August 20



Dewy, Cheatum & Howe


I must radically sever the close connection I have with self-seeking, self-pity and dishonesty. What will I use to pay the retainer for the representation I will need to pursue this divorce? Willingness is the earnest money, which will start the ball rolling, hard work pitches in its share and faith pays the note each day I apply it. All this and more is what it takes to divide the endless stream of my compulsive thought into a survivable days worth of life. I have the prospect of being happy as a divorcee or I could be a miserable widow if I stay wed to my disease.





Try not to be the exception to everything

*

PROMISE BROKEN

If promise shatters without anyone touching it,
If it pops like a floating soap bubble that lost it cohesion,
What do I do--name names--I can’t even take fingerprints.

Sometimes dreams just end--no fault or blame is attached.
The ice breaks under it’s own weight
And nothing can be done.

I am more than just holding on.
I am alive even if all the promises melt away.
I can accept the unexpected and unasked for.

I know this doesn’t affect my worth.
My value is intact regardless of disappointment or discontent.
I have learned that anticipation is mere amusement.
Promises are pleasantries
.
I am made of stronger stuff.
I am not broken by words, ideas or hope.
Promise can be broken
But it doesn’t break me.

August 21



Hang on or Dance


Because I felt ‘outcomes’ slipping through my fingertips I dug in with my nails, I schemed, plotted, worried, whined. Lack of power was my problem I thought, but what it came down to was, failure to acknowledge… accept… failure to surrender to the reality of powerlessness. The only thing I learned from resistance was an intimate knowledge of futility. When I embraced truth… the facts…when I live with the gravity of masses not fight against it; I began to enjoy the weather, knowing I did not pull the clouds or push the storm. I’m back in the dance of people moving about me, all keeping with the time, it is not mine to keep.




Befriend science

*

CHANNELING

It’s a full feeling to be a channel.
Only an empty feeling when it’s blocked
At the base of my spine
And God can’t go to my head.

The river flows through me and my banks will hold
Excuses dam me up
And leave a dry and lifeless basin
With tributaries taxed for usefulness.

Staying in the groove conveys my Higher Powers will
Without need of my furrowed brow.
A hose with no water running
Is a place for spiders to spin.

If I shut off the service I am a breeding ground
For creeping sadness and shocking misery
Compliance allow me the view
Of flowing strength and rushing joy
The greatest of which is living with intent.

August 22



Up to Date

The future is a prison I escape by staying in today. The tiny windows which open to strange foreknowledge have barbs rather than bars and inflict painful wounds when I attempt too close examination. My business is here and now; the currency like manna, good only for the duration of the day and nothing further. Pretty dreams and colossal disaster float as baubles on the horizon but I need to take down my focus from such far off vistas; adjusting the optics for a clear view of where I am standing. Circumscription is what the destiny becomes when I try to live in it too soon. Novelty is what it is to be living in the very moment I am currently breathing in.





Find ways to embrace the random nature of life

*

ORIGAMI

I fold my reality like origami
Everyday a shape to suit my whim.

A dog when I feel like begging.
A horse when I want to trot away.
A pot to brew up some potion.

A penguin when I feel cold
And I stand on my egg all day.

I can bend and flex, change my image
But in the end I am truly flat and lifeless
A construct of imagination but soulless and boring.

Reality cannot be my creation,
Made in accordion of my mind.

Truth and breath come like wind
And I need to let them change direction
And change me too.

August 23




Carrion


The trouble with not burying my dead issues is that in very short order they begin to smell and not, too long after that they start to attract vultures. Alternately when I am able to drain all the juice out of these botherations and they become freeze-dried decorations like Roy Rodger’s Trigger, I find that I can still climb aboard but they just don’t take me anywhere. I have found, just for me that I prefer visiting the grave of a past problem far better than having to live with its corpse, but then I am funny like that. I have never been one for hanging on to crucifixion, other’s or my own.







Don’t wait for the bell of courage to sound, go ring it yourself


*

THE CALL

Within the sound of your voice
I sing.
In the beat of your heart
I heal.

I feel in your touch
And dance when your toe starts to tap.
I see myself in your beauty
And warm inside your embrace.

Your thoughts are my inspiration.
Your lungs breathe me in and blow me out.
I soar in your flight
And dream in your waking.

I ring in your ears
Fall with your tears.
I’m lost in you
And found in you.

I travel and lounge in you
I share all your rantings and hide in your secrets
You hear and caress me, my darling
You know who I am.

August 24



Just Say NO to Bushel Baskets


Spending my life under a bushel basket kept me from realizing who I am. I thought because of the close quarters I knew myself better than those free to explore the world, yet, alas, no. I am unaware of the world outside and inside the bin; this woven covering served to sever all true communications. Even in places where my candle burned through, it couldn’t allow sufficient light, in or out, for as much as an SOS or a night light. Here I am, not knowing my abilities… my possibilities…. or my worth and there is the world, standing a startled stranger from me, for I only know it as the circle around my feet and nothing more.






Manipulate your mind until it is supple and flexible


*

HARD TIMES

Sometimes I pack the earth down so hard
that weeds can’t even grow up through.
I try to make nature inert.
I try to kill my alcoholism.

I confine my disease to this tiny path of compacted dirt
and wear blinders as to ward off distractions.
I forget there is a garden to be grown
in the fertile ground of my recovering mind.

Losing the compulsion to drink is a gift.
Stopping my mind from thinking is soul murder.
I can sink my toes in the good brown soil
and look to the lilies and Queen Ann’s Lace for inspiration
.
I can stop giving myself such a hard time.

August 25




Echidna’s Child



The difference between perplexed paranoia and procrastination is sometimes a subtle distinction. The confusion which swirls, confounding me along my trudge, gets the name of procrastinator. I am not at all sure I should continue to call it by that name. I believe that quite possibly I am an internal chimera, a blend of creatures, both mythic and fantastic, striving to live as one functioning specter, in a world too hard for a disparate visage as myself. When I am most myself, when the goal is pure and true, I work with a will. When I am making deadly compromise and risking my soul for social ease or the approval of the keepers, my dragon heart rebels and I am struggling against the fire in my stomach and fear screaming in my head. I don’t know how to eliminate the conflict, but for now I will attempt to stop calling myself names.




Beware of hopelessness it has a big imagination
*

WATERLINE

The interface of water and land is compelling.
Soothing but dramatic I’m drawn to this transition.
I stand and watch the lap, lap, lapping of the liquid to the land.

The gift of one place to another calls me.
Change and transition exhilarate my senses.
Whether it is rock or sand, river or sea,
I feel the pull to watch life in response.

Boundaries are beautiful.
Borders allow safety and recreation not just risk.
When I embrace this in life I embrace it in me.

August 26




Make Use of Brown Soap


When I have death in my pocket it makes it easy to cross the street without a glance. A little arsenic in my in my veins allows me to swallow the rest with no thought beyond want. Twist the screws tight enough in my brain and no other pressure seems problematic. All of the trouble in the world can beat a path to my door when I carry within me the seeds of destruction. I have to check myself for stow-away devastation. Ruin begins in tiny droplets but will wash me down the drain if not wiped immediately from my skin. Vigilant acknowledgement of the power of small burdens protects me from the mind blown ravages of the ensuing cyclone. Microbes cause mayhem, so I must watch where I touch and wash before I eat.






Don’t keep your windows shuttered; don’t keep your eyes closed

*

UNIFIED THEORY

When I build the circuit correctly the light comes on.
When I heal the shards together the bell rings.
If I am meticulous and attentive, if the world is gracious
And bares herself to my mind I will see how everything fits.

I know the reflexive nature of things
And the way life folds one thing inside the other.
Whale song is a long slow underwater birdcall.
Moon rise, sun rise, then the moon again.

The universe works without my interference
But also without complete understanding.
I am learning how to be a part of a beautiful maze
I long to comprehend it.

The weeds are trying to take back the city
If I lay down maybe they will take me back too.
If I keep my eyes open I might see it all unfold.
Conception without is my desire within.

August 27




Burning with Desire


You cannot stop the flames from licking me by telling me I am not on fire. For some reason you do not perceive the flames; you do not know fire. I cradle the desperate hope that you will recognize the ashes when the burn is done. By then it is too late for rescue, but the field is then wide open for regret. Resplendent is what I thought I was before the fire broke out. Now I feel like a misunderstood mansion torched to make way for a Walmart.




Dream your own dreams


*

FUNK & WAGNALL’S BACK PORCH

Bottoms come sealed in envelopes
From unknown accountants.
Amazing how many nominees and how few winners.
The audience filled with past recipients
Hold their collective breaths.

They pray for this years finalist
And pray a bigger prayer
Of thanks to this years donors,
The ones who prove with their lives
That it hasn’t gotten better out there.

The speeches are the same.
A gratitude list and maybe a punch line.
The smiles and tears fresh but familiar.

When the lights go out on this night,
The days of diligence begin once again
So no one need loose their seat
And we can all celebrate here next year together.

August 28





Defining the Indefinable

What is Alcoholism? What is a Hurricane? What is a Cataclysm? I know I look for the root cause, look to predict the outcome, look to prevention and preservation of this thing which comes pouring from the four winds to land in my dooryard and knock on my screen door. What it shows me today, the furious winds, the slanting rain, may not be how it presents tomorrow, but I must keep in mind it is all the same storm and must be regarded with the same respect and treated with the same care and diligence. Whether it’s the thirst or the thinking, a jail cell or my mental mouse trap, alcoholism is an umbrella term for the tsunami, which came to collect me, but no definition will convey the devastation it has wrought.






Make sure you are more than your memories

*

THE FRUIT BOWL

Meetings are living and precious fruit
I must squeeze every drop from them
even the lemons.

I am privileged to be among the succulent growth
and pungent fragrance of determined hearts
and minds ----the infusion of strength.

The vitality received from the essence of truth
gives and gives to me.
I am refreshed by exposure to raw talent
revived by action and growth.

The diversity of shape and flavor
cheer and inspire me.
The contrast from bowl to challis is dramatic
ever a reminder to stay where it’s fresh.

Love your August 28th post, Sherry.

Today, I do not try to hide the elephant in the living room under the rug. It was always so futile, anyway. And I was the last to know.

I chose to unmask, reveal him. This robbed him of his power.

Today, he cooperates. See him now.
:elefant:

Here is my support, my program.
:pile:

It is always there for us ... anyone who seeks it with sincere desire. We only have to chose it ... then cooperate ... follow a few simple suggestions.

I pray I continue making the correct choice ... one day at a time.
Today, the fight is over and what an enormous relief.

Peace.
Brock

Thanks so much Brock! I am so glad you like this post! It's good to see the elephant is out and dancing!!! I'm keeping your sponsor in my thoughts and prayers today.

Sherry,

Thanks so much for keeping Cheryl in your thoughts and prayers. I am thinking I will hear from her within an hour from now. They get their results back before they leave the testing facility ... so she will know if she passed it. It is a very tough computer certification exam and she has studied for about the past three months. I admire her grit. The good thing is she can take it again if she did not pass it today. And there is no shame in that. I believe she told me it costs her $250.00 to take it.

Enjoy your Saturday! :)

P.S.
Yes, the elephant is dancing today. He danced yesterday also. I honestly believe if I keep doing what I am doing, he will dance again tomorrow. Just so thankful I do not have to wrestle with him anymore. I was getting all mashed to heck and banged up pretty bad!! He always won in the end back then. I had to cease fighting everything and everyone. Amazing, that is when I noticed he started dancing. LOL!

Ohhhhhhhhh ...

Cheryl just called and she was crying. She missed the passing mark by 4 questions. I hate this for her.

We talked. I told her I am proud of her no matter what. Wow, the fact she is attempting to study for this without any bootcamp training speaks volumnes about her determination and grit. She can take it again and the only thing that will change is her date on her certification. We are going to get together later on today. She wants to see my new dog.

The thing today is we people in the program are able to face life on life's terms, endure disappointments and not drink. With the tools provided by the program, we are winners ... we pick up and utilize those tools instead of the drink ... these tools that have been so freely given - made available to us. Before, we had no choice ... we did what we had to do during desperate events - which of course brought on more and more unraveling. At least, that is how it was back then for me but I could never, ever see it. Recovery opened my eyes.

Cheryl is okay. She even got to laughing. She made $1000.00 a while back on a job referral who was hired. She looked on the bright side, realized it has not cost her anything and still has more tries at the exam before it starts costing her out of pocket. Cheryl is a sport, I tell you. And a winner too! I am proud to call her my sponsor. :)

What a good attitude! Test can be hell. Please tell her I'm rooting for her.

The dog is so cute! What a nice pair of dogs you have.

I love your description of of the elephant dancing!!

I'm sure Cheryl will ace the test next time!

Have a great weekend!

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

September 5


No Reason

Reason falls through, where it lands is a place of unknown seascape and unrelenting tides. The roar in my ears furthers the disorienting effect of relocation. At first it seems easier to let go of reason but when I descend into madness I scramble for purchase; looking for sanity like a cleft in a cliff. Loss of skin and blood is nothing to compare to the loss of my mind. I believe I could be more easily separated from a limb or two than to lose rein on my brain. Reason falls through; I must follow even though the terrain is arduous and my heart is sometimes faint, for without reason there is no reason and without reason there is no life.




Write songs to the dead, sing them to the living

*

HATCHLING

When the shell gets too tight
It’s time to hatch.
I can’t tell you it’s safe out there
Just that it’s time to go.

The leaving is not easy.
Exodus fulfilled by the use of one small tooth
This experience may or may not prepare you
For the rest of your life.

So much still depends on predestination
And your attitude.
I mean are you a chicken or a hawk?
A peacock or a dove?
Or is there something of which I am unaware.

Did someone sit on your nest
Or cover it with sand?
Are you a turtle, lizard or snake?
See so much is out of your hands
But still your actions are your choice.

Today, sitting in a meeting I never go to, I realized that sometimes I dont know my own truth until I hear it coming from somebody elses mouth.

Greatful today, for a new chance to grow in unexpected directions.

Pearls

That is wonderful!!!!!! I am so glad to be sober with you!

Hugs,

Sherrie

September 6



Nightcrawlers and Nightingales



I wriggle blind eyed through the dirt; friction, my friend giving me something to push against, resistance aiding my travels. I worm my way through life and believed that was all there was; having never seen the sky. I traveled far and wide once I had taken to the air. Open eyed I push against a thing I cannot see and peer down on the dirt I left behind. I soar rather than struggle and go the distance leaving my mind open to the next frontier.







Say what everyone knows in a way that no one thought of

*

HUMILITY

A great woman walks my street everyday.
She carries a tall walking stick with a loop for her hand.
Each morning I see her low crown of hair and the half smile,
Her friendly wave when I catch her eye.

Each morning when I see her
I see the secret play across her face--humility.
This is the secret she cannot share.
I know she would sing it from the mountain tops if it would help.
But humility is not a secret you can tell.

It’s a secret you have to live with.
As I slowly learn this precious thing I see it shine in others.
Recognition of persons with inborn dignity
And a keen understanding of their personal value lights inside me.

When I see this fine woman walking with purpose
I appreciate myself better and am so very grateful
For those who keep humility alive by living it.

September 7



Genius



I am often bonded to a self which thinks I know everything and when in doubt believes I should know even if I don’t. Freeing me of this requires the constant support of friends and neighbors’ assuring me that in a capricious world willingness is a more practical resource; it packs neatly and handles most jobs with aplomb. Staying consistently free from the bondage of self requires truckloads of willingness and the spirit of humility and sometimes even forgiveness. I am freer when I like myself, for the true bondage of self is the hatred of self.



Acknowledge the marks left by the street you came from

*

YES---THAT TOO

When kindness becomes weakness,
When mental agility becomes emotional instability,
It’s time to reassess everything.

I cannot leave things off my inventory
Because my Grandma, society or the preacher says
It’s a good thing to be.

Every blessing can be a curse.
All my characteristics have their dark side.
I have to list the entirety of my cargo
And keep a watchful eye.

I have to moderate my investment
In all my abilities or lose myself.
Warmth is nice but I don’t want Death Valley.

Integrity requires balance
Or depraved indifference will be the outcome.
Weak or strong, right or wrong.
It all goes on the scale.

September 8




Helping Hands?


Why would you go to a rattler for a snakebite remedy? It feels so much like the hair of the dog that bit me. The truth is I must, must stay away from the quick answers. I am a slow healer, but I do heal if I allow myself to do so unencumbered by poison or untruth. When I am returning to the vomit of my past it is incumbent upon me to search for the old lies and/or the new ones, either or both will get me drunk; do I even need the help of a prescription pad?






Never cage harbingers

*

SELF-SEEKING IS A DEBIT

Trying to get credit for everything I do
Has run me into debt in my anonymity account
Which draws directly from my humility bank.

I cannot expend my resources seeking acknowledgement
And expect to retain much dignity or class.
How can I build within, while constantly grasping,
For nods and smiles from scenery and landscaping?

I want approval so much that I have lost my center.
In an attempt to top the charts I forgot my song.
My ego writes checks that my soul can’t cover.

I run my potential into the red
Looking to get my name in black and white.
If I keep my name out of lights
I have a chance of building up my dignity.

September 9




Barnum, Bailey & Me


When I wake to find a whip and a chair by the side of my bed I know I am in for a circus of a day and the tears of this clown will not change a thing. I ready myself for the tightrope walk and watch out for stray elephants. All the trained poodles in the world can’t make this into a day in the park. Painted ponies prance through their paces; I try to stick to my own act, meanwhile remembering that no matter how difficult these routines may be it still beats a seat in the stands.






Raffle off the surplus grit from your nitty gritty

*

MEGAPHONE

The point of surviving
Or maybe the goal after survival
Is enabling the voices of victims to be heard
Starting with my own.

I allow the surging waves of thought and feelings
To rush the gates and exit
I try to bleed the bad
With and without the use of leaches.

So much is stumbled upon rather than sought after,
Some things hound me, I run down the street
With memory at my heels
I must let the screams out or become them.

Today I talk, tomorrow is for others.
When I pour forth I open the way for the rest
I have become the megaphone
Rather than the cheerleader
It is good to be of use.

September 10



Oh the Wells Fargo Wagon



Tying myself to one rail of a set of railroad tracks gets me the same results as tying myself to the other. Swapping one chemical fix for another is like changing my socks in a rainstorm, nothing dry will come of it. Not seeing potential harm does not eliminate the harm. Like a child with my hands pressed firmly over my eyes I yell, “You can’t see me,” and run headlong into disaster. Whether the train comes and makes a mess or not I make my own soup Ducky and must get on track by staying off the rails.




Go relax on the porch of your imagination

*
WILD

When I run wild through the rain
My hair streaming behind me
Water fleeing my face
I see with my heart
The thousand other rains
Pouring from my past.

How I peel from me the soaking luggage
Covering my naked pain
Nothing drives me to the cozy retreat
Of my bed like the humid chill
Of an early fall drizzle.

I slip my trembling skin between the comfort
And the comforter, flex my toes,
Towel my hair, wipe scenes of lost love
From my pale, pale soul.
Leaves rush my gutters, clog my mind.

I see the change in me as I turn heel to heel.
Trees spinning bare in a blank wet world,
I know this ever relived fluid, recycled life.

Sherry, your writing here hits the nail on the head:

"Swapping one chemical fix for another is like changing my socks in a rainstorm, nothing dry will come of it."

Hope things are good with you. :)

This past Tuesday and Wednesday were rough at work. Not the actual work but a noisy, very noisy women in cubicle beside me. Yesterday was better. This really gets to me sometimes when I am trying to concentrate but I love my job, specifically the technology I am working in, what I am getting to do ... plus a terrific supervisor. Yesterday it was 11:00 before I knew it ... that is always an indicator to me I am enjoying myself. Regarding the noise on previous days, it was about about sticking the earplugs in deep and accepting life on life's terms. If the earplugs are not enough, I put on my headphones and listen to some Led Zepplin tunes. Two of my women friends at work, who are terrific cooks, have been feeding me all week. They see the situation I am trying to tolerate and what is going on. Becky also made me a cake. Have you ever heard of a "sweet milk cake?" It is a wet cake and oh my gosh, the best cake I have ever eaten in my life. I ate every bit of it in two days except the large hunk I gave my buddy, Jerry. He loved it too. Becky and Rosemary always feed people at work as a comfort mechanism. I have figured out it is their way of showing people they care ... it is not just me they cook for. They put the food in the refrigerator with my name on it, then send me an email that morning. I appreciate them so much but I had difficulty buttoning my pants yesterday morning. :( I need to back off the goodies this weekend - cannot stand too tight clothes.

There was an older guy at the noon meeting on Labor Day (Monday) who had time and relapsed for one day on Sunday. He shared about it when it was his turn. I knew when I sat down one chair over from him at the beginning of the meeting that something was wrong. He was so dumbfounded, so filled with enormous shame and humiliation, said family members had regained all their trust in him and then he let them down when he picked up. Sherry, I felt so bad for him. Sunday was one year since his wife's death. If we chose, we can use any excuse. I know this but still my heart went out to him. He was so emotionally banged up. Cunning, baffling, powerful - it is true!

My sponsor was in New York City for a week. She got home on Wednesday. Her mother came home with her with her to visit. They met there for holiday and to visit Cheryl's brother. I get to meet her mother tomorrow and am pretty excited. Cheryl is having a get together at her house, she mentioned a cook out by the pool so this will be fun. I am chairing the Women's 6:00 Sunday night meetings for the next three weeks. I will be researching a topic before then - time to dig around in our AA literature. Chairing is so good for me because it puts me more in the books.

My new dog, Kevin Daniel, is a wonderful blessing. He and Kelly, my female, love each other. I tell you, she is smiling now all the time. Poor baby needed a companion to keep her company while I am at work. I whisper in her ear "Do you like him, do you like Kevin?" I wish you could see her face when I ask her this. She immediately wags her tail and starts licking my hand. They know each other's names.

Wow, I sure was chatty here. I am aware I get quite verbose a lot of the time. LOL!

Loved the new photos of you and Tommi in the gallery.
Time to shower and get to work.
Happy Friday and hope you have a fantastic weekend. :)
Brock

September 11



Louet


Consolidating fuzz into yarn makes me a friend to sheep everywhere. Spinning the filaments of truth into cables of life does not impress the mutton in anyway, but sure does my mental health a world of good. Free floating fiber is bad for my lungs and piles lint all around. Giving things a firm twist pulls together what used to be fluff and keeps me warm and dry.





Jones for candor


*
WORKS

I cry the waterworks so necessary to the healing of my heart.
I explode with the fireworks required
For anger to set living boundaries.

I sleep the sleep of angels, as I link to dream works
Allowing mental maintenance to occur,
Slip into my political face, making time for public works.

I return to my abode, call the pie maker and order “the works”.
Have it delivered so I can face the homework
Waiting for me and baring my name.

September 12



Hypothetical


Is my inability to understand what creates mystery? If I were brighter, swifter, keener, would life be free of unknown communion? Would comprehension eliminate revelation? Would I lose perceptual apprehension by arming myself with knowledge of forethought? Could I end mysticism through education? Should I even if I could?





Sample other people’s assets

*
OPTICAL ILLUSIONS



Like my new frames? I ask my sponsor
Who wrote you prescription?
Oh the lenses aren’t new just the frames, I reply.

You want to be seen differently,
but you want to see things the same old way?
My question still stands---
Who wrote you the script for those funhouse glasses
you have used all your life?

Did it ever occur to you the distortion is ground into the glass?
Remember some people need you to see things other than what they are.
Unhappy families look great if you can’t see them too clearly.

It’s hard to know what to say to keep the peace--said Grandma.
She never took off her specs to see there was no peace to keep.
So I ask you again --The view of the world you base your choices on
who chose the color you see it through?

September 13


Cadentia



The randomness of love is matched only by the randomness of loss. What slips into view or out of grasp whispers beyond my control. Like cookies baking in a nearby oven I long for the sweetness to be inside; even if it is simply in an olfactory way. The similarity of the pain of what I have and the pain of what is no longer mine haunts me; scares my security, rattles my hope, affects my sleep. For minutes make a life and moments are all it takes to remove the very same. In the end all that I know is that loss does not remove love and love does not remove loss.







Check your drawers for memories
*

SCREAMING LETHARGY

The screaming lethargy of being alive
after many years of wanting something else.
The exhaustion of pulsing, breathing waves,
waves of thinking.

Yet as tired as I am, I am.
Here without a doubt, I stand.
No crawling, for I have not fallen.
No climbing, for I have reached the plain.

I wait for the rain to wash over me.
The truth to run through me, time to pass by me.
Like a free trip to an unwelcome destination
I arrive with randomly packed bags and low expectations.

I am here now.
The train doesn’t seem to be moving on.
I might as well leave the station.
Nothing to do on the platform.

There may be points of interest
or flowers to be smelled.
I step haltingly and fear making any connection
to this unbidden place.

My name is unknown.
I befriend the lamppost, the birds, the street.
I am tired from travel,
Fearful of arrival.

Fury courses through my veins
but the weather is pleasant.
I might take off my coat and stay.

September 14



Heartfelt


Boab trees litter my dreams; gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun, I wonder at the tales they tell though I am far too young to understand. The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life; they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind. Coming to age seems merely a step when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life. Too long drought, too deep rain, are places I can pick my face up from, stand my ground or be on my way. The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams and I will return to my life.





Chime in
*

HOME TO HOPE

Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days
And I have trouble finding my way home to hope.
Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk.

Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail.
I am lost.
Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention.

I wander deeper into a dismal wood.
How can I chop my way free?
Dejection dulls my senses, I am blind to solemn assurance.

I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky
Skepticism passes like storm clouds.
I may feel the rain for a time.

Necessity reigns on both sides of every street
But still I can crawl into my bed
Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.

September 15



Warhol Wouldn’t Be


There is no trick to art. If I work to make my pieces fit with the familiar I lose my individuality. If I make what is truly me I fear there is no line in which to stand. I must make the work, find the market, live life and die happy; all this with no map and a world filled with people who tell me what to do, but none who can guarantee the outcome. My unwillingness to fight, to look at and feel the ugliness of life is at the core of my impediment.



Except change then accept change

*

LINEAGE



People stand in the cue and I stare,
Lost in contemplation and compliance
I weigh the conflicts and complications.

Is this the method to clear identification?
I think I am better known for the lines I’ve crossed,
The times I press between warm souls
And force myself to the area beyond.

How can I wait my turn for generational stew
When the fruit trees bear life for those who break free
From ruts and rumbles to bite deeply the flesh of the future?

I can’t stand here though I love so many in this line.
I cannot love the line itself.
I must step through, breathe,
Stretch my legs and mind.

Take leave of grids and locks
Living a lonelier but healthier life
All caused by a change in direction.

Hey Brock!

Sorry it has taken me so long to write back, the days have been flying away from me. I am in the book building process of the new coloring books that Tommi collaborated with me to create. I love hys work, hy is such a fine artist! I am so delighted to have my work next to hys, this is pretty exciting for me!

I hope this week has been better for you at work! It must be hard to say no when women are cooking for you. I grew up in a family where food was love, if someone meant something to you cooking was the way to convey that. I still haven't gotten over it either, when I fly to west to see Tommi, filling hys freezer with individual containers of my cooking is a very important task to me. I know hy says not to worry about it, but I feel like that is a demonstration of my affection.

It is so cool that the dogs know each other's names and that they like each other! What a great pair they must be!

I'm glad you liked what I wrote, that means a whole bunch to me!

I hope the guy whose wife died is doing okay, it is tough on folks when they relapse. I will keep him in my prayers.

You are in my prayers too. I wish you well, Brock. Have a great rest of the week!

Sherrie

I am going to two AA meetings tomorrow! Well, actually, they are coming to me!

One during the day, with my sponsor. She is bringing people over to plant my shrubs and then are staying to hold a meeting for me since I cant get out for another week to ten days.

My AA buddy is coming over late afternoon and bringing some girls from rehab and holding a meeting for me here before they head out to their huge meeting that night.

I need some meetings too. While I talk with people over the phone and on the internet, I need connection....

I hope you have great meetings!!! I agree with you keeping connected is so important to me, too!!!

September 16




Hand Washing


I live a simple life now; I handle life as it is dished up. I no longer need to make use of the dish prison. Living an orderly active life I find it untenable to have my favorite spoon or bowl held hostage until I make enough mess to run the dishwasher through. I don’t live an ‘Eight is Enough’ type existence and need not burden my psyche trying to save my hands a little soap. I save the Cascade for visits to waterfalls, Jet Dry for landing strips.




Smile with all the parts of your face

*

DEATH PRACTICE

Why do you practice death like it were a skill?
Do you fear you lack ability, or because it’s your goal
Have you made it your hobby?
Beleaguered by the questions of my sponsor
I search quickly for some believable response.

I confused calm with death
And thought I was practicing the former.
Death came for a holiday
How could I refuse it.
It’s a test drive, if I like it I can keep it.

My sponsor doesn’t think I’m funny.
Check your motives, wants and desires,
Make sure death is what you really want,
That it’s not just your fallback position
Because you fear life.

Don’t get me wrong
I hope death is a good thing
But why try to chew tomorrows food
When your plate is full of today?

September 17




Ovoid



I can pretend at this normal life for a period of time then the plaster starts to crack on this white picket fence and it’s all down hill from there. I am better than I was; I am happier and more well adjusted, yet I am still far from fitting with the standard fittings, I am an off size, my threads run counter to the average fixture, I spent too much time on the rack to resemble anything from off the rack. It’s not that I am so special; it is just that I am Special Ed. Performance anxiety and paranoia regularly take me out of round though even with these kept at bay I am not your normal nut. I assure you that you can dress me up and take me out, just don’t try to take me home.





Remind yourself of your friends

*

WEE HOURS



In the wee hours I hear the high pitched wail
the tiny pest whining in my ear
the onset of my thin stretched nerves reaching their end.

A few more hours are required of me tonight
I rally my spirit and lift the edges of my willing resolve.
Long slow nights carry me to far corners of my mind.

I am more average than I had imagined or hoped for.
The commonness of four AM brings base to disclosure
the charmed exposure of predawn wakefulness.

The fuzzy vibrations in my brain make me feel deep and real
Vulnerable to all the normal limitations of nature and caprice.
The sun will rise, ending this night.
My sentry over I will fall to earth, and rest, and bed.