing that produced that miracle? Simply the belief that there is purpose, a unifying, organizing force. An FM radio signal, a Star Wars tractor beam, the multiverse, whatever. It’s not even necessary to understand what it is. It’s simply the belief that there is something, that turns the light on, that produces the knock on the door.
I get emotional thinking about the moment that Ebby knocked on Bill’s door, the moment right before Bill’s life would change. Bill hearing the knock and walking towards the door. The sense of anticipation about what comes next. That strikes a deep, deep place in me. It’s that moment when the miracle began to unfold—and all that was necessary was to open the door.
Do you know who I consider the king of semi-colons?
Learned so much, thank you.
The semi-colons? 🧐