Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 28




Chock Full of Nuts


I am not a coffee maker. I come from a long line of non-coffee drinkers and I don’t drink it myself. I made the coffee for my home group once and was asked not to do it again. This is when I realized my service talents must lay elsewhere, and they do. I am a good sponsor for those who want what I have or at least want to attempt what I am trying to get toward. I am a good representative. I can carry the wishes of my group to the district. I am learning to share my story and carry the message and hope to do it well. So, my question to you is to what service do you most naturally bend?





Save a key from your past


*

PASTRY

Like French pastry--sobriety gets richer with each layer
As I investigate these layers I approach the buttery center
The fat seeps through the years
Making boundaries crisp and intimacy velvety.

Ingredients which ordinarily wouldn’t mix
Somehow blend and counter point one another in a flaky shell
Fruits and nuts improve every bite.

Though there are times which are a bit crumbly
Most of the structure is strong and invention skillful
Pastry and sobriety are compositions of strength and brilliance
Which are meant to be taken internally.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 29



When I rise up and when I lay down



In order to be happy with you I have to learn to be happy without you. I gasp at the pain of it and desperately wish that the above statement were not true, but alas, you are gone in a way that I can never reclaim you and to hold on to what of you is still tentatively available I must release my frightened grasp. A wisp of smoke is not the bonfire of our past, but it is what remains and I breathe it in as best I can. Immediately I realize I am holding on again. I breathe you out, let you go. I want to run screaming throwing you from my bonds, yet another of my attempts at control. So, now it’s time to pray. Not a prayer to get my way, not a prayer to make you stay, not a prayer to make you gone, just a prayer to live on my own. G-d help me please to live my life, please guide me away from strife. I am lost and can’t find my way, Father, hold me til the light of day.





Putty the cracks in your hopes

*

SHIMMER

The water ruffles over metallic sheen
Lap after lap screen the view
And still the gilt reflection shines in my eyes.

Hypnotic, the undulance pulls me near
I stand on the edge, gaze then gawk
I follow the underwater movement and iridescent tremolo

I forget place and time, I lose sight of the fact
Gold isn’t the only thing that shimmers
Sometimes that glint is just a fish
.
Life is full of fins and fantasy
My sponsor suggests--I stop looking for my life
In a wishing well.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 30



Halfway Home


Too far to turn back to the origin, not quite close enough to my destination; I am halfway home. I sometimes forget where I have come from, forget too where I’m bound. I gently remind myself I’m making progress no matter what I know. I am not where I started, not where I am going, but I am not without. There is plenty to do and much to look forward to. I lift my feet one at a time, left then right. I try to keep the steps equally spaced, to prevent past curves and circles. Lost is not as bad as it sounds though I do dream of clarity, stone free shoes and a home cooked meal when I arrive.






Appreciate the bridges in your life


*

REGENERATION

When I am grabbed by the extremity of my thinking
I drop my mind like a reptilian tail.
My feet believe they are in no need of my brain in order to run
Independent flight is the action of the day.

Far from the time and place of my dissection
I find regrowth the problem to be solved.
Unlike a salamanders toe
Can I regenerate my wits to their former ability
Or must I live out my existence with a docked psyche?

My desire curls like a python
But dreams of becoming a phoenix.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 1




Exercising Futility


Asking the confused for explanation is like asking a blind man the color of the sea. It isn’t that he couldn’t tell you, but how could you be sure? To exercise futility is more than just a game or the words to a song your mother sings when lost or far away. To take the fish out of water and train it on a bike is meaner than I need to be, but isn’t it my right? Just to do things because they can be done or try them because they can’t is more the worse for everyday a tragedy in pants. Puzzle out the little things and practice when you can, for putting on the frazzled mind is cruel to the poor sweet-hearted sot.





Don’t get hooked by excuses




*

SPONTANEOUS GENERATION

Dust under the bed turns into bugs
My grandfather believed in these alchemies of myth.
I thought myself free from the small witchcrafts of threat.

The longer I stay sober,
The more real is the insidious nature of my disease
Mental clutter does breed all manner of
Squirming and chattering vermin.
Every intellectual closet I leave uncleaned
Is a brooding box of contempt,
False pride and bloated ego.

The synchronism of hatchling defects and nursing grudges
Fairytale thinking and firebrand action
Mimic grandpa’s bedbug rantings.

I can never turn my back on unswept philosophy
Or the dross of assumptions I’ve left waiting in piles.
Spiritual house cleaning is all that saves me
From the transmigration of blood sucking life draining phantasm.

Supernatural transformations needn’t plague me if I take right action
The difference between blessings and curses
Is the direction in which you are going.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 2



From Mind to Pen to Paper to Palm



What a relief to have exteriorized all the swirl of thought, which normally swarms my mind, waiting to take the stage and run through their numbers. Then like deciphering a code I was able to cross out all the irrelevant and redundant information, leaving me with a clear answer. Once there standing on its own; it was obvious and easily explained how two plus three is five. I just love anything that can be explained all on one hand and there it was tidy and neatly fitted in the nest of my palm, easy to grasp hold, of with my fingers or my mind.





Slip an orange into your dreams



*

NOUN, VERB, ADJECTIVE

Model Sobriety [mode’el sobriite] n,v,adj.
1. Model Sobriety acts like clay
Durable and flexible it molds to any situation.
2. Model Sobriety is like a clotheshorse
Everything you put on it fits and looks good.
3. Model Sobriety is the 24 hour version
Of a life-long process.
4. Model Sobriety is a set of axioms
With which we interpret truth.
5. Model Sobriety is what we put in the window
For other sufferers to see.
6. Model Sobriety is the mirror we use
To learn what is natural.
7. Model Sobriety eliminates extremes
In behavior and thinking.
8. Model Sobriety is the mode
My which we become a channel.
9. Model Sobriety is the definition
In and of my life.

Noun, Verb, Adjective

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 3



Trouble with Geometry



You are not allowed to get into trouble on purpose, that’s the rule and if you do you will get no sympathy that’s the corollary. Life is too hard to go looking for trouble, running toward danger, whining about self-inflicted pain. The unspoken law of risk taking is that failure is dealt with in silence. Writhing on the ground after sticking your head in a hornet’s nest, leaves me and the world I know to be speechless in your presence. I know you desire consolation from me. All I know to say is that your actions are incongruent with your life.







Stir the atmosphere in your room



*

DISTILLATION
I came into these rooms with a mixed mental makeup
And a polluted physical chemistry.
I have been transformed
But only into tiny droplets.

The drops are not dramatic but the process is.
Distillation of my thinking is a powerful thing
A volatile act of concentration takes place.
As my brain boils over
And the sane is separated from the profane.

Purity is a spiritual gift,
The result of vaporizing my old thoughts.
Many times the night distills the dew
And I am quickly refreshed,
Other times I must cook for quite awhile.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 4



Origins



At the root of it all is darkness. The place from which I grow, the structure that holds me fiercely upright, is pressed on all sides by dirt. When I get right down to it the ethereal leaves and twigs even the branches, do not exist, except for my foundation in the composted death and recycled life; the ground. For is it G-d who rains down from the heavens light and water or is G-d truly living at the center of the earth, warming my toes and securing me to what is real.






Use a mirror for words on the tip of your tongue



*

KEY

I asked for the key to my problems.
My expectation was a metal instrument
With which to unbolt the lock to my desires.

What I was given is a systematic explanation
Of the symbols of the plan of my life.
This has been a wonderful gift
And I have benefited greatly.

But first I have to stop brooding
About the loss of my wished for trinket.
Putting names on my map helps me
Stay off cliffs and out of rivers

The code is broken
I can decipher direction and intent
The composition of life’s offerings
Fit and harmonize in unimagined ways.

It creates archways strong and unbending
Giving me access to reefs of beauty and rest.
I asked for the means to open a door
But gained entry to the world.