But, what did you learn?

 Apr 2019 - Feb 2022 almost three years from the day of my accident I suffered in seclusion and slowly lost me…. Even if you could have helped, how could you?  I was so buried in seclusion and isolation, depression, fear and losing absolutely everything but me…

I found a bottom in sobriety I never thought would be plausible.  Sadly a head and heart full of recovery gave my disease the inside track on how to take me out.  And I didn’t see it coming.

The very slim three or four that stuck and stayed through, what in hindsight was a level of crazy, neurosis, and self hatred I never thought was capable.  No, it’s not embarrassing…. To the contrary I’m extremely proud.  Not of that path or behavior; I’m proud I laid enough groundwork for those few to know to keep after it.  They listened to me wail in the fetal position naked on my living room floor begging god to take me on the phone.  Of course I was reduced to an almost animalistic level likened to when I arrived to get sober…. 

So yes, my apparently state and self preservation in the collective sense they stayed that arms length until the medicine took hold.  When the medicine took hold, my regrowth although awkward and very confusing became exponential.

A boy with a drinking problem turned into a man with a drinking problem, then into a sober man.  With each new jackpot his drinking lured him to, I would get the call.  He’s sound ambitious until he didn’t and then until I didn’t hear at all.  In Nov of 2021, this man sent a text and asked how I was….

I’m paraphrasing here…. I replied short answer I’m good.   Because I really don’t have the energy to tell one more person my current truth and state, just to back away from me as if I had the plague and never hear from them again, left feeling worse, colder and deeper down the rabbit hole…I’d just as soon leave it at “I’m good” so you don’t run like everyone else I tell my truth too.

He immediately picked up his phone and he called.  That was the moment the medicine kicked in… and forgive the pause… I’m in tears atm….  It hit me again, The kid I got sick of hearing excuses from about getting sober….  Just pulled the pin on the grenade that had finally allowed me to forgive myself, allowed me to shut the closet door clean of skeletons I know longer had to hide.  This kid had just gotten a year sober, he finally listened and he paid attention to what he learned and put it into action….

I really had a whole different reason or agenda why I wanted to write about this.  It came from a resentful place, it came from a place where I thought I had the power to make you double faced, hypocritical, self absorbed and self aggrandizing twats feel some kinda guilty way…. Why?  Because you talk shit about honesty, open-mindedness and willingness and even with a Miriam Webster page opened to each definition you could not find the real honesty to portray any of the three…

But I was immediately shown by the “medicine” it was more about what did I learn.  What did all that craziness, self hatred, naked in a fetal position on my floor…. What did I learn from all of that….

Look, it’s not easy to get sober.  It’s hard to maintain that sobriety.  So from experience, and with experience now; it’s a slow process getting used to a new way of thinking.  A new way to live honestly without the secrets that haunted me.  A new way of thinking about no longer dismissing the PTSD from some past issues in the Navy, the murder of my wife, childhood trauma.

This isn’t necessarily a new me.  Our cores really can only be altered minimally, I still cuss entirely too much, I still have a disturbing sense of humor.  Equally though, and something I would never acknowledge because of societal toxicity or my perception there of…my core is still that of well mannered, well raised, respectful reverent and appealing side is less hidden and it’s active appearance in my day to day life has allowed me to more quickly lose the hatefulness find my answer and keep away from that old way of living.

Look I had no idea this was gonna pour outta me.  I’m not sure if any of this makes sense.  An old phrase comes to mind as I try and summarize this godawful thesis….  “Speak as The Spirit Moves You”….  I heard this early on in sobriety in 1994.  I guess I’m gonna summarize this way.  I’m slightly new to this level of just honesty let alone vomiting it for all to see…

I have no more secrets, that’s part in partial why the medicine works.  I have no fear of repercussions for my honesty, I’ve removed all the shit “YOU” can hurt me with…. It took this long to finally forgive myself and FINALLY start a path of not hating me more than YOU do…

So I have shit to say, if it’s not for you.  That’s way cool, keep it moving.  If it serves to help one soul not rest on their laurels as I had and experienced…. It serves as a beacon of hope and helps for anyone that be lost like I was… I don’t want that for you… please call me I’ll walk through your hell and bring you out…. That’s the real NO MATTER WHAT CLUB…

What this also serves is my humble glance at a power greater than me, that I walked away from for 20+ years because I blamed God for my wife’s murder….  My friend Jimmy Redding makes a statement often….  “I said those words that launched me through the gateway to freedom, GOD PLEASE HELP ME.  Those four words changed my life”.  

So yeah, when I finally surrendered in February and said those four words I swore I’d never say again…. GOD PLEASE HELP ME….  Let’s just say Jimmy Redding is not at all wrong.  And that has been my “Medicine”…. And allowed me to learn what real Grace is all about.  I have no longer a need or purpose to lash out at those that are that full of shit… Have at it…. I just chose to change the channel and keep it set on grace….

My 20 page summarization will conclude here… Pat Dunn is fella I hold in very high regard… He assertively instilled in me…. He said “Ray Polen it is absolutely incumbent upon you to remember that at any time and in any situation to remember your ideal state as an addict or alcoholic is one of goddamned humility…. Otherwise that one drop of ego and we all know what EGO stands for Ray; will be the mustard seed that takes you out”.   Sometimes the lesson being taught takes a minute to graft over old useless information.  Pat famously would remind me it is nearly impossible to graft ANY new idea or way of thinking onto a close mind….

So I am my own new idea and how I navigate this new way of living is based on my honesty with me.  I’m enough, worrying myself about your bullshit skewed opinion of me became to tiresome..  with Grace comes humility and thus

Freedom…

And that… I want for us all.

Ciao

More stories coming soon

 it seems I've been tasked to start writing more....so stay tuned to this spot and follow along! 

A Story of different kind...

 PREFACE:

For a long time, many friends and family had urged me to dedicate more time to writing.  If I had to answer a question of "why did they urge you", I suspect its not my overwhelming literary knowledge; nor my underwhelming knowledge of college level writing or english language skills.  So I'm left only with this assessment to the question as the answer anyone might seek I guess. 

That would be, I write from my perspective, I trying and relate my fives sense to any experience or topic such that you...  can find a way to relate to the topic on a human level of "any man/woman"....  essentially I write I guess from one humans perspective in a very raw often curse filled and exceedingly open..... and yeah way goddamned more honest than I think most are willing to allow themselves.

The Story...

So after a year that saw a near deadly motorcycle accident; last April and then followed by just an obliteration of my finances, ability to make money and the sale of everything from work trucks to priceless guitars just to pay rent and eat (sometimes, stay tuned).  The death of one of my dearest friends followed four days later with the death of my cousin, both from cancer and abruptly in the middle of a budding love relationship AND in the middle of a 12 step spiritual convention in West Virginia. 

As if this year wasn't bad enough having saved myself and my business from homelessness I avoided a distracted driver from a head-on collision and trashed my only vehicle in the processes.  My lawyer asked why didn't I just smash into him you were in the right!  Well because I couldn't think of just smashing into this fucking moron and killing him in my F-250 Super-Duty as I drove a brisk 28.2 mph overtop of his crumpling brand new baby Land Rover that was traveling at least 30mph.  The instant amount of physics I was able to calculate with my knowledge and speed....  Let's just say the math didn't look good for his tenure here on the the planet.  Instead, his 18yr old self acted like he played no part and I repair my truck with the last $2000 in my business bank account.  Essentially ending bankrupting my business....

Yeah so that's my shit show of a year until now...let's not even discuss the PTSD, let's not even get into how I'll never again have a career as a commercial driver or that I'll never ride a motorcycle.  Instead let's get down with this whole writing, journey bullshit and see what shakes of it.  Because I've got some shit to say now.  After having essentially, my whole world resurrected into this "new" version of whom Ray is... I have found a different level of courage, a little more freedom and entirely okay sense of who I am and what matters most to me.  In essence, after 54 years I'm okay inside my flawed, loved and worn human skin.  Late AF, but better than never.

I'm ready to follow the advice of a Mr. Bill Riley.  He was my Radio Broadcasting teacher at the prestigious Broadcasting Institute of Maryland.  He ripped open the door to the studio I was rehearsing;  he tore the cans off my head and pulled down on my shoulder to better leverage his tippy toe state and proclaim in my hear; "I know you, and I know your story, this may not be the medium or venue to tell that story, you are a writer Ray!  You are a story teller and telling your story is far more important than this field remember that".  I am here to follow the wishes of my sweet and so, so loving Aunt Linda.  She has read everything I've ever written I think and has always encouraged me to write on.  Just maybe next time find a way to write where you aren't using so much foul language.  With the caveat, "although I know what you are trying to evoke with that language, you can do better and still evoke the same emotion I think".  

So here I am, warts and all as they say.  Imma just sit right here with this bullseye of truth right on my back and spill it.  I had this story I was going to tell.  It really was a creative, crafty piece.  I was gonna tell one story with all this detail and guiding the audience to a path that would leave their jaws on the floor with how the story really unfolds and concludes.  That project was still in the "barely researched, mostly talking about it, defining purpose, flow and the mechanics of how to craft the story line"....  And then today happened.  

And then that happened...

So yeah, that really cool (yet overlty grandiose) story ain't happenin.  Instead, my almost virgin-esque debut or foray into the quasi literary world starts with explaining what I'm fielding at the moment.  More to say, having to close out a year that has been two years, re-fire, rebrand and rebound my business.  Yet personally navigating what seems to be my new life.  Since I burned the old me to the ground; so I could live a more honest, freeing, purpose filled life dedicated to love, honesty and service to my fellows. 

Losing sight of who I'd become, because it wasn't who I wanted to be; nor the man my shadow was proud to follow.  So my plate is full and I never saw this menu coming.  So if I'm to tell this story, you need to know.....   before I bore you to absolute death with my witty colloquialisms; in my present state and place in life I do not give my permissions for these things to happen.  But with nothing more than a desire to stay focused on love; I willingly accept all of it!  No matter how it comes, no matter what time of day or night, no matter who it brings me to or I to them.  I will try with grace, dignity, honesty and that same love to be the vessel I am supposed to be.  Because after all, the people of Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous did not bring me this far to stop having my back.

So yeah, the plate and its contents.  Besides the normal stressors that one finds in the business of life, we add in recovery, focus on spirit, forward growth, relearning me.  I have a very close friend that is dear to me, his dad was dying.  I did my part, I showed up, called, sent texts.  Just overall made sure he knew I had his back no matter what and I am "right here".  I have a friend I've known since my teenage years, who climbed the ladder to fame and is now, not famous and just one of us.  But now with so, so much mental and emotional baggage and so much hurt and pain.  He's been living in Nashville since his "retirement" from the music business.  His roommate literally exploded in front of him and died, left him the house, the bills, the emptiness of not having anyone that loves him like I do.  So I brought him up from Nashville for the holidays.  Just because I had a few bucks and I wanted to make sure he was around love this holiday.  You know, while the US is on fire again with Covid-19.....  

Then let's add to this plate, another restaurant sized course, of my best friends, step-dad is on a hospital bed in his living room at the end stages of mesothelioma.  With that, comes my 5 year old niece that just absolutely effing adores her Pop-Pop and all that that encompasses.  That is all breaded with his being just a good good, fun loving, singing along to country music, hard working, whiskey drinking man with a heart bigger than the orb we live upon.  Then there is my "Other" mother.  Shelly.  Ugh, my heart is breaking for her even more today.

Yeah that plate is steaming hot and we still haven't gotten to the gravy or the goddamned stuffing.  Shit.....   Let's talk about how my ride or die, no question home boy that has been holding all that down for mom, and showing up for his dad, he's migrated from one career to another as a result of our business hitting a wall.  Let's pour that gravy over the stuffing made of being a stellar dad, fighting off covid, 55 hrs a week, and becoming the Patriarch of his pride.  I'd think that plate is as full as it's gonna get.  What I didn't disclose to this point?  Like life, things are fluid, constantly changing and in such a world it's not practical anymore to use the china.  So that plate we're all given, I got caught up thinking it was made of china.  Then I learned real fast last year, nope!!  

Life is really hard and the easier you pick up on these life lessons, the easier the path and the greater the enjoyment.  So yeah, rebuilding that china plate over and over with the crazy glue of bullshit we design to hold it together until we've gotta rebuild that same plate and dig another miracle from the bum of our life to hold it all together yet again.  Life lesson learned, work smart not hard.  How so?  It's okay to stack as much crap on that plate as you THINK it can handle.  Sooner or later after all that mess ends up on the floor, a few things will happen.  

First, one way or the next you're gonna find out just how much is too much.  Knowing where that line is at and staying just south of the point of collapse is gonna be your best bet for a journey worth working for.... and lastly if you're lucky enough to find out sooner that then later... you will as the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous says, "Intuitively" come to find out exactly how to "safely and effectively" manage when that plate isn't as strong as you thought and you gotta ask for help.

Because experience is such an awesome learning tool, I can tell you that all of my senses have become very learned in this last two years and as such; let's just say I'm kinda pissed off that I'm grateful for those lessons.  For the biggest reason as it has allowed such enormous growth beyond anything I could have written on paper.  Yeah, gratitudes I spose.  But besides that, I didn't sign up or give my stupid opinion on how I would like my storms to come, how much wind and chaos it is supposed to deliver and how intense and for how long.  Nope, didn't give my permission for all that, that was....  Found out real goddamned quick that life doesn't give a rat's ass.  I ain't the lunchroom of life, "take what ya need, leave the rest" oh f*ck no it IS not.  

I can say that, because the first storm to show up in my recovering life..... I DID NOT WEATHER!  I failed!  I failed miserably.  My wife, my bestest best friend ever and for always, the mother of my beautiful baby girl (now woman) and just the pretty much the goddamned best teacher I ever met....she was murdered.  She was shot under her left arm, and in a video that replays in my head since 1999; was her lifting her arm to deflect the gun as the bullet was already cast from its death vessel and smashing through shirt, then skin, flesh, tendon, lung and now before all of the velocity times mass has taken its toll, it destroys the aorta and superior vena cava as if a paper doll defending a flaming arrow.  

And that video still ends with me waking up feeling like I'm drowning, or occurs on a ladder or while talking to you, or driving and I have literally shake my head like a magic 8 ball to get it out of me.  Yeah that storm, I found out the hard way.  

No matter what you have, who you are or aren't yet, doesn't matter your status in work, life or what the hell ever.  If you are not spiritually fit, to say no to that first drink or that drug when that storm shows up in your doorway.....  Yeah, good luck to ya....ummm hold on tight, don't forget to call if ya make it.... um yeah.  We're talking about simple spiritual fitness being the difference to any addict or alcoholic of my variety in whether they do or do not survive the storm.  Fortunately, you can surmise to that extent; I survived the first storm.  Now what did I learn?

This isn't even the whole of today and what happened....  but I didn't start this process, this document or whatever gibberish this has as of yet manifested itself to be... until 8pm this evening and its' now 1:30am.  I really need to focus, which means I need sleep....  My night time medication is kicking in so I need to rest my aching back and my soul...... so I cannot continue to not fight with my story and accept it as it comes.....

Chapter 1a More to be revealed......

 

Yeah Sex is Cool...

You think sex is cool?

Ever wanted to die,

But you made it through...

and still wanted to die?

Who the F*%k is Sturgill Simpson

Look, I don't wanna sound like he's my buddy nor are the guys in the band. Because, that just isn't the case. But I did do a short run with Sturgill and his band a while back. I was still driving entertainer coaches at the time. The run was such that I had opportunity to see them perform a number of times. I'd not see a performer like this in a while and often I felt humbled personally and as a fan in his midst. An extremely humble fella, what I derived was the guy must have come from good stock. It certainly didn't hurt that the man served in the U.S. Navy as I had.

Watching performers I've toured with usually isn't without remark. Yeah, they play, sing or perform well. But hell, there are just so many performers out there....Not many stand out, above and over the din of others. Sure in my line of work I am privy and privileged to sit with, next to or across the table for a meal with these folks. Sure, I've got stories about this one or that one. So long as you know, they are for me and not for prying ears and or eyes that just wanna know something. After all, their human beings like you and I. Sure some are not, and I suppose that is as a result of their perceived level of importance, fame or cultural significance they feel they've earned.

I digress; there was an experience at Red Rocks Amphitheater that remains etched forever in my memory banks. No, it had nothing to do with this fella or the organ player or Little Joe his prodigious

guitar player or anyone at all in fact. It was that culmination of experiences. I didn't sit and have long or medium conversations with Sturgill, heck if anything I made the poor fella uncomfortable as I referred to him as "Boss." Who knew?

But I'd been that fly on the wall, discussions with he and members of the band about the construct of a particular part of a song. Or his conveyance of his emotion or point of that part to further craft the theater of the listeners mind. So with that fly on the wall stuff in my head, and trust me when I say that I'm eternally grateful to have had many of these experiences with artist since 1985 until now.

The soundcheck at Red Rocks was done, everyone had enjoyed the facility and all its visual grandeur, the walks in and through the catacombs to the delicious and well prepared catering were done. The sun had long since set. If you've never been to this place and even if you have; when that sun sets and the enormous almost out of this world boulders that form around the venue are lit up, there starts an almost unstoppable spiritual experience. That for me, is the transcendent description.

The lights lowered as the house music was drawn down, the band had found their places along the sprawling stage. Then with little to no fanfare Sturgill picked up his guitar, centered himself on his microphone. They counted off and watching what happened from the four count onward was singularly one of the greatest musical moments I've witnessed. When I say singular I mean to say only this. It seemed as if a smattering of folks knew who Sturgill was, they and I knew that those around us that hadn't a clue are in for a wake up as if they'd been in a four score slumber unlike any story told of a forlorn princess.

It was as if everyone in this one place, this ever so tiny spot on this big earth; were captured in a moment or a bubble and what was unfolding before their eyes was genius. The power behind those that were just awakening to their "Ahh Haa" moment was intoxicating if not potent! Keep in mind, Sturgill was on this show as an opener for a very popular group that had some very loyal followers. These weren't necessarily "his people." What followed during the allegro, crescendo and colossale would certainly and easily fix that.

I was soaking it in, I went from areas left and right of the stage, I traveled from the top of the venue to the first row. I observed those that whispered, nudged, and less reluctantly than before the first note began; to stomp the foot, move rhythmically as if the sounds, beat and emotions of the songs carried them down a fast moving stream of utopian musical bliss. I was watching them experience what I'd felt and experienced upon my inaugural Sturgill performance. It was as if the same, the veil of fogginess had been lifted from the eyes and clarity was within reach, the muffled noise by what seemed like cotton in the ears was gone and what I or better yet what they were seeing as if for the first time was purity, singularity and honesty.

For at this moment, it was as if watching thousands of individuals formed a spiritual union becoming as one. The "Ahh Haa" moment had passed and now onto the phase that the doubting jury of souls; without a spoken word or provocation between them agreed and consented. And me, here I was feeling exhilarated, knowing from the beginning that if they; like I, loved music would find themselves at this place before they knew what was to happen.

Alas, it came and went. It was absolutely undeniable what had just taken place. The stage was reset and readied for the headliner. There was this sense that they (the crowd), just had the single most isolated encounter with the most beautiful boy/girl in the world and then vanished into the air. Feelings as, "what just happened to me, will I ever see he/she again, wait come back, I need a shower but I don't wanna wash this away." Now I'm not sure if you (the reader) really get what I'm trying to say in this particular instance. I may never know and really that is just fine and dandy with me.

However, if your on Facebook, Twitter, Reddit or the litany of social media outlets or just reading internet news that no doubt is fueled by "trends." You are certainly going to click, read and figure out what and who the hell this Sturgill Simpson fella is and what the hell is going on? No doubt, you'll find words, reviews and videos of last evenings Saturday Night Live debut performance. Ready yourself as you prepare to watch first "Keep It Between the Lines," then move away the glass table, breakable objects and possibly the dog as you click on and watch "Call To Arms".

Keep in mind his songs and some would say his style is that of country music. Not the requisite radio ready, crossover pop tunes with commercial appeal and rhythmic almost rap like lyrics. The kind your momma and daddy grew up listening too and some before that era. The "Country & Western" music that was rooted in; for some in the hills of Tennessee & Kentucky or the plains of Texas or around the bluegrass fires in the woods. Where everyone would pick along and sing as well to a harmony and melody the likes of which big money radio and records have long since abandoned.

Yeah, so on that run I did with Sturgill. It was on this run he was formulating more of his genius. He was piecing together the parts for his next record. Ultimately which became "A Sailor's Guide to Earth." Some would think, "what the hell do sailors and earth have to do with country music." Well sweetheart you just set your pretty ass right over there and wait, he'll show you. Some have labeled this fella a rebel, an outsider or fringe guy. I argue, to the contrary. He's an insider.

Not the insider of big radio and records. More so an original, without a means or need for a mold that which does not exist. He an insider of America, this record for me had the flavor of home grown funk, big band, bluegrass and western waltz. Layered with timings of jazz and the harmony only the hills could produce. Its nothing conjured by a protools rig on music row by the ideals, motivations and standards that get spins on the hot clock that we're force fed by iheartcountry radio.

I found myself running behind last night. I'd had a gig 75 miles from home. I knew if I timed it just right, I'd get to dial up SNL and watch. During this past year, I narrowly missed opportunity to catch the boys perform live. I suppose our schedules opposed one another an it just wasn't meant to be. With great anticipation and excitement I heard "Ladies and Gentlemen, Sturgill Simpson." And at that moment I looked on and thought "America, if you don't know...well you're about too."

I wanna preface, by saying that since I first purchased "A Sailor's Guide to Earth" it has been almost constantly on and in every playlist I have on my phone, computer, iPad, Leapad or music playing device. If nothing more to hear EVERY song on this record. For me like many, I buy singles. But for everything that is provident and divine I'd certainly miss the mark if I'd not purchased the whole record. Of course we have all purchased records. There are songs on there that we'll skip over with the likes of dismissal of lint on a suit coat. Whoa no no no....not on this record and if you do... well your just not a goddamend music lover.

No doubt with the hashtags and trending of last nights "Fiery" performance of #CALLTOARMS or #STURGILLSIMPSON on SNL, you've gotten to see the same spectacle I witnessed. Let me say this, watching the looks on the faces of his band while performing, the fluid energy and movements of Sturgill we're as if visualizing what it would look like to see a spirit move. I'm shocked an amazed that I didn't bother to make the bed after watching this performance. There wasn't a sheet tucked in or a pillow in its original place after watching and feeling that kind of energy he exuded.

I'm still blown away, I still have some sense of pride in watching that performance. Its an odd sense of pride, one that you'd think a parent would have. Knowing your child was pure and good and honestly talented and now the world can see what you've been saying for so long. Yes every parent thinks their precious little womb raider is just the cat's meow. But we all know, there's nothing that special about "Little Linda Lou" and her tap and jazz recital. What I watched last night left the feelings of vindication. Those that just brushed off my insistence to buy the record or listen to this or that song; finally understood and had their epiphany, moment of grandeur and or Ahh Haa moment.

No, I have no connection to Sturgill, his band or crew. I don't have his phone number, email address nor his personal Facebook or Twitter. No affiliation whatsoever! What I do have are a few weeks of driving them from gig to gig, sharing meals, taco bell and some cigarettes with the band members. I've got the personal experience and good fortune to watch him perform from any angle of the venue without restriction. He an I shared the same commitment in serving our country in the U.S. Navy as regular men. I, a guy from Baltimore, MD and he a fella from Kentucky; that's it. What else I have are those fond memories of witnessing him build from a regular guy and putting this record together with the meticulousness of surgeon and without regard for anything more than what HE wanted to say. From the first note of this record to the last, I've just sat back and waited for what I knew was coming. That guitar being slammed to the floor, that was his mic drop. It was the "If ya don't know, now ya know" moment.

My patience paid off in spades last night. I awoke with no intention of doing anything more than using this laptop to guide me through emails, news and to see vacation happenings of close friends in Costa Rica. Little did I know, I'd be writing what is tantamount to a Gettysburg address of reviews on Sturgill Simpson. But here we are. I'm not sure who reads this and frankly it just doesn't matter. It was more for me to etch down the memories, the pride and the hope to see a really really good guy do well. So to that I say, fine job Shipmate! Damn fine job!

#DONTCALLHIMBOSS #ASAILORSGUIDETOEARTH #FLYONTHEWALL #PUREGENIUS #STURGILLSIMPSON #CALLTOARMS #BETWEENTHELINES

The Passing of a Steward

Very sad day indeed.

"Understanding these Traditions comes slowly over a period of time. We pick up information as we talk to members and visit various groups. It usually isn’t until we get involved with service that someone points out that “personal recovery depends on NA unity,” and that unity depends on how well we follow our Traditions. The Twelve Traditions of NA are not negotiable. They are the guidelines that keep our Fellowship alive and free."

This statement on the back of the Twelve Traditions always brought to mind John Pries and also my old friend Gary. John epitomized some things for me, dedication to service of the greater good, progress not perfection. Anyone that knew him, certainly knew he was by less than perfect. An addicts words can often teach a lot, but if you want to know the real story; then just watch us. Our actions tell the rest of the story. 


Just because we get clean doesn't mean we are perfect or to be placed upon a pedestal. It doesn't mean we read each piece of daily literature everyday and pray or meditate perfectly everyday to achieve our good addict gold star. We are a tight community and we see, we hear and we know what subtleties go on in each others lives. Lets face it, we all know what I'm trying to say. In life as in death we all have what seems a big bag of bullshit. But if we were to spread it out over our tenure of recovery; most of us will see its outweighed and over shadowed by the amount of time spent listening, sharing, being of service, keeping a meeting open, progressing and perpetuating the fellowship in its growth and as always showing a newcomer that with a minute and hour and a day clean the world is our oyster.

Our recovery is mirrored like everyday life, our circle of friends will change, some will come and some will go. Hopefully we can still see them and share a coffee and catch up and show genuine interest in one another. Perhaps we glance over a memory and share a laugh at our frailties or past shortcomings and part ways with a hug and say Thank God we're not there anymore. What's not said, is the "how" we're not there anymore.

We're not there anymore because we walked through the door shy, void of self and shell of a human being often not knowing a soul and feeling like we were an outcast in this big room of people that stared at us. We got a hug or several, we were introduced to members that some whose name we'll never remember. John was not one of those people. In the midst of what seemed like a living doom, surrounded by our shame, fear, guilt, degradation John seemed oddly excited and genuinely happy for us. For me I thought he a fucking crazy person, who is this happy to see me at my god awful worst with no sense of self and alone feeling its me against the world.

John wasn't crazy. He knew, he shared that in this vulnerable place there wasn't anywhere for the addict to go but up. Whichever higher power we choose, he/she had removed everything from our lives and cleaned our canvas so we could start a beautiful journey called recover and paint a lasting picture as evidence for those to come behind us. John was like many of us, he was a hustler. There are many of us that John hustled on the streets and even more that he hustled in NA. He hustled us in speaking at a meeting, giving a ride to a newcomer, I've even seen John hustle someone that relapsed and back into NA to go on and live a very successful life.

I was young in recovery and worked for Victor and John got word about my prowess for computers, the internet and websites. He hustled me into the Free State region as a consultant for what we now have as our regions website. I was still trying to figure out what the fuck I was doing in this life of recovery, barely had any self-confidence or worth. Yet this guy saw me as a valued asset. He showed me what those words on the back of the 12 Traditions meant. The service to the greater good of NA, ensures and solidifies that my ability to remain clean depends upon service. 


I've been to workshops, conventions and anniversaries all over MD, DC and PA. Through John, I'd meet knew people. Like many of you, John was more than willing to share the history and stories of the person you've just met. How he/she made it through this or that event, persevered and stayed clean. How he/she helped Jimmy K or other founders in our country create, develop and build a movement we all now know as Narcotics Anonymous. John will always be the most learned resource of people and history of Narcotics Anonymous.

I originally got clean in 1994 in Joliet, Illinois. NA wasn't as strong and not a lot of predecessors with so much as 2 years clean. Like many addicts in that area we migrated to the other fellowship for stability, structure and mostly to save our lives. John understood this move. A lot of people discounted the other fellowship as NA purist often do. I suppose that's their choice. My sponsorship family in Joliet was directly tied to the founders of that fellowship. We celebrated anniversaries with the wives and children of the founders and the history and value of service to our fellow man/woman was always very important to the success of the inverted pyramid. It takes a great many working collectively to ensure that one member can stay clean.

John and I would discuss how Jimmy K went to the other fellowship. How he (with a humble heart) asked if he could start NA and use the other fellowships steps, traditions and format to help serve those in Narcotics Anonymous. I was young in NA, and had this wealth of knowledge and I felt validated by John's excitement of our conversation. Many of you know that feeling. Our lives could be a solid shit storm, a total wreck, just getting clean and little to no self-esteem. Yet John would introduce us to another member as if we were royalty from another country, he would impart to this member a bit of our story through his introduction to ensure we were looked after, held up and welcomed into the process.

Let's face it, at that moment hearing John tell someone about your situation may have seemed a bit embarrassing. Then again, to that point most of what we had done to ourselves culminated in the only feelings we had left; embarrassment and shame. Little did I/we know, that one last shot of embarrassment across the bow of our unsteady and seemingly sinking ship; was ironically the same thing to right our vessel. In that sense of feeling like I/we were an exposed nerve, it needed that one last shot to sail us through the stormy seas of emotion, fear of the unknown and provide humility and grace to accept this new way of life.

My life is an open book, some of you have seen me through failed jobs, numerous relationships, lots of bad ideas and some rather good ones. Fortunately for me, I am not the sum of your thoughts of me. John is no goddamned different than you or I.

In the end that judgement cast upon us means so very very little. In recovery there is only one thing perfect we can do, just don't use. Through whatever any of us has been through, good, bad and ugly if we just stay clean; we can experience that promise of freedom. No matter if you've weathered the storm by sticking and staying, or you've relapsed one or ten thousand times; like many John shared the message. "Just keep coming back."

Many places in our text we read about death and or the death of an addict. I looked through today, upon hearing of John's passing. Hoping to find comfort and solace. Tucked in the middle of the book on page 201 I found what I was looking for, its the middle paragraph. "I chose a home group and committed myself to that group. I took a service commitment. I opened the meeting space, cleaned the floors there and got it ready for the meeting. Today, I am still a part of that same home group. It is a place where people can find me, and I know that I can find my friends there too. I have a sponsor, and I work steps. But most importantly, I KEEP COMING BACK NO MATTER WHAT."

No matter the amount of years clean I have, I still remain a rather deeply private person. It speaks to the core of who I am. I suppose we all possess this, some like me; maybe more than others. I could hardly have this conversation in public and learning to write has offered great relief in times of pain, illness and is as cathartic as is intended in our program to measure, see and grow in this new way of life. If you wanted to find John, you looked no further than Live and Let Live on Sunday nights. As in the literature, he was there like a fixture and so were his friends. There may always be another empty chair where John used to sit, but I doubt that any that know him will ever attend that meeting and cross the threshold without thinking about him. 

My job has me traveling through most of the year and I've always looked forward to coming home after a tour and seeing my friends. John would asked about my clients and what they were like, was I able to hit meetings on the road or if I contacted one of his many friends in this state or that state along my travels. I could care less about the notoriety of my clients, I wanted to talk about you and what's been going on in your world. I just got home and I knew John wasn't well. I'd hoped to see him for that brief encounter one last time, offer support, thanks and an awkward man hug for laughs.
John and I were not close friends and we only talked in chance meetings for a few moments. After a certain point I suppose we all see the newcomer and their continued tenure being clean and coming around. They get jobs, cars, houses and families and a life worth living. We understand we are all susceptible to relapse but there comes a point one feels relatively certain that someone will make it and or be "okay." This leads us to that cyclical friendship thing we go through. Rest assured, there will and has been that place in our hearts for that person. John will hold that place as will many of you in my heart.

As I said, John and I shared a fondness for the other fellowship and the reverent gratitude they bestowed upon Jimmy K. for allowing us a program of inclusiveness to save our lives. I'd like to think that reverent gratitude was honored by guys like John. I will close with this, its a passage that speaks volumes and epitomizes this path. You purist may get a wild hair in your ass and frankly I don't care. Its something that I shared with John. So call your sponsor and deal with it that way.
"We realize we know only a little. God will constantly disclose more to you and to us. Ask Him in your morning meditation what you can do each day for the man (or woman) who is still sick. The answers will come, if your own house is in order. But obviously you cannot transmit something you haven't got. See to it that your relationship with Him is right, and great events will come to pass for you and countless others. This is the Great Fact for us.

Abandon yourself to God as you understand God. Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows. Clear away the wreckage of your past. Give freely of what you find and join us. We shall be with you in the Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.

May God bless you and keep you - until then."

As with many of you, today there is a whole in my heart and looming sadness. In the balance there is peace for me in having met John Pries. Known as the Mayor to a lot of us.... No matter his trials, tribulations or his shortcomings he is a human being and goddmaned dedicated steward to Narcotics Anonymous.  

His legacy is service and for that I'm grateful.

Rest easy John. Yes sir, you have fought the good fight, you have finished your race and you have kept the faith. May your God bless and keep you until we meet again.

Thank you brother.

Paying our debt

Morning ya'll! There are, as with that morning fifteen years ago just so many words to say. As articulate and broad a vocabulary that I possess, I have felt the same now in this last few days as I did that morning on Greenspring Avenue. There are so many things to say, so many words of expression I could use to to write a pathway of emotions from 8:45am September 11, 2001 until this day fifteen years later. Billy Price and I sat in that kitchen drinking coffee in panic, disbelief and horrified. All I have is the same aching in my belly and my soul as I did that day. It hasn't gone away, I'm not sure I have such an expectation of this feeling ever leaving me until I pass. My friends, each of us has our story of that fateful day and it will carry with us until only God knows when. 
For fifteen years, we've read and watched television programs, movies and documentaries on this subject. Many of us like me, not directly involved with the Trade Center, Pentagon or Shanksville have learned the names of those that played important roles in saving lives at the towers the Pentagon and those aboard flight 93 that chose the valor of what it means to be an American to make the ultimate sacrifice and take back from these vermin what belongs to us as Americans. I cannot fathom, the range of emotion and then the grasp on the situation at hand an how important it was to take back control of that plane. I'd imagine that none of those passengers knew that "They" of themselves possessed such capability, or meaning for which their actions must mean until it was time to make that call. Just the thought of such a thing still stirs an ache in my gut that I don't think will ever leave me.

The names of those people that tried to get everyone out of the towers, they are etched in our collective brain as a country. Those that rushed in when so many were running out and lastly those of flight 93. I had no intention of writing on the subject this morning with my cigarettes and coffee. Hell at best, I only chose to change my profile picture in solidarity and remembrance of that day fifteen years ago. I suppose as individuals our singular stories may not mean much paled in comparison to those loved ones and families that lost friends and family on September 11th, 2001. But in purpose for the greater good, our singular and individual stories of what we were doing, where we were and with whom on that day make up a collective as a country; as a people of the United States of America. Tell your story, remind yourself, tell your friends, your family and those you love. In going through my memories and recalling my story, it becomes my realization that this awful aching in my gut not only won't go away, the horror of seeing people jump to their deaths is etched indelibly in my mind and soul. In writing this, its my realization that this aching in my gut isn't just mine. It has become in totality the aching heart of us, a nation that looked on in horror, disgust, grief and anger that someone hates us for our way of life enough to take our mothers, fathers, brothers, sister, sons and daughters and grandchildren. Innocent lives that on that day were used as pawns from someone with 7th century religious ideology to attempt to tear us apart.

It didn't work! We are a nation of individuals with freedoms and liberties in the design of the pursuit of happiness who seek that freedom and justice for all. But what they have done was not tear us apart in as much as they had hoped, they did not bring us to our knees as was their goal. Instead, we over those moments on the television screen, or radio speakers; began to oppose they're objective. We are Americans, we did not bow, we did not rest on our knees and certainly we did not come apart. If you don't think so, well okay. I'll just ask you to recall your pain, your horror and all of your emotions of that and subsequent days. I'll ask you to recall the moment you switched on your television or your radio and you saw or heard the President of the United States of America; jump up on that fire truck in New York City. When with a bullhorn he empathized and encouraged those on site to continue to do America's work and find our people. Most poignantly, I'll ask you to recall your feelings, thoughts and emotions as he told those there and us as Americans. "I can hear you, the rest of the world hears you, and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon". 




Remember what it is you felt when you saw or heard that? I do, that was the feeling of being no longer individual but becoming part of a collective and for the greater good. That was the moment when their ideology failed them, when our civic pride emerged and we became again a people. We became what we had always been, barring those moments of horror. We are the United States of America and we are Americans. So amidst the recollection of your thoughts, your memories of this day fifteen years ago; along with the grass cutting, football watching and whatever the daily business of life has you doing on this day.... Take some time to breath, to put into effort the thought of that ache in your belly. Take that time to honor your duty as an American, that just of that virtue we are standing tall, we are proud and we are a collective of individuals known simply to some as Americans. Those names, those images and most importantly those lives lost on this day fifteen years ago come with a cost, a debt that we can never repay fully. It is after all, a continued balance of our collective soul and individualism that we must commit to honor; and that debtor is the aching in mine, yours and our belly.

It won't soon leave us, so no matter where you were, who you were with, how near or far from New York, Washington or Shanksville, tell your story, share your thoughts with one another, make good on your debt of honor and gratitude. Be the voice of those who leaped, rushed into the building when those were coming out, be the voice of those who for fifteen years have stood an eternal watch of our freedom, our liberty and our pursuit of happiness. We speak for them in our stories and thus WE NEVER FORGET.