Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Doubt
Right now it is doubt. I am doubting everything; my faith in Buddhist teachings, my belonging in the rooms of AA, the ability of my mind to solve everything, the desire to rely on anything but. I know my mind makes me crazy; Bill W. called it insanity, the Buddha said we are all mad. Right now I want a way to reconcile my spiritual beliefs with my sober life. And this is the first time they've come to such a head.
I used to believe in god because it was easy. And what was wrong with that? It made me happy and I believed it to be true, this higher power and benevolent force whom I could appeal to for solace and guidance. And when I realized the fallacy of it I knew I could never go back. Like an alcoholic who knew she could never drink again with a clear conscience, I knew I could never again turn it all over to something else and let them take care of it.
But now I am at that point: do I have to believe in god to stay sober? How do I choose? Delusion over happiness? Would I rather be right or would I rather be happy? At least in the short term?
So Bill W. says:
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of god as we understood him.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to god, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have god remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked him to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with god as we understood him, praying only for knowledge of his will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
and what would the dharma say?
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that by going for refuge to the three jewels of the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha, we could restore our sanity.
3. Made a decision to let go of that which we cannot control and to take up a spiritual life.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves, or acknowledged "all the evil we have heaped up through our ignorance and foolishness - evil in the world of everyday experience, as well as evil in understanding and intelligence."
5. With the ideal of enlightenment in our mind we "confessed our faults" to ourselves and to another human being.
6. Were entirely ready to release all these defects of character, "with our hands raised in reverence and terrified of suffering".
7. Humbly admitted, "just as it is, with its many faults, that what is not good, we shall not do again".
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed (practiced confession) and became willing to make amends to them by acknowledging our actions and striving to rectify them.
9. Made direct amends wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong promptly admitted it (practiced confession).
11. Sought through meditation to deepen our connection with the three jewels and to see and accept things as the really are.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
August and everything after





Snape, a village in Suffolk, the county south of us. Snape was once home


The Race by Sharon Olds
When I got to the airport I rushed up to the desk,
bought a ticket, ten minutes later
they told me the flight was cancelled, the doctors
had said my father would not live through the night
and the flight was cancelled. A young man
with a dark brown moustache told me
another airline had a nonstop
leaving in seven minutes. See that
elevator over there, well go
down to the first floor, make a right, you'll
see a yellow bus, get off at the
second Pan Am terminal, I
ran, I who have no sense of direction
raced exactly where he'd told me, a fish
slipping upstream deftly against
the flow of the river. I jumped off that bus with those
bags I had thrown everything into
in five minutes, and ran, the bags
wagged me from side to side as if
to prove I was under the claims of the material,
I ran up to a man with a flower on his breast,
I who always go to the end of the line, I said
Help me. He looked at my ticket, he said
Make a left and then a right, go up the moving stairs and then
run. I lumbered up the moving stairs,
at the top I saw the corridor,
and then I took a deep breath, I said
goodbye to my body, goodbye to comfort,
I used my legs and heart as if I would
gladly use them up for this,
to touch him again in this life. I ran, and the
bags banged against me, wheeled and coursed
in skewed orbits, I have seen pictures of
women running, their belongings tied
in scarves grasped in their fists, I blessed my
long legs he gave me, my strong
heart I abandoned to its own purpose,
I ran to Gate 17 and they were
just lifting the thick white
lozenge of the door to fit it into
the socket of the plane. Like the one who is not
too rich, I turned sideways and
slipped through the needle's eye, and then
I walked down the aisle toward my father. The jet
was full, and people's hair was shining, they were
smiling, the interior of the plane was filled with a
mist of gold endorphin light,
I wept as people weep when they enter heaven,
in massive relief. We lifted up
gently from one tip of the continent
and did not stop until we set down lightly on the
other edge, I walked into his room
and watched his chest rise slowly
and sink again, all night
I watched him breathe.
After the frantic pace of Edinburgh (and that poem), the calm of Snape, plus the two hours of languid train journeys, put me in relax mode. Home in time for one night in our own bed before I packed my tent and my sleeping bag and headed off to...
Buddhafield East, also in Suffolk, but only a 25 minute drive away. I went to the same event last year as a cautious Canadian in England on a visa who found meditation uncomfortable but essential and who wasn't sure about all this Buddhist stuff. This year I arrived a married Buddhist (with leave to remain in the country!) who still found meditation uncomfortable most of the time.
I pitched my tent, rolled out my sleeping bag, set out my Wellie boots, and went to sit by the fire. Last year it was rainy and cold, this year was sunny and toasty (helped by the duvet I brought with me this time). Last year I oscillated between wanting to belong and demanding to be left
alone, between feeling needy for talking to people and feeling stand-offish for taking refuge in my tent; this year I jumped in with two feet, and when I wanted to talk to someone I started a conversation, and when I wanted to be alone I went off on my own. No guilt, no second guessing, just being myself and resonating with my choices. I sat in workshops on Non-Violent Communication and caught a glimpse of how to talk to people I don't like or don't want to connect with in a way that doesn't exacerbate those sentiments. I woke up to meditate at half seven every morning (except Sunday). We had a puja (ritual) every night.
I practiced yoga under the sky. I met inspiring order members as well as non-Buddhists. I got an English tan. But what transformed me, what made everything else seem like candles against the light of its fire, were the workshops by Vajradaka. An ordained member since 1971, he articulated and explained the Mindfulness of Breathing and the Metta Bhavna to me so that I felt I meditated for the first time in his workshops. Now I meditate with curiousity, with excitement, with alacrity. My practice is now usually joyous and fruitful - and always worthwhile.
So now I am at home, at rest, and ready for the next bit. May you all be well. Lots of love, namaste, Andrea
from the moon of honey to three people in a two-bedroom house

After the ecstasy comes - well, perhaps not agony, but a diluted version. Being back home for awhile, we found ourselves on, as Tom calls it, "the comedown express". After all the energy of



Wednesday, July 8, 2009
the life of a Campbell and a Loudon...from me to we
May, 2008
Tom and I meet at The Greenhouse, the vegetarian cafe where he works as a Volunteer Coordinator and Project Developer. I think I met him for the first time on the evening of May 31, when I came to The Greenhouse for an evening dinner, and he thinks I had come to The Greenhouse once before to ask about volunteering. Maybe we'll never know.
June, 2008
After a few bumping-into-each-others at The Greenhouse and a live show at a local pub, I end up at his house for dinner with his brother and another friend. A few days later I make him dinner (in his kitchen, of course) to say thank you. And then we lay on his back lawn and watched clouds roll by.
July, 2008
We tip-toe through our first month of couple-dom, dodging boy- and girl-friend questions and stealing kisses. We make each other meals (vegetarian, dairy- and chili-free) and visit art exhibitions and talk and not talk. I tell myself I can't take a picture of a man I've only been seeing for a few weeks...but when his parents visit for a few days we spend some time in each others' company. I think they approve. Of me. Of us. In the preliminaries.
Katherine Cofell's leaving do at an Indian restaurant and an English provides the excuse for picture taking. Our first couple shot, with hands gingerly placed on shoulders and chins dipped in shy excitement.
I visit a field in Suffolk for Buddhafield East,

And then later in the same month, our tentative two month anniversary celebration with dinner at Cinema City. I bought him a box for his collection of teas, from green tea with echinacea to lemon and ginger to nettle to Malay rooisbus chai.
September, 2008






October, 2008
I go on my first Buddhist retreat at the beginning of the month, and celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving in the middle. With a collection of
November, 2008
I always think of it as my month because my
December, 2008
January, 2009
We spend my favourite New Year's in 27 years at Frank's Bar with all my workmates and their significant others and a whole lot of other super significant people (most whose names escape me). We dance; I drink Dandelion and Burdock and remember there's too much sugar in it for me half way through the bottle and then switch to coffee; we come home at half two and watch It's A Wonderful Life; I wake up at seven and practice yoga in the garden as the world wakes up to a new year.
February, 2009
On the second I turn five and he knew it was
March, 2009
We begin the lead up to the day. Emails, invites, cupcakes, Certificates of Authority (required for foreign nationals to marry British citizens). Tom books honeymoon train journeys.
April, 2009
The last month of singledom - and sanity.
May, 2009
A few months ago I asked to become a
May 18, 2009
http://picasaweb.google.com/
post-May 18: honeymoon highlights
In Paris, at a sidewalk cafe
on the ferry to Milazzo
the view from our apartment on Salina
...mine a bit more than his
at one of our many pasta dinners
practicing yoga and Tai Chi
view from a the top of a mountain
through Rome on the way home
...it's not a honeymoon without Paris
Much love to all of you. I don't know if I'll ever update this regularly, but I'll try to let you know periodically when I do. Otherwise, drop me an email or find me on Facebook. May you all be well and full of life.
Namaste, Andrea Lauren (Loudon) Campbell