Sometimes things do fall apart.  Best-laid plans and all that stuff.

It’s easy to mouth the words, “everything happens for a reason,” but much harder to accept the truth behind the words.

The truth is that sometimes things must fall apart in order for the pieces to reconnect.  Something needs to break down because it’s not working right.

Is the answer to simply throw the thing away?  I don’t believe so.  Might we try first to investigate why it broke down?

Or maybe the why isn’t important.  Maybe we just accept that it isn’t working the way it is and then choose to see if it will work differently.

When something falls apart for me, it generally involves a relationship of some kind.  The “thing” is a product of a relationship with myself, with a situation (like at work) or with another person.

Sometimes the thing that is broken can’t be fixed.  Try as we might, the trying turns into a form of insanity as we continue to do the same things over and over expecting different results.

I feel crazy, truly crazy sometimes and all I want is to claim peace in my life.  I’m learning that affirming peace is code for asking for love because love is the return to sanity.

Here’s a question I’m asking myself today:  In the midst of things falling apart, can I respond with love?  Can I be love in every situation and circumstance?

More questions:  What does love look like in my life?  Self-love and love of others?  Love of God?

When things fall apart, I want to run and hide.  I want to do anything except be with the pain as it crumbles.

Are you like me?  Do you tend to stay stuck in the pain or have you figured out how to traverse its rocky rapids?

Just for today, I’ve decided that I no longer want to stay stuck so I’m jumping into the pain.  I’m going to see what lessons are lurking in the rapids’ depths.

It will be necessary to slow down–to be mindful–so as not to miss the lessons.

Of utmost importance:  the lessons are for me and not anyone else.  Where am I erring?  This exercise isn’t about beating up on myself but about learning how I contribute to things falling apart.

Even with a cracked heart, love lets me believe that I can do better.  I can be better.  I am better because I am love.

You are your own greatest love.  I pray you believe those words today.  If you don’t believe me, focus on these lines from Pema’s book:

Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.

When things fall apart and we’re on the verge of we know not what, the test of each of us is to stay on that brink and not concretize.

We can meet our match with a poodle or with a raging guard dog, but the interesting question is–what happens next?

We are not striving to make pain go away or to become a better person.  In fact, we are giving up control altogether and letting concepts and ideals fall apart.

It’s a transformative experience to simply pause instead of immediately filling up the space.  By waiting, we begin to connect with fundamental restlessness as well as fundamental spaciousness.

B Love,

Beth

For this Thursday Thread, I share these words in the spirit of hope and as a boost for those who may struggle with “keeping on keeping on.”

A sudden removal of alcohol (insert any other destructive behavior) from an alcoholic’s life is traumatic. It alters one’s mind chemically and has the added pain of mental and physical obsession, not to mention how it causes one to behave like either a raging bear or a sniveling four-year-old.

My mistake in early sobriety was in thinking I could simply stop drinking. Remove alcohol and all my troubles would vanish as well. My life would emerge from behind a magician’s cape in a whoosh of presto, chango, all is perfect.

The hard facts would slowly emerge in my foggy mind that alcohol was not my problem. I was my problem.

Fifteen years of continual drinking, of drowning my emotions, of hiding from uncomfortable or confrontational situations, did not prepare me for life without alcohol. I had no clue how to deal with anything. Oh, I was functional. I was practically always functional; in fact, that was a huge stumbling block for me in admitting I had the disease of alcoholism. I nearly always went to work after a big night of drinking; albeit a little tardy and extremely hungover.

My work environment enabled my drinking. It was not uncommon to venture out to lunch and return after three or four cocktails with my bosses. I was in my early twenties with a lunchtime bartender who brought me “the usual” when I walked in the door!

By the time I quit drinking, some eight years after those thrilling three-hour lunches, I was losing track of a lot of time. Time began to rearrange itself without my permission. My car began to move itself with increasing frequency. There was often no explanation for how I reached my destination.

In May of 1991, during one of my final drunks, I drove home from Topeka, Kan., a distance of about 75 miles, in a blackout. I have no memory of the trip.

It was Mother’s Day and I was at a work function. By God’s grace, I lived to see my mother.

One of the many ironies I encountered in those early days and months sober was the life I thought I was handling so well covered nothing but an insecure and emotional mess of a person. Take the alcohol away and I was a sober, insecure and emotional mess of a person. Worse, I was shaky, defenseless and angry that others could do what I apparently could not.

I instinctively knew I was drowning, although I wasn’t aware that the sea of my despair was filled with self-loathing, self-pity and self-disregard.

Just as instinctively, I knew that I needed help. With a few phone calls, I found a voice who became a friend and sponsor and said, “I’ve been there and you’re going to be alright.”

We began a relationship of her offering suggestions and me taking them. Over the years, I’ve asked myself a million times how it was I came to follow the advice of a total stranger, then joined a group of people who were just like her.

They were deadly serious about this condition I learned was a disease, yet they were also jovial and funloving. Much, much later, I learned the answer to my question of why I fit in.

My answer had nothing to do with the similiaries of our financial conditions, our stature in life or any of our preferences.

The answer was the one thing that gave me hope that I could stay sober and it is the answer that has worked for 7,581 sober days.

It was Shirley’s heart speaking to mine. Then it was Jerry and Karen and Gabbie and Pat and Suzanne. They were the first people in my home group who on the outside were  nothing like me. But on the inside–where we draw our balance and where we B–the language of our hearts enunciated perfectly that we were all going to be okay.

Hearts of hope. I pray you are connected with similar hearts that bring you hope that if your days are dark, they can be brighter again. Hold on and you’ll find freedom from your particular bondage.

Namaste, my friends.

Let the love flow as deep as the sentimental rivers of candy, flowers, cards and jewels. Like all other over-merchandised holidays (yes, I can guilty as charged), the Day of Love is a mega business.

Consider this Mindful-Monday-before-V-Day-post preparation for tomorrow’s onslaught.

Since everything begins at home in the eternal B Here moment, let’s look at where love begins . . . with oneself.

I’m doing a lot of emotionally charged internal work right now and at the core of the work is the question of how much I love myself.

How often do we stop the frantic pace of our lives to take stock of the answer to that question?

It has been said that in real love you want the other person’s good.  In romantic love, you want the other person (source unknown).  

During this month of love, when romantic love is emphasized, I suggest the need–an urgent need for me–to focus on real love.

When two people commit their lives to each other in a ceremony, words like honor, respect and love are used.  Since our most important relationship is with ourselves, don’t we deserve the application of those words as well?

While it’s true that the largest chunk of my life’s purpose is to be of maximum service to God and other’s, how often do I think of meeting my own needs first?

That’s selfish, you say?

Maybe so, but I’m thinking that since the word “selfish” contains “self,” there just might be a reason to think of me first–or at least as much as others.

We often say we are our own worst enemies.  I’ve said it many times too.

Let’s turn that statement to a positive and say, “I am my own greatest love.”

Imagine how the world would change.

All it takes is a single decision multiplied by billions.  Today all I’m interested in is one.

One decision–my decision–to love myself as others love me.

Now that’s a great gift for Valentine’s Day.

I am my own love and I share that love with you.

Let these words from the great Lucille Ball be our motto for the week:

I have an everyday religion that works for me.  Love yourself first and everything else falls into line.

Happy Love Day from B Here Today.