|
January 5
Time’s Temperament Bubbling tides of white water, time roils past me and my protests go unheard. Physic feedback loops revisit raw moments to me with inopportune exactitude. The beautiful droplets of dawn rain down then evaporate leaving another day’s timeline to fan out before me. The alternating fury and jubilation of passing intervals leaves a challenge, first a question of bend or break, second a call to forecast. Can I flex or will I live in pieces? Shall I look at patterns and strive for harmonious waltz or turn my face from the calendar dreading each trice? Bully or benefactor time rolls. I can go with it or be under it that choice is mine. Orbit order ~ THE FLOCK Today I came to a place in the road covered with birds The nearby field - covered in birds - the trees covered. As I approached the birds took wing The flock responded to my presence Each bird flew - the sky darkened with their flight. Wave upon wave, boundaries intact Taking action in the face of obstacle. The gift of instinct displayed for me as I fly to my meeting My instinct rehab, I am learning my intuition My sponsor spoons it to me from the steps. I suck it down never knowing what it is about the process That makes me better Anymore then I know how grain and bugs make birds fly. I have theories, things I roll in my fingers when I'm nervous. I get glimmers. Things my Higher Power sparkles in my eyes for a treat. In truth, I don't know how, I don't need to know Anymore than birds need to know lift to weight ratios. When I respond to life events When I spend less time self-concerned I am closer to self. "Aren't we spiritually centered?" Quips my sponsor "Yes" I reply "One day in a row." "I'm going for the record." "That's all the birds have." "You're doing as well as they." she smiles and pats my back |
January 5
Time’s Temperament Bubbling tides of white water, time roils past me and my protests go unheard. Physic feedback loops revisit raw moments to me with inopportune exactitude. The beautiful droplets of dawn rain down then evaporate leaving another day’s timeline to fan out before me. The alternating fury and jubilation of passing intervals leaves a challenge, first a question of bend or break, second a call to forecast. Can I flex or will I live in pieces? Shall I look at patterns and strive for harmonious waltz or turn my face from the calendar dreading each trice? Bully or benefactor time rolls. I can go with it or be under it that choice is mine. Orbit order ~ THE FLOCK Today I came to a place in the road covered with birds The nearby field - covered in birds - the trees covered. As I approached the birds took wing The flock responded to my presence Each bird flew - the sky darkened with their flight. Wave upon wave, boundaries intact Taking action in the face of obstacle. The gift of instinct displayed for me as I fly to my meeting My instinct rehab, I am learning my intuition My sponsor spoons it to me from the steps. I suck it down never knowing what it is about the process That makes me better Anymore then I know how grain and bugs make birds fly. I have theories, things I roll in my fingers when I'm nervous. I get glimmers. Things my Higher Power sparkles in my eyes for a treat. In truth, I don't know how, I don't need to know Anymore than birds need to know lift to weight ratios. When I respond to life events When I spend less time self-concerned I am closer to self. "Aren't we spiritually centered?" Quips my sponsor "Yes" I reply "One day in a row." "I'm going for the record." "That's all the birds have." "You're doing as well as they." she smiles and pats my back |
New Format
I've seen that boat.! ! :titantic:
Thanks for the BD wishes and all...:dance2: the fun. Thanks for all the posts here too. |
Quote:
All my love, the girl |
January 6
Hand Me Down Pain You have sent a cold thing into my heart it causes my feet to move me away from you. It need not be spoken of this is a thing of ice and lead. Words are no help here action is the only cure. Eternity can be spent with a soul bisected by slivers. Stepping the willing way to joy and freedom seems so unlikely from this frosty local. Make my mind up I must. Close my eyes and move forward. I will leave your pain behind me I hope not to have to leave you. Kiss tiny pebbles and roll them away ~ HELP FROM STRANGE SOURCES I cannot get my mind wrapped around the places I find help. I struggle with believing I have been helped. I struggle with disbelief at my own resistance. I am helped daily by many tiny things seen and unseen. I realize now I was injured by the same tiny things. When I was misaligned with my Higher Power The sun rising, the tiny star I circle in this great nothingness It makes my whole day. The air hanging around just in case I need it, Which I often do. The people who live with me, a mean feat. The people who work with me. Those who exist here with me keep my ship on course, How sweet of them to do mostly right everyday of their lives, What a help that is. The whole ecosystem and all the weather What would I do without it? But this is on a good day, On a bad day, the sun is in my eyes and scorching my skin, The air is too still, or well, the wind is always a problem. And people, people are an endless plight, People do things to hurt, annoy and irritate me, Full intent, targeted to me, my life, my wants destroyed. Bugs seek me and I am followed by the darkest cloud, Everyday, all day, lurking. I AM SO THANKFUL FOR A SPONSOR AND A TENTH STEP |
Wandering down that happy road...at least I can se the Crossroads now.
Some days and some nights were so lost, and now, I just forget where my car is parked... That is normal right? ....Right??? Confusion less Confuscious = my own Yin and Yang :kettlepot: |
January 7
Dion Everything in the world happened before I was born and the cinders sift through my fingers. Accomplishing cohesion of the ashes is a goal I have not yet achieved. Cremains precious but meager are a difficult building material, shifting due to emotions and wind, I find they stick too well to my lungs and not well enough to anything else. Tears help, but I will not cry forever. I must draw from a fresh water source and wet the powdery scratch I have inherited and form the world anew. Use caution when interacting with the crème de la crème this may trigger intolerance * OLD GOLDFISH I got them when my sobriety was new. They were tiny little guys, ten cent feeders. I wanted my stepson to sleep soundly In our strange jumble of a home, fresh from purchase. The tank sat on a dresser under his elevated bed Space to fit my hand to feed them No space for baby boy to climb in I loved my goldfish. There is never a NO with goldfish Feed them as often as you want Let the water get cold Put them in a big space, small place, plants, no plants. NO was so hard, I hate and fear No. I am hard, fish are easy. Tears and mesmerizing aquarium Meetings and steps. I could not keep myself alive I don't know how I kept the fish fed. The program kept me going, Kept hope flowing and the fish swam. In this century when we are finally outliving wild goldfish We are sober together, By the grace of Higher Power, in this century. It's been a wonderful time. I am grateful to be here with the goldfish. I am grateful the goldfish are here for me. Expecting so little Maybe I could return the favor |
Happy Anniversary Tommi!!!!!!!!
33 years on continous sobriety!!!!!!
Daddy, as always you are my inspiration! I hope you enjoy this recovery song by recovery folks! All my love, they girl [nomedia="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gaHwzkk6tOQ"]YouTube- los lonely boys-how far is heaven[/nomedia] . |
Thank you so very much. Well...It is an amazement to me.. :deepthoughts: as I trudge this happy road..
I am one of those miracles ! I did wait for it to happen, and keep watch for the good , the bad, and especially the UUUUGgggggllly. The HP smiles down upon us girl..You too are one of the sober miracles in my life. |
Los Lonely Boys
"Heaven"
Save me from this prison Lord help me get away Cause only you can save me now From this misery Cause I've been lost in my own place And I'm getting' weary How far is heaven And I know I need to change My ways of livin' How far is heaven, Lord can you tell me Cause I've been locked up way too long In this crazy world, how far is heaven I just keep on prayin' Lord Just keep on livin', how far is heaven Lord can you tell me, how far is heaven I just got to know how far, how far is heaven Lord can you tell me Tu que estas en alto cielo, [You that's in a higher place Send me down a blessing] Cause I know there's a better place Than this place I'm livin', how far is heaven So I just got to show some faith And just keep on giving, how far is heaven Lord can you tell me, how far is heaven I just wanna know how far, how far is heaven, Lord can you tell me, how far is heaven, 'cause I just gotta know how far, I just wanna know far . Los Lonely Boys :bandana: |
PS...about service
Sherrie does keep the light on every day, and so much more folks don't know about.
....Sherrie spoke in front of 1,400 young people at a meeting in Eugene, Ore. this past Sat, and it was awesome. She was the main event speaker Sat night at the Hilton Conference Center for Western Area Conference of Young People in Alcoholics Anonymous. http://wacypaa13.org/. She reaches out and touches so many lives, and I am thankful for her daily service here,on other sites where people can read and take away a moment of sobriety that can be that lifesaver to hold onto in the good and bad days. I know. I have been reading her posts for many, many, years. Thank you LeftWriteFemme Just sayin (f)(f)(f)(f)(f)(f)(f)(f)(f)(f)(f)(f) |
January 8
Lathe Turning into a spin, the edge cuts into my misconceptions, the point sharp and accurate to a fault digs into the excess I carry around, keeping me from my useful purpose. A good eye and steady hand are needed lest breakthrough ruin me. Not that all is ever lost for a spoon with a hole in the bowl will stir a soup smooth. Relinquishing my burdens and trusting the carvers tools and methods takes great commitment. I am carved commitment or no, but things turn out better when I don’t flinch. If you can’t make hay then mow the lawn * IN A BACKWATER There is a place so removed, uninspired, ignorance flourishes I hate to go there. I avoid it when I can Today I could not avoid it. Today I saw the gable end of a small barn Half hidden in the scrub trees. On the face of the gable end are two plywood cutouts They are large, taking up the major portion of the space. The first is a budgie, a bright blue parakeet, 7 or 8 feet tall. It is tilted to it's side, it looks dyslexic but intriguing Above it is a cutout of a black guitar, similar in length. Hanging long ways across the top, almost from eve to eve. I don't know what it means. Why they are there. Who could have put them there. A story is there, Just sticking it's tongue out at me. I can hardly bear it. I think of God and laugh. If my God has nothing better to do then tease me, I need a better God. I think of my Higher Power and wonder if the power is curious too. Am I overlapping a layer of consciousness I have no part in? Is this subliminal previews of my future? Am I too nosey for my own good? I just don't know It could be something all together different I have only time. Time will tell in the end it always does. I hate to wait |
January 10
Hoarfrost On balmy evenings dew forms in my life and moistens my extremities. This friendly act requires the maintenance of temperature. If I become suddenly cool the landscape changes and the once welcoming vapor is now a show of crystalline rigidity. Cold to the morning light I am brittle and snap at even a tentative touch. For want of passion I have replaced it with definition and structure I can not absorb. I am outlined clearly but no longer myself. I am frozen, formally changed within and without. Warmth is necessary, but how to start my own fire? Learn, I must and quickly lest frostbite set in. Wear your mantle don’t leave it to the fireplace * LONELINESS EATS MY LUNCH There are days loneliness eats my lunch And I can't fight back. How can I stand it, How can it still be this bad? I pull out the old chestnuts. If I'm not happy with what I have How could I be happier with more? Even tickets on the 50 yard line don't interest me, I came to play. I think of other slogans, the tidbits, the smiles and hugs. I roll them around. Still, there are days my lunch is gulped down And I sit with my plate empty. Pickle juice, coleslaw drool is small comfort Actually, it's a jeer. I stare at my empty plate I turn and twist it, stick my tongue out at it. "Your good company." Says my sponsor Then why am I alone, if I'm so good If my company is worthwhile Why do I sit her hungry and desperate? "Are you sure you are?" It sure feels that way. "Well, it might be true and it might not." I get it. I am unhooked from myself I am ignoring the multitude at my elbow While looking for someone in my lap I'm holding out for old terms from a new contract I am loved by people Who aren't trying to consume me And I am letting my expectations Dine for free. |
January 11
Pepo My father used to destroy a perfectly good watermelon by cutting a triangle in the top and pouring a bottle of vodka into it. I used to destroy my perfectly good melon the same way. Emulating bad ideas in new ways was a onetime pastime of mine. Giving it up was harder than I had expected. Flawed thinking blends so freely with my mental landscape I have trouble distinguishing it. Condemning the action and not the man is not usually my preferred method. I would rather condemn the man, but this leaves me with the actions in place and him long gone. And though I prefer him gone I will recreate him within myself if I don’t flush his actions as well. I have a good pumpkin on my shoulders but it is my job to keep it intact. No need to wait for joy, jump when you please * LIFE IS TOO GOOD I know it sounds crazy, is crazy But I hate having the fear, the gnawing gut, of WHAT IF WHAT IF I can't maintain this, the sober life I live. WHAT IF I get struck, unable to connect to my Higher Power? I had a spiritual awaking WHAT IF I get spiritual narcolepsy? My spiritual cord was cut when I was young, not by my choosing WHAT IF it gets cut again? "WHAT IF this line of thinking cuts it?" Asks my sponsor I hate when she's right. WHAT IF this is a test? Be like them or not. Follow the path of the twelve steps When there is no weight of need pushing me When everything is going in my direction I have to keep my eye on the ball for myself. I am still not God This is the lesson The abusers never learned The one I have to. What went wrong was not bad people Making bad choices, in bad circumstances It was disconnected people Making decisions without help. I have to stay in your pocket Never be a free bird I have to remember what true freedom is It's not being cut loose. I have had that And it never felt free Keep your eye on the ball And hold onto my hand. |
January 12
Live Bait Is being a taunt to others really a life? Dangling as the cover for a hook, luring intended and unintended to their deaths, is that living? Or if I draw you with my attack rather than my appeal is that a worthwhile existence? If I carry myself filled with poison praying for a strike is that anything other than a march to an unhappy grave for two, or more? Hidden under an avalanche of harassment strips me of my vital quality and my soul loses its true nature. I am allowed to transcend the setup of competition and social strife. It’s alright to be tempting with no agenda. I could be an appetizer if only I removed the barbs or better yet I could be dessert. Tuck tiny wishes between your toes. * JOY IS NOT ENOUGH I was driving around in my car Eating a meltingly ripe persimmon On the radio came a fiddle playing band Performing their rendition of In The White Room I was traveling with the three drafts of my first step Version one consisted of 690-some words And the final had only four, JOY IS NOT ENOUGH That's it, the whole thing. Today my life is unmanageable Due to the fact that having a balanced life Feeling my wide range of feelings, including joy, Is not sufficient to eliminate the pain and damage of the past. My horrific childhood has not healed Has not mended seamlessly I have joy today, everyday, at some point In proportion to my sober choices. I fail to realize the promise doesn't say, Heal the past It says, I will not regret the past. I don't, at least not any of the choices I made, Other peoples choices are not mine to regret. I will not wish to shut the door on the past And I don't wish to. I want it Healed I may not get my wish Just because I am doing my part to heal the past Doesn't make anyone else do it I can't strong-arm the perpetrators into recovery The way they strong-armed me into the abuse JOY IS NOT ENOUGH but it's a hell of a start. |
Quote:
Quote:
I just wanted to say that, yet again, your words have really touched something in me. These last two, Life is Too Good and Joy is Not Enough are especially timely for me right now. I love that feeling I get when something I read or hear really connects for me and the light goes on and I finally "get it" ... :deepthoughts: Thank you, Sherrie. |
Quote:
Sherrie |
January 13
Offset I often feel out of round and unmatched to my counterparts. Awkwardly I sit unable to strike a plausible pose. I want my asymmetry to seem chic. I feel a victim of universal ugliness and gracelessly plod through my days. Luckily offset thinking, the partner of my offset soul, saves me. I see that I am uniquely useful, like a screwdriver set at right angles for use where a straight one could not reach. I am counterbalance and compensation. I may be lateral but I am also collateral. I am an embellisher, beneficial in unexpected ways and shouldn’t seek to be inline with the multitude. I am the new growth, the spur to the future. Romance the noodles in your soup * GRAVITY WORKS ALL THE TIME Limits and boundaries are a drag I hate feeling tied to the ground I know I could fly If not for unseen forces I sense myself lightening, smoothing I drop my burdens, I pick up speed Fourth dimension Hell, I'm proverbial vapor trails I should explain, when I get moving this fast I inevitably wind myself into a position Where my head is up my nether regions A place it does not belong I have slowly grown to love my limits No restraint holds me back In reality, I am supported, rooted as it were I am not hydroponic, I can live in the real world I am me Encouraged by the wind and the rain I am not a hothouse flower I am truly free I can walk where I was born to walk I forget life has not been found outside my little world And when it is I am still better off being me |
January 14
Specks Spectacles are for specks; tiny things that must be watched. Commotion is nothing but a congregation of minutia with an audience. How many small things do I strain my eyes to see; then seek help to pursue further? Some of these are put on display fishing for voyeurs. Others are secreted away only to be ferreted out through magnification. Whether curiosity or contempt drives me to these pinpoints I must search my motives before I scan the plain. For truly if I am not careful I, myself will end up either speck or spectacle. Let old wood and old women inhabit the shoreline of your mind. * NO MAPS Maps have existed longer than I have By the time of my birth there was aerial photography Which had made pinpoint accuracy the norm. I can be tracked by satellite on my daily commute I can get a trip tic And travel to the far reaches of this continent "So what is your problem?" Asks my sponsor There is no map for where we've been going There are only the twelve steps, but after that- It is all uncharted territory except of course- For my families warnings about dragons 'Those critters stay to home mostly." She says "You have bigger things to worry about." So where's the map I need to know where to go. No Map, we go through this together The pitfalls are similar, sex and money There are a few others What each of us finds on this journey is uncharted Plus if you spend your time looking down You will miss the view. We prop each other up as we step off into the unknown And reel each other back If we start falling off the beam. How do I know if I'm doing it right "Are you still sober?" Yes, but I'm unsure. Lots of people are sober Right up until the time they're drunk "So true, it's all about motive." It's difficult to chart a heart "Do you have willingness?" Yes, you know I do. I have found that is the vehicle To everywhere, So., Learn to enjoy the ride. |
January 15
Comparison Shopping Cost analysis of the yeas and nays requires a savvy consumer. Every word has a variable price dependant on whom it is spoken to and when it is said. Some words charge compound interest and others pay dividends. Timing and delivery is of the utmost importance. Knowledge of the markets requires constant assessment. The risk to benefit ratio varies widely and the short term verses the long term price can flip the market from profit to loss. Hold my tongue, speak my mind, these must be weighed; the clock consulted and inventories taken. What I say and when can be less a matter of bull or bear than whether or not I can afford to be a sheep. Tap the wellspring of your heart. * FEEDING SQUIRRELS ON A ONE LANE BRIDGE Cattle-corn spread on a single lane bridge The Trap, Food or Safety There are plenty of other choices My disease sees none of them. Gluttony and danger the perfect combination How can I resist? Why would I resist? I have to have More. I cannot depend on my nature The ability God gave me to survive in my environs Help must come from outside And must be wild and dramatic. Inward help is boring Too subtle, to tiresome Where is my image? Where is my excitement? How am I going to prove my God worthy? Without too much Without perilous risk and rescue I can't. I can't prove my God My God doesn't need to prove anything to me. I can find my way off the beaten path Away from the prying eyes of rubberneckers. No cheers from the crowd are necessary I have the equipment, it comes standard When I take the controls And follow the twelve step tutorial. I should be able to manage just fine No Mack truck in my face As I stuff myself With ill gotten grain. |
January 16
Bon Comfort or motivation these are the two major reasons for building a fire. Sometimes I set it before me other times under me. The warmth can be soothing and the light dazzling, but licking flames move me off the spot like nothing else. Fuel and surrounds contribute to the effect. Mental state and personal company provide dampening or air. How high the flames rise or how long they burn varies widely. Inspiring my passions, my thoughts, my fears the conflagration is an apt tool as long as I don’t go up in smoke. Try to go sometimes with the grain and others against it. * IN THE COMFORT OF MY ROOM I sit and panic concerning the future. I have come through Hell Built a safe and satisfying life But it will all end soon, I can feel it. The tide rises in my soul. The blood red tide of self-doubt and degradation. I fail to see my strength or intelligence Hell, I can't even remember the sheer willingness which has carried me this far. All I see is shreds. Tattered little bits of my hopes and dreams Scattered by the breeze of fate. What is the point of me being in this sweet space If I'm going to intellectually turn it into a dungeon? Why set out fluffy pillows Only to frighten myself daily With thoughts of their removal? How can I pray for safety and practice personal terrorism? My mind is closed to the double-side of life. I know the destruction but forget the glory. I have washed ashore in the land of love and support I need not drag my mind and spirit to the nether world of hopelessness I've been to the dark places My task is to warm in the sunlight today. |
January 17
Hades There is a strangeness to the dark. A velvety comfort when my paranoia is not alive with ice crystals and contempt. Cocoons of light create hives of life in an otherwise isolating phenomena. Pressing to my skin I can wear the night out as a jewel, a talisman for the hope I dare not share. Pixies and faeries inhabit dawn’s wee hours but the black blank stretch of space is home to things quite different. Unspeakable in their face I allow them to pass. Should I be carried off my return is eminent for half the seeds remain. Not wholly ransomed I live only part time in the sun. When the shadows fall there is the oddness of home I can neither embrace nor deny. Load the scale in your favor. * THERE IS A TREE There is a tree in the woods I've seen it. It was cut off from any visible source of Strength or sustenance. Carried aloft by surrounding trees The splintered trunk dangles in the air It makes no connection to the forest floor. I know the feeling I have been cut off too. Violently separated from my God, as it were. I probe the fractured stump at the bottom of my soul. I explore the crevices Seeking tendrils of hope. My anxiety bonds to my frustrations But faith eludes me. I look down to the broken place The view unrealized by me. I have a vista of unimagined beauty Provided to me by the growth of others. I am eye to eye with my peers, Held in their loving embrace. I bloom and flower with them. I endure the winters the same as they And come spring am stronger for it. I don't know why I was damaged. I don't know why I was saved. I am grateful it is done. My sponsor says "It's for our sobriety And the pleasure of your company." |
33 Seasons , the Chargers and the Pittsburgh Steelers
I celebrated my belly birthday and my sober and clean 33rd anniversary with my girl, who has 22 years sobriety, in a Sports Bar watching football on January 3rd. We were in Eugene, OR, where she spoke in front of 1,400 people at the Western Area Confernece of Youth in AA the night before.. Neither of us drink. She doesn't enjoy football, but loves me more than anything. We were staying @ the Hilton, that did not have my favorite team on TV in the room or in the lounge. It's the end of the season... She suggested we go to a place that had the game on..THAT IS TRUE LOVE..:3femme:
I will watch Football today, and she knows I won't be drinking, but will be jumping up and down and yelling anyway. Growing up near Pittsburgh, the Steelers were GOD's and we celebrated by toasting them, again and again. A habit I took to heart, and enjoyed at the expense of family, friends and work. Drinking took me away from the day to day. Today, No beer in hand cheering for my favorite team. My friends won't be getting another keg. No drunken weaving on the road home from those party days and nights. I will watch Football today and remember the game. I will cheer for my team, be with sane friends, and drive home, not get a DUI, or kill an innocent person. I will watch football today, and celebrate 33 years of being sober and clean and cheer for the San Diego chargers.. and my girl loves me and knows I love her more than football (even if I only talk at 1/2 time). It's good to be free of :angry: and just play :pile: :lol2::footballpass: :freak::footballpass: :football::cheerleader: San Diego Chargers vs. NY Jets |
January 18
Between Two Chains The curving movement half seen sweeps forward and catches me squarely on the chin. Realization glimmers that next time it will strike me in the mouth and I take a step back. I estimate the returning arc, raise my arms, push the board back from whence it came. As it hurtles toward me once more I reposition. Force returns force; fury comes vigorously my way and I thrust with strength and enthusiasm. And this is fine for what it is. I have learned how not to get hit. I can push when I get shoved. How much better will it be when I can get on and swing? Tie your lose ends into bows. * IN THE PRAIRIE In the prairie there are small fenced cemeteries Family plots. The flat expanse of land opens to the eye Hand carved monuments stand in testimony To love and service. In these places grow wild flowers These places cordoned off From mechanization and agribusiness Held in trust are the bones of loved ones And the soul of nature. Blue bells, paint brush, lupines And all manner of reedy grasses. Deep inside me is a place like this. The place I have buried my young. The little ones who died of shame, neglect and hurt. And I must return, not to exhume the dead But to pay tribute. To return with honor and love Harvest the daisies and buttercups. Grow them in the garden of my heart. I can tend the flowers Which spring from destruction I can mingle them with the growth of my sober life. Restore my prairie To a splendor it has never known. I can enjoy the bounty Of saving seeds worth saving And planting my Higher Powers will for me. |
January 19
What Is A Sheep To Do? Things are bad out there. I see the trouble as I circle within the flock. Many of us whisper to each other as we pass. How can I create lasting change? Is there something helpful that will not separate me from my precious life, something that will not make me prey to the vultures before I even realize that I’m dead? How can I live and strive while the wolves hold the hilltops? Is the choice merely, one death or the other? Is there an as yet unseen path? Can I find it while maintaining my place in this congregation? What is a sheep to do? Topple the toys from their bins and play . Tea or Sympathy Tears pouring into the teacup growing cold on the table create a sea of emotions uncharted. If I can not offer sympathy to the contents, the soulless heal that I am, how then do I expect to have a future? If I will tender only meager tolerance toward the spindled thing valiantly trying to beat within me why do I even show my face to the mirror? If shoulders are cold and turned inward then I will collapse into the inexpressive, dismal thing that has been misshapen through misuse and I might as well drink the chilly tea for that’s all the comfort I’ll get. I must do better by myself in order to brew a better world. Smooth one hand with the other. * SOD Green and black Pinwheels of rolled grass Speed by me on a flat bed. Sod Headed for home That is how it is for me. I grew up in a place of impermanence A place clearly not my destination Uprooted and prepared for relocation I am in transition. My future surroundings unknown Will be a perfect fit. I have been anticipated Grown for a purpose of which I am uninformed. I have done my part, I am ready to lay down my roots And become a lawn of seamless expanse Somewhere my Higher Power is grading a hill Smoothing the way. I am ready to take my place In the landscape Of sober living and right thinking. |
January 20
Saurian or Dalliance I love to be mystical, but the only dragon in my life is when I drag on and on. Procrastination is the winged beast in my world. I armor plate the thing, shiny and gleaming, my loitering delay is mightily impressive and you might think it would take flight from the way it postures but departure has been adjourned in favor of misgiving and postponement. I wander through the forest attempting to appear brave and feeling it occasionally while my tale grows longer. I need the fierce face and sharp claws; I can beat the mythology if I will just continue to take action. Never confuse signposts for guideposts. * THE FROG Stretched in the water Still The frog hangs. The pond is barely a tea cup Sufficient for communion Of God and frog. I watch the frog Unblinking Savoring respiration. In a pond in Maine, I bore the posture Center-stage A quarter mile of water all around. I hold my head above the surface And feel I am in the eye of Gods creation Face to face with benevolence. Peace spars with uneasy smallness I am a tiny speck, floating in the soup. I am one organism in a sea teaming with life. I am a part of Not protected But equal to the rest. Can I bare this reality The struggle of living On a web? Can I live a humble life Knowing I am favored no more then the rest? Can I set aside my need For preferential treatment A God given Band-Aid for my multitude of hurt? "If you can't, you will drink." Says my sponsor "If I have to live this way I will cry." I respond. "That is your God given right." |
January 21
Guest Flag The polite thing to do is fly the silly blue rectangle with its equally silly white diagonal stripe. That would be the polite thing, for sure but that would peek my disease’s hold card. If anyone knew that my illness was sailing my ship instead of me the effect would be ruined. Or so says the canker that grips me and steers me to disaster. Announcing this day-tripper as an unentitled accessory to whatever wrong I am about to commit might warn my friends or enlist my sponsor, but no I leave my colors fly and endanger the surrounding water. For in truth my flag is just as fraudulent as this vessel and is only on loan to me as well. Panoramic inventory shows the landscape in a better light. * THE MUSIC I hear a tinkling noise and look around the room. No, it's coming from my head. It's the sound of the music of my life. The bells, a horn or two The strings, Always the strings. The sharp clear cry of the vixen Calling from the hedgerow The lonely voice of resolve. The melody shifts Tomorrow's tune warming up In the wee hours of the night. I don't try to part my lips Replication is not a possibility I am only just learning to move with the rhythm. Keep the beat in my heart And draw it down For my toe to tap. I cannot sing my song I must let it live in me awhile longer. I can't share things of which I haven't had my fill. Giving too much Too often Makes the anthem run thin. I have to be fully me, to be full voiced. I need to stew in the juice Of overflowing harmony. The pounding of my feet on the steps unite the accord Wild things and practiced plans Put forward the waves of life on earth. I follow Placing my feet in well worn trends The dance school reopened for sober living. Passion plays and calls my response For today, I pass I leave the song inside |
January 22
Lathhouse I want to face the sun. I want to stand and the wind to blow. I want the rain uninterrupted on my head. I want to remain upright and unburnt, to prevail amidst it all. Tender stalks and verdant leaves frustrate my anti-social streak. I want to bear the worst without cover or assistance but here I am in the slanted shade of this dynasty. As I grow so does the awareness that even when I am strong enough to leave this sheltered abode I will be relocated to a row where I am never alone. Dream of a way to paddle a round boat. * THE PRIVILEGE OF SUN RISE I awake happily at 5:30. I will again see the show beyond compare In stark contrast to the mornings I filled with moping or sober angst, Shades of the same dark color. I shuck my covers Bathing and dressing with purpose And propel myself forward. I hate to miss the first act. Down--------------------------- The tint of clouds dusky and sweet I'm on my route I start my open eyed prayer. For all those living at the hands of an addict Be with them---Please For the addicts Help us all to fail----Fast I scan the horizon Checking all the views I reflect on the striking change, Earth bound green and gold Sky held pink, orange and blue. The silhouettes of trees exquisitely lit from behind. The sweet moon sharing the sunrise with me Add to the pleasure of my drive. I start my gratitude list. Beginning with my sobriety Each moment. The people, The life, The thinking, The feeling And my ability To share it all With You |
January 23
Frankie “Why do I expect new leaves to grow on dead sticks?” I pleaded to my sponsor. “Is that a ‘why do fools fall in love’, question?” she retorted. “Oh, I suppose it is. I was doing so well having a ‘listen only’ relationship with someone then she asked why I don’t tell her my opinion and I like a ‘fool’ I told her. The ensuing pile of rationalizing and justifying she gave stank up my whole day.” “I bet your steady stream of self reproach didn’t help either,” my sponsor added. “But, I know better!” I cried. “I mean this is why I stopped my speaking role with this girl. I know she is a reactor NOT a listener. How could I fall apart at her first recognition that I am wordless in the face of her diatribes?” “You were hopeful. Is that such a crime? You think better of people than they really are. I think that helps you stay willing to help them,” she soothed. “Yes, but this snapped my willingness to work with her in half. How do I put it back together?” “Maybe you needed to learn that it’s okay to leave the dead sticks behind.” Why do turnips look like tops and turnip tops look like greens? * COMPOST Looking at the bins The stages of decomposition Remind me of my disease The stinking garbage I came in with. I have learned to work my program The same way I learned to tend my pile Personal experience, advice, watching And smelling, the mistakes of myself and others. I learned covering thoroughly with meetings And steps works like leaves and hay To eliminate the immediate stench. Circulation is important to prevent me from becoming stale. In the end, the secret is turning it over. If I don't turn it over I become putrid. I rot and ferment instead of decomposing, Breaking down in a way which restores me to usefulness. When I work the process My higher Power turns me into a medium of growth. A renewed source of life and depth. I become rich in all things that matter. I am sought after by all the people involved In planting seeds of hope. My sponsor says, “It’s a sign of humility That I aspire to be like dirt." Encouraging sprouts From the remnants Of my past. She might be right |
January 24
The Max Factor I apply foundation and rouge to make up the difference between reality and expectation. My composition is unexamined by onlookers; appearance is the subliminal standard bearer. My brave face is plaster cast as an estimation and a singularity. Powder gives and takes power; builds a glass ceiling then a glass floor. What I owe my mind is more than what I allow its representation to be. I am made up to a spot on the wall from which I can not move, all because I wanted to put my best face forward. Cuddle up to curiosity * LIFE AS AN ELM I stand tall My bark sloughing elongated rectangles Great bunions of wood protruding Giant bubbles of tight grain grown in reactionary curls. These tumors born of abuse and endured in maturation Are harvested in recovery The burden of them severed from me By the sharp teeth of truth. Sectioning these masses For purposes of inventory Allows the twisted and deformed wood To become dry and constructive. I inlay the contorted sheets of history Into the panels of the doors AA built for me. The doors built to exit hell Which gave me access to the world beyond. I stand in the woods Reaching the sky Sinking deeply in the underlying spring Surrounded by the joys of reality. Things unseen in my pain Consumed Blister covered life of addiction Life was a forest of one. The wind hit me The snow fell on me The drought Affected only me. Today, lightened by the loss Of my inappropriate growth I grow together with my sponsor, My group and the We. I can accept shade and shelter Also offer it. The bugs and parasites meet With the resistance of communal health. My disease Has no harbor, Not in my bark, Not in my heart. Today My program Strips me of my disabilities And makes me strong in camaraderie |
January 25
Responding to Response Thankfully I’m not in charge of what is so freely given in this program. I want it to be available, but I want gratitude to be the universal response. At first I thought I couldn’t understand how anyone could hold this gift in their hands and not feel grateful, truth is I know exactly how that’s done and I don’t want to look at that ugly thing. “Cunning, Baffling, Powerful” But they left out how repulsive it is, maybe they didn’t want to see it either, or thought it was self-explanatory. No matter which, I’m glad I am not the arbiter of the flowing fount that is recovery, I might have been tempted to cap and meter it, killing all the beauty and wild randomness that makes it real and true. I despair that others don’t recover as I recover and yet I am relieved that I didn’t have to drink as they drank. I have to see those around me well enough to stay out of their traps or follow their leads, whichever is appropriate, but I don’t have to adjudicate their reply. Pick up sticks and put downs stones * THE BUTTON BOX I go to my button box To sort out my life. I lay out the matching sets The various sizes, shapes and colors. Coat buttons are commanding But unsuitable for delicate places. The tiny pearl buttons with shanks pull my attention But work well only on silks. The metal, shell and horn buttons Come from such far off places And all end up crossing my table As I try to see clearly how to stick with the winners. I know the people represented in this box. The strong, the loud, the beautiful. I know the weak and the unique, The ones of special circumstances and occasions. I come to the realization the simple ones, The buttons sewn on the inside, The ones who silently give strength And support to the large and the small alike. The ones which come in every shade and size, Who match their ability To service they render others, These are my favorites. They make secure all the things I love and trust Flat and unobtrusive these buttons Hold fast the fabric of my life. |
January 26
A Living Love What I love about the program is that it is a living thing, like me. It is not perfect, it is growing and changing, adapting and correcting for each experience and need. AA is a life into life process and saves me because life begets life, no matter what I was told. The answer to life is living and I get to see that being done by everyone from newcomer to old-timer each at his or her personal ability. I am allowed to dangle my feet, wade, tread-water and swim, all under the watchful eye of loving support and critical pretender. Difficulty is not removed nor is the way made smooth, but I am no longer without a thread to hold. I love the web I help weave myself into and feel protected from the spider of my addiction because together we are living proof. Bear Grace * DEEP IN THE SEA Under the mirror There is life Under what I reflect to the world I am a world apart. I smile sweetly, political in my response To confrontation and conflict Deep, deep in the sea, is a current of sadness I can't always shake. Pain is the past But it's there like a moray Lurking to strike aimlessly, pointlessly At the passersby. The ripping teeth And the cold stare My terror No way to escape it. I focus on the topside The reflective part of me. I keep as clean And free as can be. I stick to my business List my goals and make plans The water runs cold Then hot beneath. I carry the steps to this underwater grave Trying to inflate the rubber skin of god But No There is no life in the god of my understanding Or maybe there is no life. For the character the drowned balloon represents The sea is bigger than me. The life stronger and more abundant. The sky it reflects as vast as liquid I swim There is a Power And it doesn't need that comic book face. Safety is not the requirement That can be granted. Lack of safety does not end my life It does not end God |
January 27
Simplicity Itself My life runs at a Gilbert and Sullivan pace, with about as much sense and comic relief. You say 'keep it simple' and my disease says 'why ruin a good play?’ The truth is this is not play at all but a work that consumes my life from me and doesn't thank me for my time. Simplicity for me requires respect, a gift I selectively give myself; a gift that I often use only as a shield during battle. My past method of increased self-respect is life in a war zone. This is no solution. Release of grief, this is the onerous path I avoid taking. Purging the wrong thinking and action of others from my blood, my eyes, my skin, allows me to lift my chin and square my soul to plumb and level living, don self-respect as a birth right and set a calendar fit for plausible life, a simple life. If you are not a hero in your own home you are not a hero * HIDE AND SEEK I have sought You High and Low But like the rain You have always found me. I like a cold, wet cat on a winters day Peer into warm lit windows Hoping You will be home. I seek to keep moving You find me for some unknown reason. I have given up Naming You. I trust You know who you are In spite of the fact I do not. You are places I don't know Doing things I think better of. Citing the list of errands I daily make for You, Not to beleaguer You But the unfinished list of history Trails out of my pocket. I worry I may possess Your only copy Of this Injustice List. There have been days of peace Days I don't think too much. Days I turn away from My history lessons and future projections. My ultimate problem is with the equal sign I run the numbers and it figures inequity. I check my calculations and shake The calculator of my mind. Deeply, I fear You're a one god And do not comprehend The implications of zero. If you multiply with only things above naught You may be unaware of nothingness. The empty things I feel When I can't seem to find you. Self-possessed - insensitive of the cipher Your dimensions stay positive. Bring me into Your realm or join me in the void. I seek You But You have found me. |
January 28
Sponsorship Right now, as I think of sponsorship, I think of all the things I have done wrong. Times when I was not understanding enough and times when I was too understanding and enabling. Sponsors I chose for ulterior motives and the ones I didn't challenge when they wandered away. I search my mind for the ingredients that were in the mix when things went well and the dominant component was willingness, mine and theirs. Whether I was sponsor or sponsee, willingness overrode ability, determination and love. We had to come to the table willing, this was never something we were able to cook up or construct. Nor is it something I can always hold onto, sometimes willingness evaporates or slips away like sand in a clenched fist. The permanence and impermanence of sponsorship awes and frightens me. Like a guidewire twisted from many strands none of which reaches from end to end I worry about the unraveling but depend on the strength. Expectations are incubating resentments * THREE TOYS FLOATING I bat the ducks across the surface of my bath. Soaking is supposed to calm me, I'm waiting. I assure you, my impatience is no help to this process. These yellow, tub-bound misfits, grinning at me Don't fill me with the joy of living either. I have blown bubbles until I'm blue I smell like a French elevator from the bath oil. My hair is stiff with conditioner My face packed with mud. "Do the right thing." Said my sponsor She is such a pain. Here I am, bubble bath to my arm pits And not a hint of peace Her question rings, "What do you want?" But isn't it obvious, if I knew that What would I be doing Wrinkling in this swilling vat? I wouldn't. I would be out doing my thing. Whatever, that thing is. How I'm going to figure myself out I don't know And, She, is no help (you know who She is, She is the sponsor lady) So what do I want? World peace, a clue, maybe just a hint But I know part of it I know more than I admit. I want Sobriety and Happiness, Dignity and Respect Enough time to do these things And Love. "Well" says she, those things are easy Work the steps, then the traditions, Practice them, do service And take the advice you give your own sponsees" I stick out my tongue in her general direction. |
January 29
Inertia in•er•tia n. 1. Physics. The tendency of a body to resist acceleration; the tendency of a body at rest to remain at rest or of a body in straight line motion to stay in motion in a straight line unless acted on by an outside force. 2. Resistance or disinclination to motion, action, or change This force is real; the laws that govern it act on me for well and ill. When I’m on a roll it’s hard to guide me and like the girl with the curl; when I’m stuck, I’m very, very stuck and it’s awful. I am bound by this reality and go or stay according to what is set in motion or stopped, but what about ‘the outside force’? Am I in charge of summoning ‘it’ or is ‘it’ summonable at all? Will ‘it’ obey like the dog, or obey like the cat? Or is ‘it’ more random than the rain? Can ‘it’ be lured or tempted or does ‘it lure and tempt me? And the biggest questions on my mind: Is ‘the outside force’ also subject to inertia? Are we in this together? What is ‘its’ outside force? Might it have something to do with me? Wash one pain at a time * NURSE What if the word God is like the word nurse? What if the person is only the simple meaning? The actor doing the service The plain act, uncontrollable from my end. What if my active part of God, Is the same as my active part of nurse? What I draw down, how I schedule myself To be ready when the milk arrives. How I pull and am satisfied Digest and draw again. Like the sea laps at the shore, The moon tugging it all the while. What if God is about my hunger, Satisfaction dependent on finding a suitable teat? Maybe this is why, when it comes to God Much of what I do, is cry. When faced with my need, I open my mouth Finding only two possible responses, Suck or Scream. My aching consumes me and I don't know how to calm myself. I look for the caretaker, the person, the deed. I need sucker but never look for the breast. I am the child of God. I must learn to draw God in |
January 30
The Was and the Is The Silent Scream that existed as a placeholder for my G-d was incomprehensible to me. I entered AA and was informed that understanding my Higher Power was required not just some far distant goal. In true alcoholic form my first move was to shun G-d. This made room for my rage which was in much need of the space. After a few fine years of dissipation I lost interest in incendiary devices no matter how large their detonation capacity. Having cleared the room I brought in G-d as potted plant. I talked to it occasionally, watered and fed it, mostly ignored it. Growing in spite of lacking ministrations G-d was an unobtrusive force living in the corner changing gas into air and demanding nothing. As I quelled my apprehension and lived with the Presence I looked, listened, probed and questioned the subtle Force sharing the room. “Add it up,” chanted the children in my ear, “run the numbers, settle the accounts.” I calculated proofs and discarded the faulty and inaccurate. What was left, the whole, not the remainder was mine to keep, but it was not everything. I haven’t an everything G-d, because I am not a nothing person. I am something and G-d is something too. We are complimentary, like pairs of angles who come full circle. Show the sun the souls of your feet * TRUST You can trust people to be who they are. I am a different being in relationship to different people. To some I am the center of their constellation, The sun burning bright, I 'm all they can see. To others I am the moon, Orbiting them, silent and dedicated. With another group, I am a comet streaking through the sky, Seldom seen but well remembered. For many I am a distant star. One among the multitude, blending in the night with the other signs. Then there are the folks who see me in a more down to earth way, I am the dirt beneath their feet. The farmer sees me as a plant to be tended. The cowboys view me as a horse to be broken. To fisherman I'm a catch. I am what people want to see. So what can I trust them to be? Wrapped in their own worlds Yes, mostly I guess, None of my business in the end. I watch them and learn what I want to do, who I want to be. In large part by avoiding what I see them do. I do trust people to serve as bad examples, often And good ones infrequently. |
January 31
Principles before Personalities............and gratitude! As with everything I have to be careful of how I infer meaning. You say ‘Principles before Personalities’ and I hear, Their principles and Their personalities, immediately I’m on a tear. How different if I think of ‘my’ principles and ‘my’ personality. When I face it this way it is reflexive; I embrace my principles and my personality falls into step. I am safe and sane therefore gratitude follows just as the topic suggests. Good orderly direction is elegant when I don’t reverse direction. There is an obvious way to pet the cat when I accept that we get along fine, when I don’t………well, need I say more? Books open minds, music opens hearts * WHEN I WAS YOUNG I'm sure it will come soon A time I can be carefree, innocent. Worn and weary, I slog through the painful Over awareness of what was considered my childhood. What can I do but hope things will get simpler as I age. My sobriety takes years from my face. Lines slip from me and I feel the weight lift from my shoulders. My tender branches twisted with the constant force of wind Bud and flower in the shelter of recovery Holding them in their own embrace. Colors seep to the windows of my mind Forming pictures and carrying me to a new world. Limpid pools, a place I dive, as I look to the mirror. Serenity a rebounding of life fills me And I am the gentle girl I missed so long. Longing for my loveliness, I cry at the sight of my baby one. I have not yet taken my place on the swing But I have been down to the edge of the playground And run barefoot in the sand. I will be who I was to be, it's late but it's better. I know well enough To enjoy it as it comes Treasure it for every sweetness. I will come into my youth |
February 1
Know Enough to Clap If I know I’m happy I can clap my hands, but if I’m happy and I don’t know it, what then? Will my face display tell tale signs without whispering a word of it to my mind? Will I whistle a happy tune therefore revealing my inner state? If I can’t demonstrate my reality does it cease to exist? Does my retarded ability to reflect my emotion condemn me to remedial society? Is there any other society? If I become well enough to reflexively feel and exhibit my mood will I graduate to the advanced class or be forever alone no longer having a place amid the emotional head bangers, hair twirlers and cobweb pickers? Is it a choice of knowing happiness in isolation or confusion with a crowd? Could I know? Should I know? Would I know? Who knows? Iron your will * THE DIFFERENCE Falling and flying are the same, save the landing. No matter what you do in the air, how well or how poorly In the end, if you don't land, it's a fall And if you do, a flight. How we begin seems of ultimate importance But is seen as a farce in the face of ruin. The most promising of starts can be sucked ground ward, Compass and instrumentation rendered useless, through lack of humility. Piteous starts, starts without plan or goal Are viewed as triumphs when safety has been captured from defeat. Willingness is my aileron It contributes to my lift in ways I cannot explain. It smoothes the gusts of life which forever blow in my face And willingness brings the ground up to meet me. All I have to do is be willing And stick out my feet. |
February 2
The Inside Half I have drunk deeply from the glass set before me. I’m not entirely sure that I am half way through, but I am into it a goodly bit. I would be happy to have another 19 years; nineteen more hours would be a gift, too. That glass might be half empty but I am at least half full and I am amazed! I am regularly stunned by the prodigies this half trek has born to term; equally dazzled by how quickly the generations compound in this painstaking construction. Development both internal and assembled surpasses my wildest imaginings. Amazement is my most constant companion, more than gratitude and as of late even outstripping willingness my most trusted ally. Shock has been replace by wonder, bewilderment with surprise, I am fortified with these feeling realities and look happily to finishing the rest of what is in that glass. Turn left into your right mind * DUCK TONGUE Trying to get out of myself, I travel to an Asian fish market and grocery I had heard has very fresh fish. Greeted at the door by thirty large and lively tarpila Swimming in their tank, I felt my mood lift. The captured beauty gave me pause. Shiny and silvery, the faces banged at the glass As they tried to get a better look at my entrance. Like passengers packed on a subway car, The fish jockeyed for position near the glass. Further inside, I see the wonders we have extracted from the sea, Cuttlefish, conch, squid, mussels, clams, Whole fish of every stripe. My belief in a power of diversity strengthens And I smile. Leaving the seafood section, I head forward, To the refrigerated cases of other types of meat. Frozen pigs tail, fowl with feet on, the novel variety pleasing. When I approach the trays neatly filled with rows of chicken feet I break out in a grin. Thoughts of soup and days gone by flutter through my mind. Finding formed foam piles with layer after layer Of ducks tongues was my limit Spinning in my mind, Who? Why? Oh no! But in the end I came to care About how these minuscule flaps of leather Were placed. The person whose job is done well And to the fact people are just people. We do what we do. For reasons unimagined to the rest And we do it, With full faith And hopeful breath. |
February 3
Today’s Math Today is 12/06/06 this is an equation to me, 12 = 6 + 6, simple. Not everything is, but math always works for me. My Higher Power is math based and one of my major decision making tools is to run the equation of the presenting situation. There are many constants in my life and those numbers are easier to calculate the variables often prove more difficult. Scalable problems allow for my Geometry. Proofs are a comfort when I can get them. Set Theory is what I settle for when I can’t. I try to show all my work and have others check my calculations. I can’t tell you how often a simple error in addition or subtraction has fouled my whole equation not to mention my equilibrium. In conclusion I would like to say it is now 12= 9 + 6 and somehow I’ve lost three days, or did I gain them? See how tricky the signs are. Put misconception up for sale * HOW LIKE THE MOON I show the shining bright face to the world But cannot enumerate the dark. I change and turn for all to see Glowing silver, to full fledged smile. I inventory all phases Can tell you from wax to wane But the darkness, the anchor to my lonely life I can only guess. I feel my way across the unknown topography Searching with fingers and faith To find the secrets Of this magic nightmare. And What? What is the thing to break it? Hope, Reverence, A detailed map Or is the darkness just a fact, Part of the big equation, the equalizer of the light? If this is so, how best to live with it? Continue the search or post barriers, Go ever forward looking for an answer, Endear myself to the void? The choices are always mine The way seldom clear. |
| All times are GMT -6. The time now is 04:22 PM. |
ButchFemmePlanet.com
All information copyright of BFP 2018