The head fuck of it all

For a good number of years I have lived with my own little mantra of "some days it all makes sense.", and I am starting to realize that most days it makes no sense.  The bigger idea is: it doesn't matter that I have to make sense of it at all.  

I got in a great conversation tonight about the idea of whether or not god made us alcoholics?  I love that I don't know, and honestly I don't care if I ever do know.  At what point I was tainted is irrelevant anymore.  The fact is that I am an alcoholic.

I can spin myself in little circles all day long about the ideas that I have surrounding the "why" of my circumstances.  I can attempt to fine tune my clarity in the matter.  I can attempt to find my bearings.  I can attempt to understand even an inkling of the bigger picture.  But at the end of it all the plain and simple mind fuck is that what I do in all those matters is but a posturing of the fact that it is not my own will that is "why" any of this just simply is.

I am allowed to catch the smallest moments of calm and serenity in the times where it makes the least amount of sense to me, and it was only in the reflection upon that when I realized it.  I am finding that the puzzling over of it all is but the side effect of my mind ill at ease.  I am beginning to amend my mantra and my whole attitude about what making sense of it matters.  If I am the source of my problem and my higher power is the source of my solution then the basic knowledge of such a huge concept is more than I could ask to know.