Two lines of poetry and twelve steps: a journey towards rediscovering beauty in the ordinary

Let me start by saying that, unlike the Irish priest, poet, and philosopher, John O’Donohue, I am not a religious man. I am not even especially familiar with the main body of his work, but in 2025 I chanced upon these lines by him:

They immediately became my favourite quote, stirring something in me that I’d been trying to name for years. There was no stillness in my response to it. No quiet reflection. No gentle appreciation. Rather, I felt a fierce sense of being animated and alive.

O’Donohue’s lines seemed to capture the essence of idealism, Jungian thought, and even a sense of Viktor Frankl's insights into finding meaning in the bleakest conditions.

The quote isn’t about passivity. It is about creating a space to receive, about becoming open to the larger mysteries. As an analytical idealist, Bernardo Kastrup argues in his latest book, The Daimon and the Soul of the West, the Western mind is dominated by seeking. For me, the real question is whether the seeker is fit to receive anything at all if they are clouded by expectation and innate bias.

And I believe there are poetic echoes of idealism in O’Donohue’s quote: the notion that things come alive under our gaze, that the act of observing is in itself creative. For those who see consciousness as participating in the construction of reality, the second line of O’Donohue’s reflection implies that the quality of our awareness can open the door to a richer world. I also think William Blake would have braced this concept. He believed that active imagination is the way we truly see the world, allowing aspects of it to emerge that would otherwise remain hidden.

From a Jungian perspective, the quote nods toward archetypal realities that wait for our attention before they can meet us. It suggests that the psyche responds when we approach it with genuine listening rather than control or a desired outcome.

For followers of Viktor Frankl, it could capture the idea that reverence is not fragile, but a robust sentiment, and that meaning can be found through direct engagement—even in hardship.

As someone in recovery from addiction who also supports people who have experienced deep trauma, I am very interested in how O’Donohue’s quote resonates with the Twelve Steps.

To “approach with reverence” echoes the humility at the heart of Steps One and Two. It is the moment we stop forcing life into our own design and instead become willing to see it as it truly is.

Step Three suggest that when we let go of self-will and open ourselves to a higher purpose, new possibilities appear. In early recovery, O’Donohue’s “great things” might be clarity, hope, connection, or simply the ability to stay present for one day. I believe these possibilities were always present, only obscured by the noise of life, by trauma, and by the long dark shadows of shame and guilt.

Addiction buries the self. It creates a false life built on fear, secrecy, and compulsion. As we work the Steps, our real lives begin to surface. This is the slow emergence of a self that can be trusted again, both by others and by oneself.

Many people in recovery speak of rediscovering ordinary beauty: the morning light, a conversation, a smile from a stranger, the simplicity of a clean day, and forgive me, the normal functioning of a previously chaotic digestive system. This is Step Eleven in practice. When we cultivate conscious contact and stay spiritually awake, the world responds with meaning. What once felt dull or hostile becomes more vibrant and hospitable.

At its heart, the Twelve Step programme encourages openness: listening instead of insisting, responding instead of reacting, turning outward instead of spiralling inward. To meet life with reverence is to meet it with readiness to grow. And when we do that, life answers with purpose—not perfection.

So much of addiction is shaped by unaddressed hurt, the kind of pain that narrows our field of vision and drives us back into old patterns. In both Frankl’s experience and Carl Jung’s psychology, trauma is not the end of the story. It can become the point at which we begin to recognise the truth of who we are and what we need to heal.

John O’Donohue’s words reminded me that reverence is not an escape from life but a way of meeting it fully.