Gandhi and addiction

Doctors, psychiatrists, social workers, psychologists, cops, courts, religions, have all made attempts to deal with addiction. In my experience, none of these has ever been effective. I have been through therapy while still using. What I became was a more insightful dope fiend. The threat of jail served as a temporary deterrent, everybody gets religion under the thumb of the state.

It takes one suffering alcoholic sharing with another alcoholic for recovery to begin. There are no hard and fast rules, but there is a solution. Therapy can serve as a powerful tool for the addict working the program. But therapists and psychiatrists have little or no effect on someone in the midst of addiction. Religious practices can bring comfort or add dimension to one’s way of being. But in order for any of these endeavors to work, one has to be sober.

In order for me to stay clean and sober, I need to talk to people who were broken, who have experienced years of living in the heart of darkness and found their way back to the light. It takes someone who can readily recognize bullshit for me to achieve redemption.

The 12 steps are not dogmatic. Religion is for people afraid of going to hell and spirituality is for those who have already been there. I prefer engaging with people who are seeking God rather than with those who have already found him. You can see the ones that found God on TV. I always thought that seekers were more interesting. The folks that are sure of “their God” and seem to somehow have insight into what God thinks. These folks always struck me as one dimensional. I find people with absolute certainty uninteresting. They seem impatient with the existential and are often haters of art.

I scheduled my rehab in between fall and spring semesters. That meant that between December 24 and January 21 I would be at Hazelden. I was dumb enough to think that at the end of rehab I would be just peachy. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The daily dose of narcotics and valium I was shoveling into my system took a heavy toll. When I came home, I was mildly agoraphobic, it took such an effort to leave the house, that I was tired by the time I got where I was going. At Hazelden they taught us about characteristics of addiction. Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome was one of these. I thought I would sail by this one. I was wrong.

They told me exercise would relieve the paralytic anxiety I was feeling. The problem was that every time my heart rate accelerated even a little, it would throw me into a panic attack or intensify my anxiety. In short I was a wreck. I was reaping the rewards of my choice to resume a way of dealing with life that went nowhere. My addict mind told me that I could handle it.

The addict mind can rationalize anything. The problem arises when the obsession dominates the entire hard drive. When the craving and obsession run the show, everything else is secondary at best. One of the most chilling shares I ever heard at a meeting was by a young mother. She talked about how she would bring her very young children with her when she went to score. Sometimes she would leave them in the car while she met with the dealer. She said, “Addiction is the only thing I know that is stronger than a mother’s love.”

I thought of all those animal shows on Discovery or Animal Planet. I remembered scenes when the mothers of young animals perceived a threat to their brood. The mother would almost always risk her life to protect the young. Addiction can trump millions of centuries of instinct.

Back to Professor Lunine.

When I returned home from Hazelden, I knew I had to design a routine. I felt like I was fighting for my life. I had to schedule classes at SF State. I was already in the M.A. program in Humanities, but that spring semester I was in no condition to meet the challenge of a graduate level seminar. I decided to take some undergraduate classes in the same department. Professor Mary Scott, the graduate advisor and the milk of human kindness suggested I take a class with Professor Lunine. I briefly explained my experience at rehab, she allowed me to stay in the Masters program while my brain chemistry slowly returned to some degree of balance.

Professor Lunine is a world-class expert on Gandhi. Actually he is a world-class human being. He would tell us stories of his adventures in India. Most noteworthy to me was a trip to India in 1959 he took with Martin Luther King. He is a sprightly, lovable, ancient yet timeless. The good professor is an elegant man with a dry sense of humor. I liked him immediately and grew to love him in short order.

Before entering his class, I felt that my life had been a waste of time. I would just do my time until it was over. Each day, I woke up with a fist in my chest. My body was still on narcotic time. I could not get up before noon and could not go to sleep before three or 4 AM. To endure life was the best that I can hope for, or so I thought.

Three times a week, I went to learn about Gandhi from the master. But unbeknownst to Professor Michael Lunine, I was learning something much more precious to me then the history of Gandhi. Something not defined in the class catalogue.

Through him I caught a glimpse as to how I could advance in years joyfully. I didn’t see or know how I would accomplish this. But through watching him teach his class I saw the possibility for myself. At first, I thought studying Indian colonial history would have something to do with it, so I really threw myself into the books. And away, studying Gandhi with the good professor did bring me some relief. For one thing, Gandhi and spirituality are inseparable. What made the class so interesting was seeing how much admiration Lunine had for the little brown man, as he sometimes called him. At the same time, the professor was aggressively critical of some of Gandhi’s choices and decisions. Professor Lunine is the quintessential humanities professor. Humanities students study what it means to be human. Professor Lunine was perfect for the job.

Professor Lunine loved teaching about Gandhi. It had become a major part of his life’s work. Nevertheless, he never deified him and was quick to point out his peculiarities, quirks and mistakes. I never thought I Gandhi would be part of my recovery. You never know where help will come from.