I’m grateful for my little chair on the pirate balcony. I’m grateful for another gorgeous morning. I’m grateful for taking steps back sometimes. I’m grateful for loosening knots, not tightening them. I’m grateful for really good coffee. I’m grateful to be sober today.
I’m sure you get tired of me prattling on about this thing and the other, and pennies and the pirate balcony. I get it. However, I am going to go on about it again today. Why? I find that when I sit out on the Pirate Balcony (or any number of other very suitable substitutes) and take a few deep breaths, my ruminations turn to reflections, things that had me feeling angry or sad or upset or lonely or lost swirl a bit, then a breeze comes up and they drift away.
As a kid, I spent a lot of time laying on the front lawn of our house. There was a little bit of a hill, we called it the “terrace.” It did make for a few seconds of lawn mowing excitement, but, it was a very slight incline. It was, however, quite perfect for laying against and watching big puffy clouds drift by. I loved imagining different shapes in the clouds, animals, UFO’s, whatever. You can make clouds look like a lot of things in an adolescent brain.1
I could do that for pretty significant amounts of time. I try to re-imagine what that actually felt like back then. I think it felt really good to not be responsible for anything for a little while, to not think about anything that was going at the moment and just watch the clouds drift by. I don’t think I realized that was a form of meditation. I’m actually very sure I didn’t. Coincidentally, if you’d like some Eastern Iowa history, Fairfield University in Fairfield, Iowa was acquired and renamed “Maharishi International University” in the 1970’s. I vaguely remember some talk about levitation, so that and, I guess, serenely laying on a bed of nails, formed my definition of “meditation” back then.
Come the Great Rehab Wars of the 2010’s, and meditation becomes a topic of renewed focus. At my first IOP, there was a lecture every Tuesday evening from the person we all affectionately referred to as the “Feelings Lady.” She was a psychologist who helped us develop tools for emotional regulation and management. There are some dubious things pursued sometimes in recovery settings, this is not one of them. I found it very helpful in calming the seas that so often capsized the little boat of 3 or 4 days of sobriety. It was crazy stuff like closing my eyes and counting breaths and letting my mind wander around a bit, but trying mostly to just let things get calm and dark. The Feelings Lady described it as descending a dark mine shaft. That sounds kind of terrifying to me, ditto on dark caves and such, but you be you.
I also do a fair amount of yoga, again, I find the disciplined breathing to be liberating. I’m a bit clumsy, I think even ungainly, but there’s never been a time I walked out feeling worse. Now, I often put out a yoga mat in the morning and try to just count breaths with my eyes closed. I breathe in for a count of four, hold softly for a count of three or four (endurance not the point, rhythm is, I think), exhale for roughly the same number of beats. I try to have the only thing in my head be the number of that particular breath. My meditation technique draws a bit heavily on Sesame Street, I do imagine each of the numbers emerging out of the darkness.
I know you’re not supposed to try and control your mind, you’re supposed to let it wander and such, and then gently nudge yourself, in a very kind and gentle way, back to simply being present. I may have mentioned that there is some possibility I was a Labrador Retriever in a prior life, so sometimes, a soft, gentle nudge is not enough. The Sesame Street numbers emerging in space is my personal meditative accommodation, just enough mental white noise to let things go.
And that’s what happens. Things go. Things I was upset about, sad about, confused about, scared about, they tend to drift away. Whatever was underneath is still there, of course, but I’m often able to look at things a little differently. I usually realize it’s not about me, it’s not a reaction to me, it’s not because of me, it’s not directed at me, it’s not my fault. Just writing that, you can see how much fear and negativity there is at the bottom for me. When that stuff is bubbling through my veins, well, that’s when feelings run hot, perspective starts to narrow, fear begins bubbling around and the knot begins to tighten.
You already know how I used to medicate that.
Now, I try to meditate that.
I’m so sorry about that. I did not plan that in any way.2 It just popped out as I was writing, I do think it’s kind of funny, and while I would never probably say that out loud, I think it’s probably true.
The problem with the litany of “me’s” in the paragraph above is that it turns the entire focus of my world inward—it makes the impact on “me” the only event that is worth measuring, that I’m capable of measuring. In my experience, looking at the world this way drives a lot of unhappiness, anxiety, depression and just plain misery. Somehow, the idea of sitting alone at the end of a bar while my life drifted away seemed better than that.
The “selfishness” that drove my drinking and is described often in the Big Book isn’t about insisting on the last bite of pudding, it was a lonely and solitary way of looking at the world. A way that led to nothing but frustration, anger, resentment and sadness.
That’s where the Pirate Balcony comes in. These days, I sit out there and and just lean back and watch the clouds drift by for a little while. I try to imagine shapes, is that a chariot? I wonder if there are other people looking at the same cloud? What do they see? Pretty soon, the thing I was worried about, or angry about or sad about comes up for a second, then there is a breeze and it’s gone.
I come inside, heat up my coffee or my tea or pour more sparkling water and go through the latest frustrating emails from frustrating people about frustrating things. It’s okay, I know I only have to do my best and the other stuff is going to happen roughly the way it’s going to. I like to make jokes and very much enjoy imagining myself as Paul Newman, but I didn’t get my mind right in a box buried underground, where I couldn’t drink, no matter what.
That happened in places like the Pirate Balcony.
What exactly does a Rorschach Test show?
I always write the title last.
Wonderful share. You have good practice. Keep it up! ❤️🫶🙏
I suspect you’d get a kick out of this song:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=1djRY4B749I