Today is two months sober for me.

Hooray!

That is all. For now.

– William

This is the song we’ve been listening to, singing, humming and whistling in our office for the past four days.

Dan Reeder - Work Song animation

“The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled.”

– Plutarch

Whew. We’ve been busy. And I’ve been tired. No, not tired — exhausted. It’s strange — being tired from actually doing stuff is a lot more affecting than just the tired from staying out drinking all the time. Actually using one’s body really wears you out. Whodathunkit? But, while I need more sleep, I’m still happy.

Tuesday will mark seven weeks sober. That makes me happy.

I spend my days at work — from around 7:45 till . . . whenever we get off, which has ranged between 6:30 and midnight thus far this session. Monday marks the halfway point — 70 days — for the 81st Legislative Session. We haven’t passed one bill through the House. So either things will begin to pick up, and my hours will become even more unpredictable, protracted and wearying, or nothing will get done at all. (There is a saying around the Capitol, especially among Democrats, that the less that gets done during a session is more than likely to the benefit of Texans. Proof.) Ultimately, things will get done. It’s just a matter of how long they’re (the governor, representatives and senators) are willing to drag it all out.

Suffice it to say, I haven’t been getting much sleep except on Saturdays. I can’t even help it. I sleep late without even knowing it. None of that waking up, looking at the clock and turning over to re-embrace Misty and sleep. I just don’t wake up until 11 hits. And then I need a nap. Which gets in the way of setting up the new house.

I don’t have time during the week to do much setting up, and we’ve set a drop-dead date for ourselves: April 4, the day of our housewarming. So we’ve got to get a lot done in the next two weeks, or, more important, one weekend.

Even with this pressure though (and it’s a pressure I put on myself because I really want to have people over to see the place and I really want to finish getting the house completely set up), I’m happy.

I’m happy with Misty — working around the house with her, sitting at a coffeeshop before A.A. meetings with her, shopping with her, sitting on the couch during one of our infrequent periods of relaxation and TV-watching.

I’m happy with our house. Sure, there are things that we need to finish: We still need a fence put up, still need to hang our artwork, still need to finish setting up upstairs, still need another bookcase, et cetera. But, nonetheless, I’m happy.

And, if you’ve known me for any period of time, you’ll know that’s not exactly my S.O.P.

I’m certain there are many reasons for my happiness — being with someone I love and who loves me back, a glorious house that isn’t reminiscent of a cave in the least, a huge back deck that backs onto what may as well be our own private park, the Spring weather — but one of the biggest is probably being sober and finally letting my brain do its thing unencumbered by massive quantities of poison. (Trust me: I drank enough that alcohol wasn’t just an intoxicant, it was a poison.)

So, yeah, I’m happy.

I hope you all are.

– William

Can I get a witness?!
You may be be catholic, and I most certainly skirt the edge of it. ( I prefer the company of catholics,  I grew up in a predominantly catholic area,  I pray in catholic churches. Well, I pray everywhere, constantly. In a catholic church, you feel you’ve PRAYED, however).
But you and me be doin’ some pontificatin’, Brother Mark.
Too many folks want to see it crash and burn, but they seem unwilling to do that internally.
As I understand it, the Revelation of St. John The Baptist ( and I DO prefer me some Baptist music) was an INTERNAL experience that occurred when he achieved illumination.
Many enlightened folks report very similar experiences.
Heard tell of a man who surrendered so wholly to God , “down to the individual cells of his body”  that his spiritual attainment  was described by a man of very vast consciousness as “inconceivable”, even by him.
The rest is the show. And people hold tight to what’s rattling around they’re heads and/or it holds tight to them. It’s simple, but it ain’t easy. Just like playing the blues.
My friend told me, “When you get enlightened, the world doesn’t go away.”
Bummer.

Peace be with you.
Love.

– John

Hey Brother,
Intense! But, in considering the source…
As far as all the people being God-
The idea is that EVERYTHING is God.
Nothing could exist without God, and therefore there is nothing that isn’t God, so on and so forth.
It gives one an unparalleled appreciation for life.
It can also give one a bad attitude about others not having that appreciation, and start one to thinking that one’s duty is to try to remind of the necessity of that appreciation (serve God), and basically turn one into an asshole.
That’s where I’ve been.
Not a real asshole, because I knew what I was talking about, and what my real activity was.
Just impatient with the things that get in the way of the pure exchange of that love.
And I wanted everyone else to be impatient with them to.
Might be fewer wars if everyone was.
But my manner of presentation was geared toward getting the lesson out, and not really giving a shit about how I fared in the course of public relations. Because that would have been self-serving, and that’s a big no-no.
Like I say, those days are over.
And I know so many who are scared to see my face again.
It’s heartbreaking.
Really, if I could have gotten just ONE other to understand this with me (preferably a VERY hot, brilliant woman), it might have changed the world, for the better.
For awhile.
And with my background, I thought I HAD to try to change some of the world if I was ever going to have a halfway-decent life for myself.
I got impatient after years of this.
Turned me into an asshole. And diminished effectiveness. Because I was tired, Negro.
I’m not responsible for them.
Or to them.
But I do care. And everyone knows that.
Another effect is that exposes others’ lack of caring. Bad news in a narcissistic society. Instead of just correcting it, it is taken as a personal affront.
Public enemy #1.
All it took was years of selfless love, sacrifice, and the cranky personality of an 80 yr. old musician.
Fuck ‘em. I got a gig this afternoon. It pays real money. The music and the food are good here.
Everywhere else people are trying to do the John Paul Getty thing, or rockstar thing, or whatever.
Here, people model their values more on St.Francis Of Assisi.
Seen ENOUGH fear of love in this world.
Them kids was supposed to be the smart ones.

Peace be with you,

– John

Maybe time to leave the desert, no?
Swore off God last night-
“Don’t want me to have your love and favor? FINE! Keep it! I don’t need it!”
Just got out from praying at Our Lady of the Lake.
I’ve done all I can. Gone absolutely as far as I’ve been able, and further than I’ve ever seen anyone else go trying to do right by God,
and all the people.
Who are themselves God, if I’ve got my numbers right.
Seemed to get the absolute worst of the worst.
Those days are over.
Wrote to Taylor today- “Nobody anywhere is happy with me.”
Immediately got a gig.
They’re not happy with me because I’m no longer living just to please them.
20 yrs. ( and truthfully, my whole life) I’ve been trying to serve God by serving everyone else.
They didn’t get it.
While being scapegoated, used, disrespected, and I don’t think there is an ounce of goodwill toward me from them.
They acted like they thought I was one of them, but they damn well knew I was not.
Largely unconscious folks.
Completely boring folks.
And they are boring simply because of the willful unconsciousness.
Maybe I’m being too hard on them.
Nothing compared to what they were on me.
Once I’m chilled from this, I’ll be fine.
Peace be with you

– John

Today we move into our new house.

Which means we won’t have to deal with our current bitchy landlord any more. We’ll be our own damn landlords!

To see the house, check this link.

– William

Who am I?

That’s a question that’s been rattling around in my brain quite a bit recently. I haven’t had a drink in a few weeks, and if you don’t realize what a substantial statement (and non-action) that is, you haven’t hung around with me in the past few years.

I’m trying to stay sober. For good. (And that plays on both the temporal and the behavioral levels.)

But I’m starting to realize that I don’t really know who I am any more. It’s been so long since I’ve examined myself, that it’s hard to tell. I’ve spent so much time sitting at bars getting plastered that I haven’t taken the time to look within and figure myself out. Who am I? What do I want? What’s important to me?

I know I want a rich inner life. That’s important to me. And maybe that’s the first step on this voyage to acknowledging and realizing who I am.

I feel like there was a time in my past — before I started drinking a ton — when I wrote and read and spent most of my time moping about over coffee that I at least had a better understanding of who I am (or was at that point in my life anyway).

And so now I’m trying to get back to that. To those activities and thoughts and feelings that reveal my true self.

At the same time, I’m trying to remain open to anything and everything which may help me in this effort — be it philosophical, religious, psychological, rhetorical or what-have-you.

I don’t mean to say I’m aiming to become a Bible thumper. I think we all know that’s not me. But, as they say in Alcoholics’ Anonymous Big Book, “Be quick to see where religious people are right. Make use of what they offer.” The fundamentalists obviously aren’t right about “intelligent design”/creationism or when they display utter hypocrisy, but compassion and patience and service are all modes of living/qualities the world’s religions teach (and can also be obtained through some philosophies and, I like to think, rational reflection) that can be used by anyone.

I’ve talked to Misty recently about trying meditation. Not only will it give us something new to do together, and whatever “Higher Power” you believe in knows that I also need something else to keep me occuppied now that drinking isn’t an option. But, probably most important, I think I need something to help calm my mind. And I think Misty would agree that she could use a similar exercise.

I’m currently reading William James’ The Varieties of Religious Experience. It’s an enlightening and enjoyable read. He writes as well as his brother, but with fewer commas.

A couple of nice excerpts:

One need remain in hell no longer than one chooses to; we can rise to any heaven we ourselves choose; and when we choose so to rise, all the higher powers of the Universe combine to help us heavenward.

– R. W. Trine: In Tune with the Infinite, 26th thousand, N.Y. 1899. (As quoted in William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience.)

That, in itself, is enough reason for me to stop drinking. I don’t need to hit rock-bottom as some alcoholics have. In fact, I’d prefer not to lose Misty and my family and my pets and my home over a liquid in a bottle.

And my reason for seeking meditation and reconnecting with innermost self?

It is but giving your little private convulsive self a rest, and finding that a greater Self is there. The results, slow or sudden, or great or small, of the combined optimism and expectancy, the regenerative phenomena which ensue on the abandonment of effort, remain firm facts of human nature, no matter whether we adopt a theistic, a pantheistic-idealistic, or a medical-materialistic view of their ultimate causal explanation.

– William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience

There are things I know I want. I want to be with Misty. I want puppy-lovin’ from Jeff and George each morning. I want Mel, the parrot, to like me. I want to sit and ruminate in the quiet of my new house. And I want to know myself again; not the lies or mistakes I told myself when I was drunk.

I know this entry probably makes no sense to you. It barely does to me. I’m scatterbrained — I have been for a few weeks now. I thought I had something more concrete, unambiguous, pertinent and able to be verbalized than I’ve ultimately written. But here it is. Maybe it will make sense as my journey inward progresses.

– William

I want to make one more introduction. Longtime readers are familiar with stories about John, the New Orleans musician who spends quite a bit of time in Austin and with whom I’ve had many, many adventures. He’s agreed to allow me to post the often quite insightful e-mails he sends to his e-mail list once in a while.

Without further ado, here’s John’s most recent e-mail:

Nobody outside of the city (of New Orleans) has a clue what any of this is about.
- Mac Rebennack (Dr. John)

Alright y’all,
Hopes everyone is utmost and ever-so,
You know the drill: got my wine, and someone left the computer unattended…

Music.
.
.
Music has been my life.
It has taught me how to live.
What I am am looking at.
What to expect.
What is worth trying to create.

Look here, yea u rite:

Music is different here in nola.
Just listen to it.
It says ” Alright! We’re doing it.”

Some people think they jive me, but I know they must be crazy.
- Mac Rebennack (Dr. John)

Music in ATX.
Just listen to it.
With a (VERY) few exceptions, it says:
“Check ME out. I”M doing it!”

Fuck anyone doing that to music.

To life.

Can’t teach soul.
Believe me.

Much love and peace, y’all.

I want to add to Misty’s post below, but first I have to make a quick detour:

Where the fuck has Mike Jasper (aka Jasper aka The Jasperino) been?

My wife starts blogging and out he suddenly pops from whatever rinky-dink woodshed he’s been hiding in writing his man-eats-trout, trout-swims-in-man, the-two-become-friends-and-go-fishing-together magnum opus to make a comment about car washes? (And, for the record, if there were a car wash called Free Will Car Wash, I would avoid it at all costs. There’s no telling what those machines will do to your car if we give them free will. Look at what we do to our vehicles.)

Before I move on, I should note that (a) Jasper named this blog and (b) I still use his line, “Ireland is the Mexico of Europe.”

Now that the acknowledgments are out of the way, I thought I’d talk just briefly about my own lack of inspiration — as if such hasn’t been neon-obvious to everyone who (still) reads this journal. (I’m going to refuse to call this a “blog” because it was started before the word “blog” even came into existence. Call me French.)

I can easily blame my lack of inspiration — let’s be honest, it’s a lack of making the effort to find time to work (write) — on my job, but so can Misty, and everyone else who does this for personal satisfaction rather than money. (”No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money,” wrote Samuel Johnson, likely for free. Unless he spoke it instead; that’s another matter entirely. Only Bill Clinton won’t speak for free.)

Beyond being “busy,” I suppose I just completely lack the creative drive I once had. (Thank God I have Misty to fill that void in my life.) And, probably more important, I now have the nagging — nay, suffocating — requirement of self-censorship. It’s gotten to the point in our culture where everything is up for grabs and everything is up for critique and all the lines are blurred. You write a post on your “blog” one day and the next your boss is breathing down your neck for something that really doesn’t concern him or her.

If you ask me, it should be illegal for employers to look up potential employees’ personal information on Facebook and the Web as a determiner of employment. Let the resume speak for itself — just like in those Golden Days the Republicans want to get back to. (But they do love the Interwebs when it comes to ensuring no one with a brain works for them.)

So, as my final excuse, I will use that feeling of self-censorship. The inability to be honest with my readers (ha!) as I once was. I’ve discovered I’m no good at one of those subject-specific blogs focusing solely on military issues or politics or pop culture or hating/loving cute animals. The one thing I ever had was a brutal honesty (and a willingness to sometimes be a little circumspect), and that’s been beaten out of me by . . . growing up some?

I’ll try to regress. Devolve. Like the Texas State Board of Education.

– William

P.S. There. I’ve written an entire entry using Jasper and excuses. And Jasper once said that the only way to stay young is to stay immature.