Bruno's Passion

Bruno’s Passion

I was fortunate, some time ago, to attend a Toastmaster’s Convention on Vancouver Island. The number of eloquent speakers was amazing. The most moving speeches were all delivered with a passion; a sailing wind that swept the audience along with it. There was an energy flow that was infectious. I felt I wanted to join with each speaker in some way; to be closer to that source.

Finding our own passion is of primary importance to our lives if we wish to rise into our true spirit where our highest potential dwells. Sometimes it is found through a process of meditation, profound soul searching and quiet questioning. Other times though, it is delivered to us without a search. Our challenge is ‘getting out of the head and into the heart’. It is to have such faith in the beneficent power of our own intuition, that when the knock comes, we open the door, instead of paying attention to our fearful ego, which usually insists we slam tight the bolt!

I want to tell you a true story about one person who discovered his passion in the depths of his pain.

Bruno, not his real name, was on the village payroll in a Cree community in Alberta. I was the Administrator and Bruno was in the Public Works Department. His dad was a veteran of the Second World War. His older brother was the Fire Chief and Bruno was a volunteer firefighter.

He was well groomed, and wore a big western hat. He seemed to be the quintessential Indian cowboy; strong, self-reliant, taciturn. No complaints. Bruno never had much to say beyond one or two words. Quietly, over the years, we had built up a trust relationship that had never been tested. It was just there, unsaid.

It was not obvious to me then, how much Bruno was bottled up. How much he drank to keep his emotions anaesthetized.

Until one day he called me from the empty fire hall. Sobbing.

“Sam, I can’t keep on drinking. I’m ruining my life.”

I was shaken. I had no idea.

I said,”Come and see me in my office.”

“No, I’m too embarrassed to go in there.”

I walked across the village to the fire hall where Bruno was bent over in a chair, staring at the ground.

“Booze is killing me. I’m no good as a father to my kids.”

We talked. Not about whatever caused him to suddenly wake up and feel so ashamed about his behavior; there seemed little reason in that moment to go through the story. To this day I have no idea what led him to see his life with fresh eyes that wept at what they saw. And, anyway, haven’t we all seen how this story plays out? The sordid details change, but the downward, alcohol soaked, spiral is a sadly familiar story. It was enough that he had already made his decision. No, we talked about what was in his heart; about his commitment to start again for the sake of his family.

Bruno, raised his head and looked me in the eye. “I want to go to rehab.”

“Ok,” I said, “I’ll make you a deal. If you are just as serious about all this in two days, come and see me and I will do whatever it takes to get you into rehab, guaranteed.”

Rehabilitation was a six week program. No visitors. But after Bruno was at rehab for three weeks, I went there and stood outside the chain link fence. Bruno saw me and gave me a wave, a smile and a ‘thumbs up’. I waved back and left.

When he got out, he showed up in my office at 8:30 in the morning. I held my calls, closed the door and Bruno started.

He talked about the program. He described the skills and supports he was taught to live as a sober person. He talked about how sad it was to see other people in rehab who were ordered to be there by a judge.

“They didn’t want to be sober. They sat at the back looking at the ceiling. Day dreaming about 99 bottles of beer on the wall....

Every day I went to class and took a seat right at the front. I was the best student there.”

He wanted to change his life. He told me he now had a ‘toolkit’ of ways to stay sober.

Suddenly it was noon. Those three and a half hours of listening were the most important thing I did that month.

Do you know when the hair stood up on my arms and a shiver went through my spine?

Bruno said that a few of them took a rehab van to a tent meeting. Like an old time revival about kicking the demons out of your life. Hallelujah!

When the speaker said, “does anyone in the crowd have something to say?” Bruno told me he felt himself moving from the back of the tent towards the stage and up the stairs.

“I didn’t stop myself. I felt like a force was pushing me from behind. I just went with it until I was standing beside that facilitator. He asked me, “What’s your name?” Then he put the big microphone in my hands. I looked up at all those people and all I could see was … they were hungry, like they wanted to hear me, so bad. They were all staring at me. I just started and words came rolling out for maybe ten minutes, I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just told them about what happened to me and how I felt and that I had made up my mind to be sober.”

Strong. Handsome. Big hat. Polished cowboy boots. Western shirt with pearly buttons. Absolutely impassioned. The silent cowboy found his voice. Or maybe it found him.

Two weeks later there was another tent meeting. When Bruno arrived, an old Kookum (that means Granny in Cree) came up and gave him a big hug. He said to her, “I don’t know who you are. Why are you hugging me?”

She said, “Because last meeting I brought my grandson here. He didn’t want to come, but I am so worried about him. He was really listening when you were talking. On the way home he said, “Kookum, if that Bruno guy can quit drinking, maybe I can go to that rehab, too.””

Just then Bruno heard his name being called to come up onto the stage. This time he was even more inspired. That means ‘in spirit’. He was alive with the energy of the cosmos. Totally aligned and empowered. Bruno had something to say to every addicted person in the world and he couldn’t be held back by any fear, doubt, worry, or self-consciousness. Without any training whatsoever, he was speaking in public like a man born to it. And every single word rang with the veracity of his experience.

And now ....... the rest of the story.

On the one year anniversary of his sobriety, I was heartbroken to hear that Bruno’s wife was drunk and was rumoured to be across the village shacked up with someone else. I made urgent inquiries and found out Bruno had been seen heading for Town about five o’clock. Which meant ... heading for the bar.

The comedian, George Carlin said about addiction, “Just because you get the monkey off your back, doesn’t mean that the circus has left town!”

I was worried about Bruno, but I was stuck facilitating a big meeting that evening in the Community Hall. At eight o’clock, I looked up to see the door opening across the room. A familiar cowboy hat appeared in the doorway. We locked eyes. He gave a short wave and I signalled back. Then he was gone. It was obvious this guy was sober.

Next day at 8:30, Bruno was in my office, closing the door behind him.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I was pissed off”, he said. “I went to town and drove straight to the Hotel. The waitress asked me what I wanted. I ordered a jug of beer. And two doubles of Crown Royal, straight, with no ice.”

I could feel a shudder that ran down my back bone.

Bruno went on. “Then I asked her for a Coca Cola.

I sat and stared at the bubbles on top of that jug of beer and I thought about my life. I grabbed one of those whiskeys and I smelled it. Then I put it down and took a slug of coke. Finally that waitress came back and said, “Hey, drink up buddy, that beer is getting warm.”

I just told her I wanted another coke. Then I thought about my girls and how they needed a good Papa, now more than ever.

I thought about my wife and I suddenly thought, she is just like me! She is ruining her life with booze and she needs help with her problems, not to be blamed and called down … just like me!

And I have to be sober, so I can be there for her.

I threw a couple of twenties on the table, poured that whiskey into the jug of beer and dumped everything down the sink behind the bar. That waitress was just looking at me all puzzled, with her head tilted over and her mouth pulled up on one side. Like, “What the hell is up with him?” … Then I came home.”

Bruno was a man with a mission.

I cracked a relieved, cheeky grin. “And what are you going to do next year, on your second rehab anniversary, Bruno? Fill up a bathtub with vodka and dive in naked?”

Teasing is an art form in the Cree world. A sign of acceptance.

He snorted and grinned, then got up to go start work on his new assignment; compassionately being a source of stability and support in a broken world.

A few months later, we had a big staff meeting. To start off, I asked people to speak about something they were happy about. The first person said that what they were happiest about was that Bruno was now sober and helping the youth in the community. There was immediate, spontaneous applause from everyone in the room. Bruno looked around at all the beaming faces and his solemn expression softened into just the hint of a smile.

Passion is when we are aligned with true purpose. In that alignment our mission becomes obvious. Every obstacle; every fear, falls away effortlessly, when we are impassioned.

What is your passion? What is bursting within your heart, waiting to make a difference in your world?

D. Sam Hall

August 2015