Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 18

CLAW MARKS



There is a brackish river whose current changes direction twice a day. Its bed is well washed on every side. It begs the question: which way is downhill? There are times I struggle uphill in both directions. There are times I slip from every slope. What was 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 fingertips.


Design caution signs for your emotions.
*


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,
makes them shift in their seats
and wish me away.

I prevent banishment
by either being problem free
or solution-full

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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 19

DROWNING NAKED


Bare and exposed, I laid myself on the altar of my home group. With AA as 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 the more secluded and effective place of transmission. I thrust myself into the arms and mind of my sponsor. She escorted me up 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.


Wrap your intentions in wool to keep them warm and in gold to keep them untarnished.
*



Bound


The reason the sleeves of my disease
wrap around and tie in the back
is so that I will struggle with change.

Alcoholism is my straightjacket
and my goal is that ‘loose garment life’
I’ve heard so much about.

The sweat I work up
from railing against my confining existence
causes petulance, frothing and enervated,

Defeat is the landing on which I collapse,
acceptance a flight of steps away.
My ailment leads me to believe
I have nothing to hold onto as I adjust.

Though this isn’t true,
the fact remains that this is still
a process of letting go.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 20

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 epaulets.


Listen intently enough to hear the music of the planets spinning in your mind.
*




Bummed
I accept change
like coins slipped into a cup
that sits beside me on the curb.
Never did it occur to me
that I look in need of pity
or alms from strangers;
Which is to say
I don’t accept much these days,
yet I do not fight it either.
I keep my head down
when I can no longer fend off the inevitable.
I may not win control or compliance,
Might not remain strong enough to fight another day,
but this too is a blessing somehow.
A laying down of arms.
Money in my pocket
makes the world a funny place to endure
when I’m living in the tiny room in my head.
What good news it would be
if I learned to throw the windows open
and let the day take me.
This time it’s God
that needs to wear the ear muffs
and lead me through the coldness of change.
On my own I just walk farther
down the blind alleys
and fold myself on this sidewalk in exhaustion.
I don’t like the tea or the sympathy,
but I don’t think I would mind if God took me in.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 21

SOLIDITY



Apprehension stands in the archeological site that 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.


When your emotions are at low tide, explore the shoreline for shells and trinkets.
*


More Better


When I take a break from my idyllic life,
trading up to paradise,
I balk at thoughts of returning
to the simply marvelous
day to day I have worked so hard to attain.

Self accusation floods under the door,
but I whimilate it with fact.
My reluctance to turn my back on a good thing
is an asset which many days keeps me sober.

I greedily seize every improvement
and hold on for dear life.
If reflections of the past
even held a glimmer for me I might worry;

I turn from all but the highest good.
I don’t regret the past
but I shall never return to it.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 22

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 is the hope. I worry I will put down the wrong one, so I hold on to 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 has to say.


Give yourself credit in a currency that enriches your life.
*


Halloween


“Why does self-centered fear wear a costume
that looks so much like ‘other people’s opinion’?”
I asked my sponsor.

“For the same reason
that booze masquerades as ‘a good time.’
How would you ever fall into a pit
which used no pretense?

Naked ambition attracts far fewer devotees than addicts of
‘must make Mama and Daddy proud’
or the ‘doing better for my kids’ crowd.”

“Ambition is not all together bad!” I crow.
“Neither is fear in its proper scale,
but fear cloaks itself to seize more than its share of your life,
just like any parasite.

So take your spring tonic like a good kid
and keep the worms at bay.”

Day 83

The more days I get behind me the less I have to say for myself. Well, on the internet anyway.

This week I'm enjoying a little serenity. I ask God (the one of my understanding) for His will in my life (almost) daily. This has led to a (surprising) lack of worry, despite having a couple of things I could really go to town worrying about and 10+ hours a night sleep.

The only real current problem is school but I'm not giving up. Somehow, some way, I will get through this semester....Deo volente!

It's a much more interesting journey this time around.

Over the last weeks I have been going to 7 meetings in 6days a week and taking an evening off on a Thursday. It feels right to do this. 'Tis better than sitting at home isolating myself. This pattern will change when it's right for it to do so.

Sherrie, my sweet 'merican chum...I'm still loving the Frogs of Sobriety even if I'm not commenting upon them

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 23

CRUMPLED PETALS IN MY POCKET



I can’t bring back the bloom. Cohesion, lost in 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 of 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.


Line your clouds with anything you like.
*




Coming Home to Work


I have arrived home to a beehive;
everyone industrious,
everyone filled with purpose,
everything buzzing right along.

My response to this of course is anger.
I have a sting and I want to use it.
I have a place it falls into yet I fear falling.

The living world is now opened to me,
but my destination had been death for so long
that the prospect of diligence ignites steel blue fury.

I divide my time between gratitude and rage.
I want to accuse myself, rescue myself,
then I remember everyone in this place too
has a buzz, a stripe and a stinger.