Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 5

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; 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 will 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 it or not.”
“I can tell you because you take step 3.”


Color a page using only three crayons.


*


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 God’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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 6

MORE



Sometimes people get more than they can handle. The evidence of this is their insanity or death. God is not the actuary of heaven, managing tragedy the way my loan officer manages my debt load. The victim blamers run to the ‘lack of faith’ accusation. I have to keep my hands tightly on the wheel of life or risk strangling the parrots who chirp outlandish claims but tries to make it sound like help. I have to live with what I experience as real and be sober today. I will have to leave the measure of ‘more’ to time out of mind.


Lift your feet and let the chaos pass underneath
*



Two Things That Should Be One

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

The difference between God’s will and my will
Is that 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 God’s will are miles apart,
but they needn’t be.
God is the president of my fan club;
I just need to start attending the meetings.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 7

ARABIAN DAYS

There are days I feel like Scheherazade and could spin a thousand tales. Other days I feel my brain grab for its satchel and exit my ear. I find it hard to be a hospitable host to all of me, but when I stretch or strain my elbow or knee I think, “oh well, they go out, they go out,” but if my brain runs off and leaves me I am in a serious mess. I try to be a lover of my mind for when I don’t I grow small in my heart. I scent the mental bath water and light the little lights; I sing sweet songs. I wait for response. I smile broadly to hear the quick report of Rimsky-Korsakov.


Don’t transpose your feelings.


*
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 raised my chin until I met her eyes. “Better,” said she.
“I follow you?” I ask.
“Me, yes, if I have what you want,
follow others if I don’t,” she said.

“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”

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 8

CONSERVATION OF LOVE


Love does not diminish. It recycles like the rain, ever in transition and transmission. Love is not salvationary or redemptive. Nor do I believe it to be the currency of Godliness. Love is an element like cobalt or gold, it has weight and substance. Love is the coinage of responsibility not a door out of consequences. Love, true love, inspires right action, never cowardice or disrespect. In this strange amelioration, standing in the wings of realism, love is love no longer. Love is the standard I have to bear, not the canopy I stand beneath. In the frozen center, love cannot endure the pressure of misinformation, and melts with friction, floods with irresponsibility. Love, like money, admiration and sex, has its place and must not have expectation of being more than it is. With that said, Love is peerless, to be treasured, protected and shared.

Run away with your heart but bring your mind.

*
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 allover
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, yes it is.”

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 9

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 free 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.


Open one eye and wink at the possibilities.

*
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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 10

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 an IMAX film of the realities of life on earth, and 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.


Write love letters with your favorite pen.

*
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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 11

BIRDS & BEES




Birds and bees can get me drunk. I have to watch the amount of envy which pours through me as I watch their wondrous bliss. When others make a bee-line 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.


Pad barefoot through intention.

*
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.