March 13



Wax On


“Sometimes a dish is just a dish,” I said to my sponsor.
“Yes and sometimes it is the world away, which you hold in your hand,” her reply.
I stand at the sink and try to wash the dishes when I am washing the dishes. I try to drive the car when I drive the car. These simple acts of concentration, focus and sooth the jagged mental sutures where I am supposed to be coming together, but ultimately come apart. Anything to break my frenetic gyrations is a blessing, anything to cut away to a closer view and a clearer understanding of where I really am; anything to derail the speeding blur of a life of my creation, is good. What I do and who I am are secrets and mysteries when I don’t know how to pay attention and ironies when I do. And if you doubt me, just go ask Arnold.



Contrast confusion


*


BLUE CROWS

Blue crows streak across my dreaming minds sky
They take up their post in a line of trees
I stand at the edge of a burning field

I feel nauseous at the thought of glorifying an 'active' life.
Everything is burned, scared and crumpled
The flashy crows call from the hedgerow.

I know it's time to fly
The fire is out and I have work to do.
To keep the sparks and dormant embers from ruining another harvest.

I must travel with these strange birds
And live an odd but regimented life
I needn't scorch my feet on this ground again.

Like my companions I must spend sometime in survey
If I do not fully assess this damage
I might not fully embrace this dawn.

March 14



Patricide

I never killed my father. Why finish a job that someone is completing all on his own. It’s not that I didn’t wish him dead; I did and do for that matter. Don’t misunderstand me, I wish him no harm, it’s just that he is like a creature so tortured that he is nothing but a danger and a misery. Left to live he is a hazard to everyone he has contact with, an agony to live inside. What can I wish for him, but departure and rest, something he can never give to himself. I don’t plot, don’t scheme, I only know; know in part, the terrible lie he lives and hurt he drags from place to place acting like it is not there and nothing matters; let’s just get by. So, if he is not dead he should be. He is the embodiment of the hurtful impotent god and I don’t kill that man but I kill the image, perish that thought.



Provide for the future of your sanity

*



PRETTY FEET

I look at the line on my heel
Where I must stay vigilant with pumice and the moisturizer
My toes clean and straight but nothing more.

I see my feet as passable, it's hard to see them as beautiful,
Well cared for is the best I can do
But there is a beauty in that.

I think of myself,
I am an alcoholic
There is nothing beautiful about alcoholism either.

The care I take in tending my sobriety
The nurturing I see others use in their own lives
There is a certain loveliness to it.

Crusted over hearts
Scraped and oiled
Fit and ready to beat anew.

Polluted minds, drained and reformed
To turn lives upright
Step work and making meetings

Is just a functionary thing
But gorgeous in its own way
Efficacy is a pearl not to be disregarded.

March 15

Three Card Monty




When I learn to excel at the good games and learn to leave the bad ones alone I think I will be all right. Simple enough to do when I can take off this blindfold and see the long term consequences of my pursuits. Engage this pastime and have no future; abandon that play and squander hope. Eyes open wide, I see what there is to see, but around the corner I am lost for anticipatory sight and must guess at destinations let alone intention. Tricky, tricky, is this life which toys with me. I think I have the bow in hand, though as life rubs me wrong then right, I see I am played upon as much and as often as I play. I take up the reins, but must also be led, I can lay out the deal, but sometimes, I just have to roll the dice.



Speak with your friends


*

ANGLE OF RETURN

As in a hall of mirrors, it is sometimes hard to tell
If I am moving forward in my recovery
Likewise, as promises are fulfilled
Their obtuse arrival is a quandary

The juxtaposition of acute homecoming
Of former faculties is also startling
How the light reflects itself from sober face to sober face
From open heart to open mind, is the spectral of hope to me.

My soul seeks me day after day
Though I left it so far behind
It brings to me the person of God's intent
And my new acquaintance.

Patience, never my virtue, finds me stacked with packages
Delivered in piles so high I can't keep up with opening them
Never in my life have I known less about my future
Or felt more assured.

March 16


Bad Acting

Because there never seems to be enough love in the world to fill the wound, my wounded self riots. At times the debauchery seems good natured enough, flamboyant yet without harm, at other times the disturbance is apparently violent and the issuing tumult a crime. All for want of wholeness and sanity I pursue shattered fractured activity just to keep from dwelling where I cannot live, where there is no air. I want land beneath my feet and full, full lungs; on my own I find neither of these and little else of use. Isolation even in a crowd is the tell tale sign that I am in the, me, myself and I mode of drowning in a teacup and require rescue. Little more than raising my hand above the surface and asking for help is needed though this is a Herculean effort as we all know. Rowing up stream is a bigger battle then it ever looks and I know the river runs through me.



Turn, turn, turn then rest


*

UNNECESSARY WORDS

I've spent years trying to put names on the streets in my 12 th step map post.
Clear signs with monikers easy to remember, themed and progressive
But I have been wasting my time, the map is there, no doubt.

I have seen people follow it to varying degrees.
The names are unnecessary, like ants, we trail each others scent.
We track so closely as not to loose visual contact, we don't play with our survival.

Or we are bees standing in front of the meeting
Doing the dance, which describes the path to sobriety
With meaningful jokes, and well earned tears.

As I stand at the foot of a few twenty-fours
And see the evolution of my recovery
I realize the names in the placards are ever-changing.

Meaning and value pour through the kaleidoscope of time
And come out as indescribable gifts, Which I can only give through action.
I will no longer fritter away my time looking for tags and titles

March 17

Suit up, Show up



I stand naked, paralyzed, unable to reach my intended destination or any destination at all. Goose flesh is no real motivation and I am reluctant to use the prod having only produced resistance and reversals with past applications of this weapon. Entreatment might work if only I could find the right one; then again anything might work if it were a fit. Covering my all-together is an action; taken judiciously it sometimes is all the arrival I can manage, taken disingenuously it precludes the chance for any further forward motion and may create set back or retreat. I should not attempt to hide fear with wardrobe though I can try to warm it. Façade building is best done with a bottle in tow
reality is best faced with a sponsor by my side.




Acknowledge pain, acknowledge joy


*

OLD BEARS

Cold and Despondent
Nothing comforts me like the bear of early sobriety

Bought on a day I thought I would shake apart
This fuzzy old guy has been a display item,
For many years now,
Tucked to the corner with the lace edged pillows and folded shawls.

Jittery and Sleepless
It's easy to panic.

I turn and see the amber eyes waiting for my embrace
His body clothed in a hand knit child's sweater made by a friend
The warmth of this snuggle is more than comfort
It is also the acceptance of loss.

Quelling the dramatic highs and lows of the beginning cost many things
And the depth of this is not lost in the moment.

Alone in my bed the passageways to the future appear to me
I must rest and then walk on
I cannot stall or simper, plain work is before me
And simple old bears a consolation.

March 18

Malaria


Flailing, reaching, screaming; hiding, avoiding, misdirecting, theses are subsets in a list of extremes whose commonality is lacking, lacking humility. I fall to pieces just thinking of standing exposed, imperfect and unprotected. I’m not sure what I think will happen to me in this posture; instantaneous death? Couldn’t be, I’m not that lucky, nor am I foolish enough to think that I am that lucky. Possibly, I fear rancorous humiliation, but really who is powerful enough to do that to me? I know and like myself well enough to deflect obvious flying nonsense, so what is it that I do flee? I think it is the endless grinding inelegance of life, the stinging nettled nature of things, my inability to weave my way around my weakness and slip into the open unpoisoned. I fear exchanging peace for failure. Humility is when I know I cannot fail.



Be conscience of judgment and try not to react to it


*

WET BLANKET

I have carried this sodden thing with me all my life.
It's weight a burden for numerous years,
I have never been able to explain my continuing drag of this pitiful thing
Though it has been commended on by many.

My fidelity is boundless
In spite of inner questions and doubts.
Now that the fire is here I am glad to have it.
I pull it over me and step into the fray.

Thick and moist, I somehow struggle under its influence
And am able to do what others, bare of my encumbrance, cannot
I don't believe I can quench all the flames but I hope to help some to safety
And bat down the encroaching inferno a bit.

March 19

If I name it do I know it?


Does emotional proximity necessitate a nearer name? Far off I would be called earthling possibly human. On this plain, female maybe woman; in this country Mrs. Theriault; in my home call me Sherrie, but in my bed hy calls me Baby. Do these names offer the requisite information, no further inquires required, is it personal enough? Is the limited nature a stunted interest from without or a privacy fence from within? Does the boundary shift dependant upon the participants or is it an almost universal standard of metered advance and reveal? And do I get more when I give more or does that end in less info and a change of direction? Also who determines what I really need to know? Wanting curiosity; my hungry mind and lonely heart do not direct all the world, yet ceaselessly they strive, shutter and ask again: Who are you?





Step toward yourself


*

JAG

I have the most interesting lawn ornament.
It is long and sleek, low to the ground,
Resting on rubber rolls,
Steep of side and languid front and back

It has glass, glass which slants
And glass which slops into its sides.
It's paint shines when I buff it
And shows dust when I don't.

Inside there are seats and many artistic accessories
I sit on the steps and admire the thing
Then I sit in the thing and admire the porch
That's all there was until I was handed the key.

March 20

Bent, Spindled, Mutilated


Injury changes memory, not just the memory of the individual trauma, but the very nature of the mind. The hooks and loops distort and I can’t hold on as I once did. The misses and disconnects become more frequent, then they become expected. Emotional fluff-ups do not suffice, the hardware is damaged and a positive attitude is advisable but the pliers are a necessity. Some things are easier to break than to repair, in fact most things are easier to break, no skill required, though some take it on as skill, most destruction is ignorant or accidental, nothing personal just a part of a pain filled landscape. Direct intervention is not the same as hands-free degradation, though both have their cost. Redemption, restoration, is sought from all comers. Possibilities and probabilities stack; action is a relief, whether or not it is a fix. I take a breath to face the final blow, for when the cost adds up and I look for recompense all I hear is the check is in the mail.





Line the bin so the ick won’t stick

*

20 CART PILEUP

What's the problem here?
Asks my sponsor, as she approaches my apparent impasse.
Well, I've been trying to get these carts lined up
What do you think of my progress?
How many carts do you have here?
A few, quite a few, why?
And how many horses? She asks
Just the one, the same as everyone else, I answer.
And where is this poor animal?
Back here.
Behind the carts
OK, we have a twofold problem here.
First, one horse can handle only one cart.
So pick ONE
Second, that sad creature needs to be in the proper position
To do any good at all.
You had best figure out a way to get him in front
Or you will remain stuck
Even after you whittle down your burden.
I was stunned
She went to her cart
Climbed to the seat
And took the reins
How long did it take you to get yours like that? I ask
Honey it takes every day.
Don't kid yourself
I wake up every morning with the same train wreck
Your standing in now.
Learn to sort faster
And you'll have the rest of today
You can start over
With us tomorrow.

March 21


When is enough, enough?


“What is the difference between full and all? Don’t know? Well, let me tell you,” said my sponsor with a wink. “Full is when the broccoli that went perfectly with the entrée leaves a pleasant smile on your face, full is when the arrow on the gas gauge points to F, these are little indicators of full. Indications that you have reached all: the wet scary feeling in your mouth after your second piece of pie, all is the gas pouring down the side of your car because you have to try to squeeze more in.”
“Yes, yes,” I reply, “I know when I’ve overdone it; I resent everyone or at least I am cranky about everything. I know when I’m under doing it, too; I get either a lost feeling or the sense that I should be in charge, but how do I really know that I am doing enough?”
“If your sponsor has a good idea of where you are mentally, physically and spiritually; if the people in your home group can count on you to contribute service regularly. If most people in most meetings know not just your face, but also your name. If your sponsees freely admit that you are their sponsor, those are sure signs. Though the biggest signal for me is how constant my contact is. If I’m reluctant to pray I’m usually not doing enough of something.”




Learn from pain

*

MATH

If this is the solution why aren't I happy?
I ask my sponsor in a piteous whine.
You've run the equation and the solution equals happiness?
She queries, that's the whole and total answer?
How many times did you go through the computations?

What's your point?
Are you saying happiness isn't the answer?
What about joy and freedom?
I heard someone say that was the goal
I know that's what I heard.

Let's think about it for a hot second
What would you think
If I worked the steps as hard as I do
And as a result walked around in a perpetual grin?
I'd think you had lost your mind.

So you're telling me you believe
The product of recovery is idiocy?
The thing we all are aspiring to is bliss and nothing but?
No, I guess not.
Then what is the solution for you? I ask.

A tally which fits the day I'm having
Joy sometimes fits that bill
But other days it's sadness or concern
There have been days when disbelief
And dismay were part of the appropriate response.

For me, the solution is having an equation
That helps me respond to life
Instead of reacting to it.
That's better than unending happiness
That's wholeness she said with a grin

March 22

Clever Me

I am clever, I am so clever, everyone knows it and I know it, too. So, why do I get slam stuck on the very simple things required to keep my life running smoothly? I know what needs to be done, yet have no clue as to how to accomplish these threads of minutia. I stall; panic, plod, pout. When I do force myself to do it I end up creating either a new pile of impossible incidentals or some anticlimactic end, but secret solutions are as of yet undiscovered. The whip, the lash and the club avail nothing though sweet enticements do no better. I pray, “Dear G-d please help me!” but this has no point, I don’t want the help, I am afraid of the help, I am afraid of the change and of course who wouldn’t be? Beyond here lay someone I don’t know, someone I only fear, beyond here lay the fearless me and I am clever enough to be afraid of her.



Fill the potholes in your thinking



*

THE PROCESS

The mountains don't wash away like sandcastles
The amount of persistence required is far greater.
Acorns don't work like sunflowers
Not everything is instant gratification.

Marathons aren't run in seconds
If you don't love the whole adventure, pick a smaller goal
There is no shame in sunflowers or sandcastles or microwave popcorn
As long as you want it and hold it in esteem

Time-consuming, life-consuming journeys
Have a high price in boredom
And are not worth the consumption
If that is not where your heart leads you

You don't have to love washing the pans
To be a good baker
But it helps
Peace is in the process.

March 23

Suddenly


Creeping realization has never been my experience with G-d’s handy work in my kitchen. I start out making a mess and I find in short order that G-d has made a meal; fit food for apt hunger. I could throw myself into the kneading and shaping, but without the yeast which is so freely given I have no bread; only a lump that will choke me in the end. Even my very own abilities are gifts I was incapable of offering to myself and are only found here in my possession through sheer grace. I have woken up with my face saliva glued to the table top far too often only to discover my Higher Power doing and I am grateful; for without that action I would be un-done.



Learn to live with the shadow of the moon


*


HOW RED IS RED

I check my color and contrast
I paint the setting sun
Add a bit of yellow
And fill to the edge burgeoning poppies

Add more blue and paint the blood
Which pools around my mind
The equalizer of all my mental conversations

Too much is never enough, as the story goes
I pursue my shades and signatures
Too much for the fingers and not enough for the toes
I disregard fraudulent crimson

I scale the mountains of intention looking for perfection
The leach of my addiction drains the other colors from my rainbow
My sponsor asks only one question
"How red is red?"

March 24

Water Buddha


The longer on the river I am the less I fear the river. I still don’t know what lay ahead, anything may wait for me just around the next bend, but I fear this less and less. Experience is a great foundation no matter what you are building or in which direction. I’ve gotten my sea-legs, a sure sign of the mind cooperating with the realities the body is experiencing. I have learned to avoid some forms of trouble and anticipate fortune more often. Further on could be waterfall, ocean, dam; I will contend with any or all, come what may, for when it comes to riding the river I have learned the most important thing: I don’t need to push.



Be left, be right, be yourself



*

THE ORDER

I can't expect delivery if I haven't placed the order
I never seem to know what I want
Until after I have accepted something else.

I can remember thinking order meant procedure not procurement
Set the table, not end my hunger
I focused on rational intent and turned my face from desire

Assailing outcomes leads to disappointments
Asking for a hole to be filled may cause dumping
Not management or conservation

It's good to have a plan before signing the requisition
Please help me know who I am
So I know what I want

I can make a request and stop accepting orders of attack
Don't let me order the end
While I am still at the beginning

March 25

Two X’s


I play sport at the three X folks and their still sometimes skewed thinking. Yet, I attack myself for feeling like a babe in the woods. Old and wise should be my stock and trade by now though I find vastness at my door regularly and confidence struggles to peek in the window. What in the world will I do if I can’t perfect this stuff soon? Hopefully nothing as foolish as fretting or anything as mean spirited as accusation, possibly I could try reception. Truly this only comes in gift wrap and after twenty years I would hope I had learned to live in the present.



Think kindly of chickens if not of cowards



*

THE ORPHANAGE OF MY HEART

The orphanage of my heart hold many children of the past
They gaze at me
Fixed in an attempt to draw me near their needs

I scurry, often my head down, eyes averted
Not knowing how to offer comfort or consideration
To these hapless souls.

Fearing the largess of poverty
I decline to open my small purse
What could I tender
Other than a tease?

Nearly barren, in my heartbroken, disconsolate, inconsolable state,
I rarely even obligate myself to extending my hand
This is the pit of my idiocy

These wee ones have the world of hope and strength to give
I am their offertory
I am the place where their gold resides
They live inside me to fill me and bind me to life and light

I flee them in the height of misunderstanding
Disconnected from these inner spirits I am impoverished
And far too weak to grasp their help

I too fogged to see the world within
Starve in the world without

March 26

Whirly Gigs



Pivot points and reference points subtlety disguised as harmless bric-a-brac escape my comprehension until I either stumble or land on one or the other and ponder the affect. Realization that much of my life’s contentment hinges like a door shocks me, though I don’t know why it should. Isn’t it the way of things that it all turns on a whim or at the very least hangs on fine gauged calculation? I am not the capricious vixen I accuse myself of; I am however human and given to a certain amount of fickle fussy frenzy which all reckons out given enough perspective and wit.





Resuscitate inspiration


*


CALIBRATE COINCIDENCE

Do good
Do right
Line up with the next movement

Get the universe into the sprockets of my desires
And make the miracles flow in my direction
Ah, The boy scout merit badge of sobriety

I force spiritual alchemy through the pasta maker
Of my small life
Expecting gold

And where is God?
Where is the realness of reality?
Where is my place in this hairy mess?

Well, who knows
Am I the Wizard, the Chemist?
The mechanic of the galaxy?

Though I wish and hope
In truth I am not the one who calibrates coincidence
I am the receiver of.

March 27

New Borne


What happens when you finally get what you want, what you barely dared to dream? What happens when you can hardly do more than drip tears down from smiling eyes? Where do you go with a future filled with proposed joy? Heaven is an option if only you believed, but hell has been such a perennial destination it’s hard to realize there will be no return trip this year or possibly ever again. The work required to change from an attitude of longing to one of satisfaction is as real as all the work needed thus far. Tending love is a host of disciplines I want to step to, like I have done it all my life, like I was born to do it and I was, yet, still growth is accompanied by its own pain and awkwardness and who am I to deny this treat. Any new life worth living is worth the pain to bear it.




Turn up your smile

*


FEELINGS

Getting my feelings back
Was like a package delivered.
Not a letter bomb
More like live squid or bait of some kind
It was something to catch me out there.

I think overcoming the shock
Was more or less the small part
Though it seemed to loom at the time.
The squirming, the writhing of my soul
Was like a pregnancy following a bad dream.

I wondered how this became a part of me.
I squandered my days
Hoping it would leave quietly some night soon.
Like all difficult relationships
I attempted to hold my breath through it.

Failing this, I tried to offer my feelings a guest wing in my heart
And a never ending supply of tea and cookies.
When the reality of life with feelings planted itself firmly in me
I let out my breath, stopped the hostess act
And endeavored to roll with it.

This worked well.
I have since invested in a wet-suit and fins
The squid are much easier to live with
When I meet them on their turf.

March 28

Feelings/Facts

Delay is when I don’t deal with the tack, don’t deal with the finish nail, land up with a 12 penny in my heel and think about waiting for the railroad spike. Rebellion is when I run through the razor-wire fence expecting to make a clean get away. If I don’t socialize my problems when they are puppies all hope is lost when faced with the big dogs. Exiting out the fifth story window is suicide in fact, but in my thinking I am merely rebelling. Willingness and cooperation make a dynamic duo; powerful combatants of delay, rebellion, many other joy killing, life stealing foe. A life led with cooperation and willingness is not necessarily perfection, but it often feels that way.




Coax loose your tangled frustrations



*

FUTURE TENTS

The future seeps in through the windows
Like the dawn steeling across the sky
Once I inhale it, I am out of doors
Only the lightest of canvas covering me

The opening, flaps in the breeze
The wind of unbidden things echoes
Off the wall of people
Shut out from this adventure

I brace myself for the cutting current
But am greeted by the softest of zephyrs
I duck out
I stand unfettered

Lonely whispers call
But I am isolated
The scene is empty, serene and beautiful
There are other tents

Other seekers standing on other hills
But they see their own futures
From the vantage of their own tents
And thankfully I am left to see mine

March 29

Yes, Virginia there is a solution

Suspended in the colloid of sobriety the overly large molecule, which is me, finds a fix I couldn’t imagine. I can get better, I do get better, I have a set of values to substitute into the old equations. I now live in a mixture where there is one thing in common and all the rest are variants which ordinarily don’t mix. The scientific method is entry to homogenous living; a concept that never made it to the table in my days as a rogue element. And with all this on board, the thing I love the best is that it grows; what I can do and how I can do it is an ever widening frame of reference, even things which were once outside of my view are now possible. I am grateful that there is a solution; I am amazed that it is the solution to everything.





Rethink awkward restriction


*

CRAZY

I try on crazy
The way I sometimes get out the jump rope
And see if all those muscles still work.

The unemployed, unexploited
Fallow nature of my once fertile insanity
Saddens me in an odd way

Today is a place
I stand in stiff comfort
Even though it has taken concerted effort to get here

There are days I slip from reality
The way I can slip off a chair
I no longer allow myself to lounge on the floor

Pride is not so much the issue as hygiene
Crazy is bad for my health
I gave it up like cigarettes or romance novels

I don't have enough time
Or insurance for these dalliances
Though I do remember them all with fondness

March 30

Catalog of Growth




The right seed in the right season grows a garden of miracles for me. I get the food for my table or the stores for winter, sometimes when I’m in a Jack like predicament, right planted seeds can provide a bean stalk of escape from my restricted life. I have a role to play with these wonders. I must sort the seeds from the pebbles. I must let the kernels out of my pocket and into the ground. I water when I can and harvest what comes to fruition. Though the best by far is the part when I get to share the seeds.






Putter in your emotional garden

*



RAIN

The rain makes shadows of water
It spills onto the ground like tiny worlds
What had been airborne and mist
Is now earthbound and integral
Feeding, cutting, learning the world

Once I contemplated theories and mystery
Now washing dishes is a spiritual service
The view was lovely when I was above it all
But now I course through the veins of life

There may come a time when I am untouchable again
But by then I will have been a part of it all
I will carry the world with me always
An orbiting servant
Not just above but through

March 31

Face and Ass


“It is hard to save your face and save your ass at the same time.”

What I haven’t tried in an attempt to live my life as a showman spotlight front and center. What I wouldn’t sacrifice to keep peace and image intact, but in the end it was just that, my end, that saved me from a life chasing prevention of defacement. I can’t live with the posture of an ostrich it leaves so much at risk. Hiding my face won’t protect it no matter how much I wish it would. I have to put my butt in a seat, a seat up front where folks get to know my face. I have to try my best yet still make mistakes and let people know my ass as well. Being a part of AA saves my behind, once that is cosseted, my face might just get its day in the sun.



Don’t invite ridicule, but deal with it if it comes knocking at your door

*


PADUANS

The pussy willows bloom
Looking much like crested poultry
The coldest part of my heart
Is fighting to thaw in this early spring

Weather is not of the mind to be rushed
My hopes nor the changing calendar
Can persuade the warmth into the May morning
It's May for me too

No longer the early sobriety of January
The years have marched on
I wait for the delivery of my returning brains
Long-term sobriety has begun

I am still beset with the chill of fragility
I desire dignity but find myself strutting
Like a fowl with blooming plumage
Addled and gawky

Don't worry says my sponsor
The pussy willow is in no way less
For showing itself
In the rawness of growth

April 1


Why is it so hard to be me?

I have everything I could wish for. I have love and friendship, I have talent and ability. What more could I want? I don’t want more, I want to learn how to overcome fear and live with disappointment. Abundance is ever at the door, but I have no room for plenty. Reassurance is the thing I chase after, yearn for, pine about, but it is an illusive thing like taking hold of smoke. Allusion is the gift-wrap of reality the unwrapping often puts me off the contents; regaining my composure and reestablishing willingness is a difficult job requiring dedication and fortitude. The barrier before the carefree me is thought the strongest of all substance. I must heal the calcifications of my mind and resist rigidity. My thinking is what makes being me problematic without it I am nothing at all.





Free fun from the shackles of expectation




*

ACCEPTANCE, ACTION, CHANGE

Acceptance equals action
Without action, acceptance is a death sentence
Action puts me in the hands of my Higher power
Inaction puts me at the mercy of others or worse self-justification
For acceptance to glow with life it must be moving

Action equals change
Action without change is repetition
The moon does not change
It orbits flat on it's face, forever dark on one side
And a mere reflection on the other

Change equals acceptance
Change sparks possibilities in mundane endeavor
Change without acceptance is a walk off a cliff
For change to endure, agreement is necessary
A one-sided argument is fascism and fraudulence

The heart of change is acceptance
Beating the blood of hope to the extremities
Whether we circle the heavens
Or the bowl depends on the cohesion of
Acceptance, Action and Change

April 2


Clock and Calendar Girl


I depend on the count and measure of time to get me through. The swing of the pendulum carries me from moment to moment and the divisions between days are like the rungs on a ladder; I climb from month to month and age to age. When I hold my breath I count the tic, tic, tic till the difficult time passes and I can inhale once more. Harder things require X’s in their numbered boxes to help me transverse the larger distance and rockier terrain. Take away my clock and I go deaf, remove my calendar and I go blind. Tools are tools even if they only aid sight and sound.




Address your future


*

THE SCULPTOR

Stuck in a block, my sponsor chips away at me
I struggle to hold still
With surgical precision she cuts through the debris
With which I have surrounded myself

After my sponsor frees my hand and arm
She places a hammer in my open fingers
When the other arm and hand are rescued
She places a chisel in that hand

This is how before my head showed above the surface
I began to help in my own restoration
I am the sculptor
The program has made me

Recovery has taught me
I can be anything
If I keep chipping away
At the things which hold me hostage

As time travels on I am a new shape
With each turn through the steps
And have an ever lustrous finish
With every application of the traditions

April 3



Unfettered


“The difference between a demand and a request is apparent to everyone.” A drunk once said this and I hold it to my heart. I can not be bullied or swindled into a corner; neither will I allow you to put a rope around my neck like a wayward calf. I obey because it works for me and if you teach me that you are untrustworthy or careless I will obey you no longer, this doesn’t make me less obedient it just takes you out of the lead. Sometimes I hold the reins and most times they are in the hands of G-d, but never shall my reins be in the hands of another, this is what I drank over and this is what I could drink over again. No one person is my salvation and I cannot allow anyone to be my demise. If you consume me like a drink, I will kill you as surely as any drug.





Hobble disrespect


*

STOP TALKING

Try to stop talking when people stop listening said my sponsor
And try not to take it personally
Why is that? I query

Most individuals can't handle much of anything real
Try as they may they are unable to listen
To anyone speaking the truth

Tell them a story and you can hold their attention all day
Sprinkle bits of honesty into the tale
And you still will keep your audience

But strafe them with bullets of the truth and they run for cover
I've seen it happen, I never knew what made them scurry
But I have seen them sprint away

It's a coping mechanism
If you try to turn their heart too quickly
They're afraid it will stop beating

Why is it you never worry about that with me?
You tell me the facts whether I want to hear them or not
I can tell you because you take step three

April 4

Give Me a Goose Any Day

The geese breaking wind resistance, the close ones, the far ones, the ones behind trumpeting, this is the gang who gets me sober and keeps me that way. Maybe you think that G-d is not a flock of geese, but it has been my experience and the honking and the mess are part of it all. I spend my days making sure I am one of them. Sometimes I am even in the lead, which may seem like a place of honor and prestige, but is actually a lot of hard work. Sometime I am the cheering squawker who makes my encouragement heard. Other times I am the one waddling around leaving an untidiness behind me. All of this just makes me part of the flock. I am especially fond of my nest mates though they are often the ones I chase and bluster at the most. I feel a sense of identity and pride when I see any goose flying high and know that because we don’t do it alone we are able to do it together.




Pet inspiration

*

FINE PRINT

I can scrawl the wall with everything I know
I can fill my books chapter and verse
With pure and honest hope
But let me begin the precision of language and watch.

My once open face becomes tight
My associations peek regularly around each corner
Neatly painted lines are a trap with teeth laid bare

Serrations of careful craft sever my umbilical
And God floats off untethered
Truth returns when I am shouting my prayers
Scrupulous observance never advances my sails

I must meet life with an open hand
The devil may not be in the details
But be sure to check the fine print.

April 5

Please Sir

Gratitude is a thing which collects and solidifies, it’s pink and I can walk around on it. Some days it is a broad highway and other times a winding spindling track. Ever present if I am mindful, gratitude roots out pests and pestilence while planting a garden beyond my dreams. Gratitude is like handholding; it warms and strengthens me, keeps me connected to real life and reassures me that I am not alone. Many days I find a way to make a face and pout, plundering the rich rewards of sobriety for the thin gruel of discontent, poke me with a stick on these days and remind me who I am, for I am never Oliver even if I feel a little twist.





Rest between great ideas


*

FEELING TEMPLES

I failed to appreciate the initial onslaught of feelings
I spent much time trying to capture them
Lock them away or in some other way submarine them

This only had the effect of retarding my recovery
I had to reframe my thinking
I had to start with simple calisthenics, embrace and celebrate

As my emotional health began to take shape
I started the foundations for tiny shrines
Each with its own theme

Happiness had a party going on until all hours
With grief there seemed to be a constant internment in progress
Body or no

Fear showed on IMAX film
Of the realities of life on earth
Curiosity had an endless library plus a DSL line

Making myself a willing and frequent visitor
To these contrasting places
Created in me wholeness and peace

Never again do I have to trudge
The two dimensional desert
Of my monochromatic former life

April 6


Fearing Fearlessness

How many times have I given the credit to night blind fear, credit due the brave persistent child? How many times have I blamed the willing diligent pursuer when the fault was the backstabbing delay of mistrust? I resist the onset of freedom. Fear was my oldest familiar and I put from my mind that it was my jailer, captor; kidnapped me from my cradle and kept me locked from G-d’s fine intentions. Fearlessness sounds debilitating to my crippled ears, organs who hear well the disclaimers and are deaf to the claims. I am the producer of bile and addicted to dread, endorphins wear white hats and win the day once this yellow belly is put to bed.





Allow yourself distance from uncomfortable people



*

BIRDS AND BEES

Birds and Bees can get me drunk
I have to watch the amount of envy
Which pours through me as I watch their bliss

When others make a beeline to the hive
I must head to a meeting and save myself despair
If my spiritual condition is not sound

When other couples are weaving their nests
I have to be careful
Not to weave my way back to the bar

The mating dance is so sweet and seductive
I have to make sure
I don't end up doing the two step

For as much as I hate to admit it
If steps one and twelve where enough to keep me sober
The rest would not have needed to be written

April 7

Two Things That Should Be One

The difference between my will and G-d’s will is that G-d actually likes me all the time, never looks to punish and would rather that I don’t settle for less then what is best for me.

The difference between G-d’s will and my will is left to my own devices I would run in a perpetual circle and dig a trough. I would never ask for help and would refuse if it were offered. I would take on misguidedness as a mantle and wear it to my wake.

Often my will and G-d’s will are miles apart, but they needn’t be. G-d is the president of my fan club; I just need to start attending the meetings.




Make music in your head that you can feel in your whole body

*


WHIP

I have been to the meeting where the play 'whip'
The meeting where the members are gotten in line
The tempo increases constantly in an attempt
To flick each other off into the land of shame and slips and less-than

This game is invisible to the participants
Though the stress on their bodies is surely felt
Spectators often misunderstand the meaning of the activity
And wrongly interpret it as strength training and endurance building

I think of it as a backward step
Throwing me to my initial desire for a drink
Living other peoples skewed lines
Sent me running for a bottle

The same lines
Placed around me in sobriety
Will measure me up for a box

April 8


Out on Your Front Porch


“If you want what we have,” said my sponsor, “you will have to follow somebody and lead somebody and do a few other things.”
“I have to follow somebody, that shouldn’t be too hard,” I mumble.
“In order to follow it helps if you stop looking at the ground, lift you gaze,” her retort. I raise my chin until I meet her eyes. “Better,” says she.
“I follow you?” I ask.
“Me, yes, if I have what you want, follow others if I don’t,” she says.
“Okay and lead somebody, how do I do that?” I ask.
“It’s attraction, Sweetie, be attractive, show your smile and your smarts, but most of all show that you’re sober, because that is always your best asset. And no matter what anybody tells you about the allure of bad girls, nobody can resist a good set of assets”




Don’t let the rush of the river scare you from the bank

*

WHAT IS PAST

The past cannot hold me in a loving embrace
I run too often looking for affection and recognition
In things long dead and purportedly buried

I return to the ghoulish obsession of digging up
Old hates and sorrows longing for support
And finding only the cause of the ulcers in my soul

I wallpaper the crumbling facade
Not wanting to cover it up but to hold it together
Trying to unify something which is totally scattered

When I view it with a sober eye
The past is nothing but a slideshow
Under a strobe light

The pulse triggers the impulsive belief that it was all real
When in truth it was the lie I survived
No life existed in the past

Only now is there air to breathe
The past is all vacuum
And I don't need to be sucked away

April 9


Up and Down: Round and Round

Like the wheel on my spinning wheel I pump up and down on the treadle and the wheel spins round and round, the roving twists in my hand and yarn is made. Really all I do is tap my foot and gently hold on, pulling occasionally. It is a small part I play in this production at least it feels small almost unnecessary, but with a clear mind I see that without me it doesn’t get done. I am essential yet still just a foot-tapper and hanger-on neither of these is prestigious yet the whole fabric depends on my mundane actions. I take great comfort knowing that all over there are foot-tappers and hangers-on keeping safe this way of life, sometimes keeping it safe just through sheer repetition. And if you ask, “Is that Unity or Recovery or Service?” All I can say is “Yes it is.”



Powder your bottom line

*


CLAW MARKS

There is a brackish River
Whose current changes directions twice a day
Its bed is well washed on every side.

It begs the question-
Which way is down hill?
There are times I struggle up hill in both directions

There are times I slip from every slope
What is up is often down
Judgment of topography requires distance

Scaling the surface takes tenacity
I plan on leaving my mark as I go
Life's residue staining my finger tips.

April 10



Stumbling Under the Tenth Step

When I’ve been outside of my mind it is so hard to tell when I’ve come home again. The landmarks take on such distortion in memory that the facts seem bloated or anorexic as I turn my face from side to side. Old journals remind me of old journeys and perhaps there are accurate landmarks mentioned, but how can I know for sure that these too are not just the ravings of a mind gone mad. Real or imagined I must take the daily count and try to keep the score in favor of the actual. I don’t always know that I’ve fallen until I inventory the dirt on my face, but better that I face the dirt than live the delusion of a mole.




Notice the shape of your fixtures



*

DROWNING NAKED

Bare & Exposed
I laid myself on the alter
Of my home group

AA, my only Source
I emptied the contents of my soul
And bore the mantle of overexposure

But vultures lurked in many rooms
I was safely guided by persons of my gender
To more secluded and effective place of transmission

I thrust myself into the arms and mind of my sponsor
She escorts me to the steps with the door closed
And taught me how and when it could be prudently opened

AA is a power greater than me, so is the ocean
Precaution needs to be taken when wading in
Care must be exercised as to how much to bare.

April 11



The Key You See


The key you see is letting you, accept me. Oh, how I hide from that, run from that, flee from that. I must be in control of what you think of me. I curtain off the view of me I don’t wish to share with you. Add to that the unusual choices of what I hide. I will strip down with all the lights blazing long before I would let you see me drop the ball, be confused, misunderstand. What I truly fail to realize is that in the process of trying to hide my faux pas and fumbles; what I show you is my controlling ass. Backside bare I moon you with my freak show trying to hide my humanity. Your compassion and tolerant waiting for me to calm down and open my eyes is the key I fail to see about you.





Learn the difference between area and circumference


*

RANK

I took an area level service position
And my sponsor laughed herself off her chair

What is your motivation for this? she asked
I want to move up through the service structure, my reply

Are you trying to make rank?
Problem with that? I ask

Ever heard of self-fulfilling prophecy
You will become what you desire

You will become rank
And you will stink

The triangle is inverted to help you clean up your act
Don’t get washed away in a tide of ego

I put down my swim fins
And removed my epilates

April 12

My Experiences with Tennis

I have held the racket, I have hit the ball, but I have never played with a partner. I have slammed the fuzzy orb against the wall for long years now, but I have never had a mate. There were times when I had opponents; yes I’ve had a couple of those, a collaborator though, that I have never had. I have learned to overcome opposition either through wile or guile. Slugged my way toward some inevitable outcome, I never expected you on my court. The game we play is for keeps and the muscles required I have never used, I ache from the pain of ending an atrophy imposed on me by isolation and misunderstanding. Often I don’t know how to stand, don’t know how to act; don’t know how to be the equal to your service. I play chase, running after the thing I didn’t see and only faintly felt. I have come to the place where I know, you and I are a team; you will not be leaving looking for someone better equipped or with greater experience. It is time for me to lay out in front of you my host of tendencies and inclinations. I’m in the habit of overwhelming with my strength to hide my weakness; I must expose this all to you, the strength and the weakness, and work together for the resolution. I will no longer pretend that I know what is right and wrong in this un-played game. I fear that I will lose the old game by making this change, all that is familiar put up for grabs to the uncertain outcome of paired sports. All I truly know is that with you by my side I can never lose and I will learn to do whatever it takes to be your wife.


Dream with an open mind
*

SOLIDITY

Apprehension stands in the archeological site
Which is my life -----listening
Listening for the rumble of a cement truck to come
And help solidify the shifting and tenuous nature of my existence

A wet and sloppy solution
A solution to be raked and smoothed, covered and cured
Something to build a monument on
Or a place to park my car

The nearby grass looks lush and green
But I dare not leave apprehension alone or it spreads
I stand with it on bad days
And against it on good ones

I pray for the mixer to arrive
Or at least the gravel spreader
I need to fill this hole so it can be a life
And stop being a grave.

April 13






Neither Frog nor Fish

I was falling and my Higher Power caught me in a net called AA, all of which was a pretty neat trick, but the strangest consequence of this is now I somehow think it shouldn’t be possible for me to drown. Defying gravity 24 hours at a time doesn’t make me aquatic or even amphibious for that matter. I still have all the corollary restrictions of anyone who is me. I still need sleep and water, food and warmth just like a mere mortal. How silly I am. I dodge a bullet and suddenly I think I am waterproof.



Don’t exchange your trinkets for your tools


*


WHAMMO

I have been hopping on one foot
With a ball of hope shoved under one arm
And a ball of hysteria under the other

I wish I could tell from the outside of the ball
Which one is hope- I worry I will put down the wrong one
So I hold onto both

My life is sorely limited by the baggage
And I fear I am losing life with every hop
A lack of information is my problem

I don't adequately know the properties of either
And suspect my every interpretation
Finally I stand before my sponsor

To ask the question of my life- That's easy Honey
Hope is the one that bounces back
Is all she had to say

April 14




Who to Ask

“You ask good questions and you ask the right people,” said my sponsor.
“I ask questions because I need answers,” my reply.
“Do you know how many people need answers and never ask?” she quipped.
“I ask my friends, no stroke of genius there,” I continue.
“You ask your playmates, you ask the people you trust enough to have fun with. You don’t realize how clever that is. You know lots of folks who work hard and you could ask your questions of these, but instead you save them for those diligent ones who still know how to play and that, Sweetie Pie is proof that you are no dummy.”





You may mute your horn, but don’t soap your bow


*


CRUMPLED PETALS IN MY POCKET

I can't bring back the bloom
Cohesion, lost ripeness
Is left only to memory

I carry home the parts
Folded, petite, fragrant bedding
For my wistful desires

I put these colored remnants into a jar of salt
I make an aromatic rub
For the sweetest wounds

Transforming the parts to useful duty
Doesn't restore the flower
It doesn't pay tribute to the past, it is survival

I have a mind filled with roses but I must make hay
Today I live, today the rose is dead
Its pieces in my pocket

I don't die with the blossom
Though my head blows in the wind
The rose runs its course, I run mine.

April 15


Chickens and Eggs


Who is more sober the early riser or the long-timer? How do we get here and what does it mean. It all starts with a day, which is good because this is more than we had hoped for, sometimes more than we could do. Then it moved into an ever escalating game of can you beat this, each day an improvement over what had been accomplished the day before. For years the standard bearer is the pain or relief of the very first in this string, orbs of 24, yet here stands the question, “Is the essence the last pearl you touch or the total of the strand, which makes it real?” I don’t know for sure. Sobriety is like light; is light made up of waves or is it made up of particles and the answer is invariably yes, for it is. And what you need and how you look at it seems to make the determination, scientific method or no, the watched is affected by the watcher and vice versa. The end is a day round and imperfect as any and what is strung between the beginning and the end is what you’ve made of it.




Never underestimate bitterness

*

ESCAPING THROUGH THE CEILING

Up and away is my motto
Upwardly mobile is my goal

If I can flee without leaving a track
I'm clean

No heart wrenching walk down the isle or lane
No dust on my shoes, no possibility of stumbling

Grace at all cost
Empowerment through elevation

If I must leave my human plane to attain this, so be it
Give up my natural rights, such is life

But yet, if I lose my bonds to earth
What did the leaving gain me?

I arise, to appear better
As a result, I appear not at all

April 16




Not Fur but Fin

You can’t delay the river, I’ve tried, all it does is distort. I block the flow and swamp ensues, mighty oaks waist deep in water. The current is strong and I fear being swept away, not realizing I was born to swim. Dreading the swim back for spawn I try to stay too close to my origins, never make it to open water, never to live the life I was intended for. I’ve heard it said, “Don’t push the river it flows by itself,” but I can’t stall it either.









Line up the little endearments offered you


*

FEEDING THE MONSTER

Who will feed the monster, once they’ve made her?
Her hunger burns in her like a beacon
Should I let her starve?
Should I put her on rations of old crust and tepid water?

Rebuke her as if she were her own idea
Possibly bind her hands and cover her eyes
Stand her in line with the good girls and fit her in
Turn her visage from her desire and tell her to forget?

Hold her hand and tell her that’s enough?
When I stand in the face of her yawning hunger
What do I say---It's for your own good?
Well that's what THEY said too.

April 17




Like an Elf Working in an Empty Tree

The chairs in the loft are empty, but I still hear the choir sing. The bottle though it’s empty, still sometimes calls my name. Though front pocket is empty and there is rolled up empty sleeve, still the nicotine haunts my dreams. On this empty road I travel, I still long for company. The stillness is not all that’s empty, but I run to fill that spot. Chaos is like a tapeworm it eats me from inside, but in the meantime I still believe it’s filling me.







Curve around what is sharp on your tongue

*

HOW THINGS SEEM

Not everyone who pushes me down is my enemy
Not everyone who pulls me up is my friend
I have been seduced by the closeness of people
Who used me as their shield

When I have been held in a place of honor
The point man of life
I forgot that made me the replacement target
For the one who stood behind me

I have been offended as I was thrown to the ground
The hands that shoved me I saw as my rejecters
I was spared the tragedy and peril of the thing which flew by my ear
Thanks only to the grace of a thrust in the right direction

Accurate appraisal is my weakness
Seeing thing for what they are is hard
Things are rarely how they seem

April 18



In Training

Like a faithful dog that was hard to train, patience is a thing hoped for yet peevish during the breaking in. Stanch companionability is hard won, but worth the cost of acquisition. And what is the price I truly paid in the end; whatever I gave in the pursuit of patience was a cheap babysitter and kept me from far worse reformation. For what would I do in this late day and age as a tempest torn toddler, no bottle to sooth my woes and bothers. Strictly speaking this is a world ill suited to the edgy intolerant masses and only seems to fit those who can mark time and bend.




Be careful what you do with idols



*

SERVICE & SACRIFICE

The difference between life and death in my recovery
Is the equal difference between service and sacrifice
If I offer you what is in my hand, fine
If I also give you my fingertips, I am lost.

Service lightens the load in my heart
Sacrifice removes my tools for living
When I go into debt for your existence
The cheer and optimism is sucked from my awareness

My eyes go dead and soon I follow
The cingulotomy of obligation crucifies my future
And murders true hope and love
Service feeds my heart and yours

Renovating makes space
It builds the muscles for joy and contentment
Pumping and refilling
My plate with spirituality.

April 19



Ground Floor


Step 10 is the place where the doors slide open and I discover I am out of the basement. I have to pay close attention to where my feet are; it is so easy to stumble here in the light of day. Oblivious limitations and universally accepted interpretations are pried from installation and put on trial. Never is it acceptable to allow my alcoholic thinking to make decisions for my sober life. The road to my door must be kept clear so I can get out to do my part and so G-d can come home to me.






Spin heads, spin tales, spin dry

*

CHAPTER & VERSE

I remember being trained and rehearsed for finding the words
Which would release my soul from bondage
The scrupulous concern for detail pointed me to heaven
And yet I drank.

Inside these rooms the path is wide
Judgment is suspended and I have the right to be wrong
The penalties for error can be great
But the privilege and risk are mine

As in all things, the extremists come
They have come to this place too
Thumpers hound and belittle
Threaten and cajole

They tell page numbers like punch lines
And narrow the field at every opportunity
I can't stay sober sitting on my old stool
I can't maintain desire by their chapter and their verse.

April 20




What I Take from Laban’s House


If I have the audacity to have a problem I must provide the instantaneous solution or be the cause of world-wide panic. Additionally it is the height of rudeness to have open-ended dilemma. It makes the gods uncomfortable, don’t you know, makes them shift in their seats and wish me away. I prevent banishment by either, being problem free or solution-full and when the answers are not to their liking, I exile myself saving them the inconvenience and me the embarrassment. It is never good to implode the household deities; you never know when you might need one for historic perspective or a door stop.






Inventory your reservations

*


WHEN A SNAPPER CROSSES THE ROAD

What should I do?
I see the soggy green/gray lump creeping the macadam
Too slow to survive for long

The urge in me to aim
And end the duckling-eaters life
Is short lived but a palpable surge

My Disney style justice is dismissed
But heard from nonetheless
Shall I pull over and assist?

This turtle is as ill equipped
For this stretch of road
As I am ill equipped to aid in its conveyance

Should I reach with my fingers or toes
To something I know can extend its neck
And sever me from parts I hold dear?

The ever present missionary in me has spoken and is silenced
In fact what I can do is slow down and give wide birth
I know this creature is a danger but never more so than me.