From the series:
What If I Have Misunderstood?
What if I have misunderstood
Ever since childhood; all the years long
Labelling as “bad” that which is good
Branding true love, life, and me all wrong
(A humorous conversation between Benji, an imaginary parrot – saucy, colourful, plain speaking – and I, about my attempts to live the 12 Steps in my daily life. What it tells forms part of my experience, strength, and hope)
100% credit for my recovery, laughter, and happiness belongs to my higher power (the God of my understanding). It is he who manages my life every day. I never ask him for anything other than to do his will. Yet he continuously surprises me with unexpected graces and gifts.
Because of my personal experiences of his will for me I affectionately know him as true love
Benji, where is my hot water bottle gone this time?
Since when did I become yar dang servant? Check under yar bed! Now look at what ya made me do. I’ve dropped one of me stitch…
You know perfectly well you keep stealing it. Last time you loaned it to a stray cat.
Hee… hee…hic. That was a good one all right. Frogs kept jumping on it. Thought they had found a nifty waterbed.
Come on, Benji! Whom did you give it to?
Oh, alright… alright…hold yar shirt on…. hmmm… better hold that shirt on tight, hee… hee… hic… I lent it to two fieldmice. That dang cat was after ‘em. And I had been so nice to him too…
Benji, will you stop, for land’s sake. How could they hide from a cat under that?
They nibbled a hole in it…I told ya to hold yar shirt on…
Spluttering, cursing, purpling, cluttering, buckling dynamite. One of these days…
What happened to yar living love, God’s puppy….
Blitz, grits, spits, twits to livin…. Ooops! Uh.. oh! I better slow down… ok…ok… I nearly lost it there. You shouldn’t do that.
Hee… hee …hic. Ya dang fell for it, Skipper Trigger. Hee… hee …hic. Yar hot water bottle is snug and safe at the bottom of me cage.
What? Jumping Jackfruits, Benji, how in the hell am I going to get the shi…. aahh… fell for it again, didn’t I?
Ya’re hilarious. Ya’re like me wind-up, pet puppet… turning instantly nuts.
Why do you play such mean tricks?
Because ya’re blind to yar triggers, God’s puppy. That’s why!
But I go to a therapist.
Did ya ask yar Higher Power to pick yar therapist with ya?
Of course not. I did it myself.
Well then…
Come on! Out with it! Are you finding fault with my therapist?
No way! No siree! Pick whoever ya want. None of my dang business, anyway.
You have something to say? More parrot wisdom, no doubt!
Sure! But ya have yar two ears blocked with rocks, Buster.
Come on, Benji. Be serious.
I am! But ya don’t wanna hear it.
Ok…ok… I will get no rest until you have said your piece… I’m listening… spit it out.
Spit it out? I’m gonna sit it out ‘til ’em rocks fall out. And tonight maybe, when ya’re snoring, I’m gonna stuff some bits of sponge into yar wind-tunnel of a head. That way ya might grasp a tiny scrap of cop on. Otherwise, I might as well be talking to that puppet.
I’m a qualified trainer, let me tell you. With excellent grades for transfer of learning.
Ya’re probably like one of ‘em trained parrots. Talking; but no clue what it means. No offence to me brethren. But, God’s puppy, ya’re confusing knowledge with accepting reality.
What are you on about? No… no… don’t answer me. I’m not falling for that trick. Comparing knowledge with reality? Very clever indeed! Speak respectfully to me, bird. Otherwise, I’m on strike.
Make sure ya fill me bowls with food and water before ya do. I may be a scallywag, but I’m no scab.
Why are we fighting?
I’m just being me, Rock Ears. As you well know. So, if anyone is fighting, it’s ya.
Ok… ok… once more, you have me. I give up. You’re trying to tell me something. What is it? Go ahead…
Let’s start where we left off. Have ya ‘em rocks still stuck in yar ears?
No; not anymore!
Have ya bits of sponge ya can stick into that empty shell of a head?
Done! Now are you happy?
I’m always happy, as ya know.
Come on, Benji. I’m fed up listening to you. It’s late! And I must still do my Step 10…
That’s the very point. Ya’re all talk… yappity, yap; bow, wow, wow… about being in recovery. About how yar life is unmanageable. About working the steps to the best of yar ability. And then ya go and smash, bulldoze, crash a self-will highway over all that. First chance ya get.
That’s not true. Is it? You said I was kinder, more caring, more tolerant….
A kinder, more caring, more tolerant bulldozer is still a bulldozer, God’s puppy.
Whatever can you mean?
Before I say another word, ya’re gone as pale and glum as an anaemic plum.
Well, you’re pointing out one of my character defects. Obviously a serious one.
Yeah! But that’s no reason to lose yar apples blossoms.
Pole vaulting ostriches, what are apples blossoms?
Oops! Forgot! Me first owner was always saying that. He called laughter and joy his apples blossoms.
I see… my laughter and joy … I see… lost my apples blossoms, huh? But isn’t that what happens when a character defect comes out, into the open? Everybody loses their apples blossoms then. It’s only natural.
Did ya put in ‘em bits of sponge, at all? I keep hearing the clatter of saucepan lids when ya open yar mouth.
How do you mean? I don’t understand.
Ya said it was natural to be serious, get downhearted when yar character defects are pointed out to ya. Well, God’s puppy, that’s news to me.
But everybody does it.
Yeah! Well, that’s like saying all the children couldn’t be wrong as they followed that fella, the Pied Piper, into the dang unknown.
You mean I do this because of my illness?
Hee… hee… hic! It’s hardly yar Higher Power doing it. He’s the one doing all the cheering up, in case ya’re wondering.
But God, – or true love, as you call him – doesn’t laugh.
Hee… hee… hic. Ya must think he’s a right halfwit. Hee… hee… hic. Do ya think he gave laughter to ya, and none to himself? Ya should stop talking, God’s puppy. The racket from ‘em saucepan lids is deafening me.
But why would I laugh when my character defect comes out, into the open?
Me ears! Me ears! What do ya think yar Higher Power wants ya doing?
I imagine he wants remorse from me.
Hee… hee… hic. Remorse from a madman. Hee… hee… hic. Ya’re killing me with yar jokes.
But I’m not insane!
Hee… hee… hic. I told ya; ya’re a natural. When are ya going to get a gig, do stand-up? Every day, ya tell me ya live yar life by the 12 Steps. And now ya tell me ya’re not insane. Hee… hee… hic. Hee… hee… hic. Ya’re making me splutter water out me dang beak. Hee… hee… hic.
How dare you say I’m insane.
I’m not saying it. Ya said it.
I did no such thing. Never!
Well, Mr. Spluttering Spittle, remind me again what Step 2 says.
Hang on a sec…. let me double-check… got it. “… Came to believe that a power greater than myself, could restore me to sanity…” What about it?
What does that step imply, suggest?
That I need a Higher Power.
For what?
To do the Steps.
We’ll stick with just Step 2. What might ya be hoping yar Higher Power will do for ya?
According to this… restore my sanity, I guess.
Why? What’s wrong with yar sanity?
I never said there was anything wrong with it.
Neither did I. But why are you a member of a 12 Step fellowship?
Because I was out of control with my addiction. And this helps.
Ok. I hear ya. How many of the Steps are ya kicking out? Sounds like ya don’t need Step 2.
Hang on. Hang on. I never said I was picking and choosing.
Ya’re treating ‘em like pick ‘n mix jars in a dang sweet shop.
But everybody knows I can pick what I want and leave the rest. It says so!
Sure, ya can. No one is stopping ya. But don’t go telling me ya’re not insane. That’s all I’m saying.
How do you mean?
Here we go again. When ya get triggered… like earlier… do ya lose yar marbles… lose the cool… fly off the handle?
But everybody does that.
Sure! I’m just asking. Do ya regret it afterwards? Wish ya were different? But it just erupts out of nowhere? Ya lose control inside? And ya know it! But can’t stop?
But that doesn’t make me insane? Does it?
More pick ‘n mix? Ya just read out Step 2. Remind yarself what it said.
“… Came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity…” Blast… dang… holy moly… I’m beginning to sound like you, Benji.
Something sticking in yar craw, O Wise One Of The Steps?
But…
But what?
It can’t be restored unless I lost it.
Lost what?
My sanity!
And, what’s restored, did ya say again?
My sanity!
Yars? Ya have sanity, no doubt! But who said it is yars?
But of course! Who else?
Ya have yar glasses on backwards, God’s puppy. Ya better read that Step, again.
“… Came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity…” Are you saying it’s not my sanity that’s restored?
Can’t ya understand plain English. I didn’t write it.
But who’s sanity do I have?
Who’s do ya think?
I never gave it a moment’s thought until now.
More pick ‘n mix, I suppose? Anyway, it’s not mine. I wouldn’t give ya a paper bag, never mind me sanity.
But where is it coming from?
I guess the Step is self-explanatory.
Aahh! Hmmm…! Ooww! I see!
For how long will ya remember that, do ya think? One lap of yar goldfish bowl? Maybe two?
This is so important! I will never forget.
Until ya get torpedoed into yar bulldozer.
I don’t follow.
Did the children want to follow the Pied Piper? Did the rats?
I suppose at first, yes. Then probably not. But they couldn’t stop themselves. They were under his control.
And nothing ever takes ya under its control? Like yar triggers, for example? That’s when ya give up being loving, isn’t it?
Benji, you’re frightening me.
No need. The insanity will do it for ya. But ya have a way out.
How? Where?
Start cutting back on yar pick ‘n mix. ‘Act As If…’ ya are laughing more. Invite yar Higher Power to be more in yar life. Maybe ask him who is a good match as therapist to help ya with yar nutty triggers bulldozer. Hee… hee… hic.
Thanks, Benji! Anything else?
Ya oughta let ‘em mice in. And feed ‘em. That way, ya might enjoy being on the receiving end of their pick ‘n mix policy. That ya’re so fond of. Hee… hee… hic! Hee… hee… hic!
InkSplinters 