Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 15


Sympathetic Strings


A guitar with 28 strings generates much sympathy from the cords which were not strummed. Pluck is contagious and inspires much harmony and verve in the vicinity in which it shows face. Sympathetic strings vibrate in response to the jangling around them but are tuned to their own notes. Much distortion adds to the depth of the sound created by this throng. Can you hear my life? How a disturbance in my life rings in the lives which surround me? How I twitch and chime when things are twanged in the lives of my neighbors, my friends, my kin. We make the music of care, the discord of reaction. To every move there is a sound, to every sympathy a harmony.





Surprise yourself with the light in your own eyes

*




THE LIVING DREAM

Throwing yourself into the river in pieces
Drowns you as crumbs.
Casting aside love and longing makes you less
In your heart and your soul stops beating.

Pitching your tent with critics and complainers
Leaves you out in the cold on warm summer evenings.
Crest the hill to meet the rising sun
Orbit the constellations without hesitation.

Petit point the pictures in your mind
Then set them to music.
The world is your dream
Live it into reality.

[deeperstill]

Hi all. I'm new to bfp, still finding my way around. I'm a friend of Lois, not Bill though. Is there a different thread for that, or is it ok if i hang out here a bit?

[LeftWriteFemme]

Originally Posted by deeperstill

Hi all. I'm new to bfp, still finding my way around. I'm a friend of Lois, not Bill though. Is there a different thread for that, or is it ok if i hang out here a bit?

Deeperstill,

I couldn't find a thread for friends of Lois, but you could start one if you wanted to have a thread just for Alanon members. You are always welcome here, whenever you wish and for as long as you wish. Glad you're here. Hope you have a great night!

Sherrie

[deeperstill]

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 16



Rounder



Back again, yes, that I see, but change is not the same as return. What I know of you is your past. I believe the past because I know it. If there is a new you to meet that remains to be seen. Even a chameleon sheds its skin, though I doubt its intrinsic nature is altered much in the process. So flash your smile and wind your words into the thoughts of those with whom you have no history. I’ve been exposed before, the virus doesn’t conquer me, I am immune. Once bitten makes me wary when you come around again.






Pick a color and let it find you all day

*
TO SLOOP

When I was a tanker- I carried such a heavy load.
The diesel cycle ran at regular intervals
And my internal temperature was terrific.
The fuel sprayed and things went round and round
The cost was high.

Now my principal means of propulsion
Is the wind in my sails.
Conversion was difficult
Though I found the rigging and mast a fascination
The ballast was a heavy load to bear.

Cargo is something short lived
To be cast off at the next port.
Incumbent discretion is welded to my keel
And will go with me to every harbor.

As a tankard, liquid was transported or consumed.
As a cutter, dependability keeps me tacking into the wind.
Now my outlay is low and my rewards are high
I carry only what I need, I am free, a sloop upon the sea.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 17



Horse Play


The sequestered equestrian rides alone through the night; the wood is as quiet as she. Passing no one; speaking not a word, she slips into the paddock without a nicker or a neigh. I long to be just as she, not silent sentinel, but living a whist fleet life, a power unto myself. What stands between are my hurt feelings and my longing to be loved. I can’t blame myself for either, but work to heal and grow. Nagging need is a pestilence I will be well rid of; the irredeemable past is luggage for a catalog, not for hauling on my back. I will mount up and ride my great round stead, the night is mine when I am ready the path is there I know.





Imagine an ostrich in flight


*
GRAFT

The bottom has been cut out
My underpinnings stripped from me..
Budding ambition whittled down, transplanted,
Saddled onto the rock like stock of other peoples sobriety.
Taped to the leg of my sponsor I heal and grow.

I splice my thinking with the rich ideas of improved living
I cling to the cleft, divisions made from the people,
Places and things of my past leave me split,
Primed for fresh growth and opportunity.

Never again do I need return to the sordid
Acquisition of power or control
There is no gain when I am bolted to position and influence
Graft is graft for good or bad
I don’t have to grow where I was planted.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 18


Cicatrix and Love



The mark left by injury is indelible though it may heal, the consequence remains. This is also true of love. I am branded and changed by your affection. The improvement wrought in me does not leave when you do. If you stop loving me, can you no longer remember my name, my face, my sigh; I am better for having had your love if only for a short time. Good medicine offers lasting results; the miracle of your love is my health. The blush in my cheek, the revitalization I feel is traceable to you, to the days you held me in your heart and the nights you held me in your arms. And though I want you back in my world the best of you lives on in my life.



Slice time with your thoughts and peer through the pieces

*



JUXTAPOSITION

Right next to this world is the globe that I came from.
The landmarks are similar but these spheres have little in common
The angle of refraction illuminates the place of my origin
The source of this light is legend.

On my home planet, the existence of sobriety is cast off as myth.
I held onto this tale with my heart.
I slipped the gravitational bonds of crazy one night
By the glow of the ready button on the coffee pot.

Here and there intersect at only one point
A room with some chairs and a circle with a triangle.
The meeting was on step one
And it was a good place to jump in.