Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 29



The Slick Nature of Grace



The higher I climb the more severe the fall; the sweeter my life the more brittle my blood sugar. I must be more careful as I get better. I thought being sober would make my life free from care, but I think it is a freedom from fretting that might be more accurate. I must still climb and take in all the sweetness which comes my way, but always I must vigilantly keep my balance. Hold on tighter; eat more protein. Grace is a glorious thing and I am the consecrated recipient who knows the slickness of the slopes and the cunning of the glucose. Daring to be sober is an athletic endeavor I must tighten my cleats and sharpen my sweet tooth.






Check your motives against something fixed, then against something in motion

*

WILL YOU GET TO THE OTHER SIDE

Chickens stand together on the edge of the road
Pecking and scratching
People make fun.

People tell jokes
But it’s not so funny when we are the ones
Playing on the tracks.

We forget that all the excuses about longing for
Excitement and not wanting to be cut off
From the world sound like so much cackling
To the ears of people who value their lives.

Life in the pasture or the backyard
Is fulfilling if you want it.
That kind of life is no adrenaline rush
But then again isn’t adrenaline just another drug.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 30





Even at the Bottom


Why is it that I feel G-d leads me to the path, but expects me to travel it alone? In all honesty it feels more like G-d leads me to the stairs and I fall down them on my own. I lay in a heap at the bottom, filled with self-reproach for the landing. I forget that a power which draws me forward can also endure. I did not come here alone, will not leave here alone; I am never alone, even at the bottom of the stair.








Pat-down unwanted thoughts

*

HARVEST TIMING

The harvest fits in the growing season
And the oak fits inside the acorn.
My sober mind fits right in my sober time.

The soul of everything rubs across
The hind leg of a cricket to sing.
The infinite machinery of the universe spins
But you stand there questioning
The existence of a Higher Power.

Well, that’s who you are
But I have only one question for you
Who else could have made
All the best tomatoes come from Jersey?

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 31



Rex


Hungry dogs who love me anyway, dance around waiting to be fed. If they didn’t love they would take bloody bites and I don’t forget it. These puppies have teeth, like cigarettes I want to smoke but don’t. And meanwhile back on the farm I seek to quiet the whines and barking of the unfed, malnourished familiarity which writhes at my ankles and jumps at my knees. I can no longer pat my disquiet on the head and expect it to stay or heal. I must hunt down the beast which bothers me and feed the meat of it to the pups. I must not leave the lopers to quarry my burden if I want to remain master and leave them to be pet.








Rip yourself away from distress

*

DO YOU HEAR THAT SOUND

I was running on empty
And thought I was getting along that way
But the smoke gave me away.

My life had caught on fire
And I burned to the ground.
I thought nothing had been apparent
Until it all lay in ashes.

My sponsor said, No-------
We all knew when you tank ran dry.
The sucking sound could be heard for miles around.

I asked her, if that were true,
Why I hadn’t hear it myself?
She said, she guessed,
I had my denial turned up to loud.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 1





Shadow of Doubt


The long dark cast covers my face, my thoughts, my life; it is the light blocked by my skepticism. To tear down the obstruction means a profound change of my internal architecture; walls will have to be knocked down, windows installed. The poor mouthed structure takes better to the steamroller than I wish it would. I fear the loss of my hideout, panic at the thought of a life in the sun. Skepticism builds a paper world; opaque, weak yet frightening to tear apart.








Rub the place where you land

*


WHY NOT HOME

Power is not production and production is not art.
I have to keep pulling the car to the side of the road
so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me,
from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living
but I still want to go home.

I will never give up these roadside excursions
into the river of thought though I do wonder why
the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel?
Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed?

The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere
as long as it’s at least five miles away.
Power is not production and production is not art.
I let it pour through me---it is not mine to sort.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 2



Here Kitty Kitty


Litter training the lynx seems like a good idea until it is accomplished and all concerned are less for the accomplishment. Domesticity is a transparent cage, which has a presence felt by all whether loved or hated. The air is changed and the cat stifles, everyone is safer, so it is said, but what are we safer from? And what is a broken lynx, certainly not a house cat?





Peer under obstacles then climb over


*
ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE

Just because the crows fly away when I arrive
doesn’t mean they are afraid
but they might be.

The obvious answers are usually the correct ones
but I must leave room for the unlikely answers too.
Sometimes a spade is a shovel
and a gofer is occasionally a retriever.

The world is a wonderful and fearful place
where possibilities are endless
if I am willing to allow the light
to strike these sheltered doubts.

Any day---any where --an alcoholic can stay drunk
or get sober.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 3




Where’s Your Chair?


Is the ring more unnatural for the tamer or the lion? One the trapped, the other the trapper. Who is the more in danger; the one with loss of freedom or the one with possible loss of life? And while this question is still in play the next question is begged. Why is there a ring? What is worth the price paid by the whip holder or the whipped? Spectacle is a thing whose cost reaches from the forest to the trees; can take you from the highest rung down to your knees. All this lost for some Owwe’s and Ah’s from people needing diversion from the ring they turn tricks in.




Refuse delivery of bad acts

*

HOW EVER YOU CAN

I heard --Let go with love.
You know how to do that? Asked my sponsor.
No that’s why I’m here to see you,
But it sure sounds like something I should do.

Well in a perfect world maybe we can all do it that way.
But for now let go with a mean look in your eye.
Let go with rage in your heart.
Let go with words boiling on you tongue.

Let go with the butter knife up to its hilt in the jelly jar.
Let go standing at the sink wishing for some other life.
Let go as a reflex
Let go as an anthem, as a prayer, as a declaration.

Let go even when you don’t feel you are holding on anymore.
At the same time-hold on to what’s important---
Your recovery---Your Higher Power, and your sense of humor.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 4



The Naked Not the Dead


Because comfort is sometimes no comfort I can shave my hair and walk bare in the naked world. Removing pretense helps in unexpected ways. Foolish action becomes formulaic when you are scared or hurt. I lived through the summers of blood; the winter is not enough to stem the tide or heal the wound. I have no want to raise the dead, but how to save the living? Poverty is the inheritance of so much misguided lethargy and I must shear off the illusion of maturity and let the children speak.







Bury pettiness in an unmarked grave

*
WHINING BRATS

Some days whining brats come at me from all directions
And my hair won’t curl,
Apathy chases me around the house.

I wonder how it has more energy than I do.
My mind twists into a wrinkled mess
I drag my good foot and hop on the bad one.

And even on those days I still rather be me.
I never long to be the innocent victim
Or spiritual leader, the tough guy or the Ph D.

No matter how bad it gets
Or what the struggle is
There is no place sweeter than in my head.

Many are the days I wished not to exist at all
But never to shuck my skin
for the skin of another.
.
Now that I manage breathe right
And to face each day with cheer
I know it was almost worth it
And might be worth it yet.