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Old 02-08-2018, 10:15 AM   #2681
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February 8



ACCIDENT OF BIRTH

We are here together, born the millstones about one another’s necks. Parentage equates to persuasion and I hold these strangers to my breast. Minds having chosen, violent turns skew off radar’s blip. I am held by guilt’s tight sutures to this motley mass. I long for the freedom of birds to fly far from my nest mates. Possessing sense enough not to neighbor with owners of my same genetic skin, I dream to be a turtle of the sea and meet each other in neutral waterways, friends for seasons of choice, far from the family shore. Accidents brought us together. Let kindness emancipate us.


Test your mind with poetry.

*


From Pen to Progress



“Leave those gaters in the paddock
awhile longer,” said my sponsor.
I gave a little better than a cursory glance
at the hulking forms
though I did stay strictly on my side of the fence
and grasped tighter the hand of my custodian.

The onceover, worked fine as my first pass through
the creatures of the swamp,
I didn’t fully grasp what lay beyond the petting zoo,
but given my newness this wasn’t entirely a bad thing.

On second run I was in a boat
with a glass bottom and a guide, I had vision, clarity.
Third time through was a charm,
swim fins and a rope tied about my waist,
it was all too real.

I floundered and had to be hauled bodily
by my home group, my sponsor stood anchor.
I have numbered and charted these murky waters now
and I see the lure they have for my ailing, twisted mind;

The intensity of the brutes awash
and the dark calling to dark
makes that sick sense that only an alcoholic can parse.

I have to take to those byways
with supplies and reinforcements.
Never swim alone!



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Old 02-09-2018, 08:09 AM   #2682
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February 9


READY

Ready or not here it comes: life on terms of its own. Bracing for the onslaught of gravity I grip too well the implements of past days. Fearing the pressure, I lay in my shallow grave, the ground having been scooped out by hand. Withering from expectation, my blood runs slow and dark, reducing to coagulated futility, losing my life in anticipation of death. Attempts at being less as means of protection fail. Less is not a solution; fading does not make life more livable. It makes me unavailable. Readiness is my responsibility; it is momentary. Momentary is sufficient. Sobriety is nothing more than lining myself up with the needs of this instant. I need go no further. Whole solutions, not my department. Showing up, dressed and washed, ball and bat in hand if possible, but just making it to the lineup is my full time job. Even if I never swing, it is still better than being buried in the field.


Put a joke in your pocket.
*


Simultaneous Acceptance



Being typical is a difficult thing to live with,
but I am typical.
Being extraordinary is a challenging thing
to live up to, but this is also mine to bear,
you see I am a typical alcoholic after all.

Walking with one foot in each camp is not enough.
I must simultaneously accept both
my common commonality
and my lottery winner uniqueness
If I am to travel hand in hand with my Higher Power.

If I don’t integrate this double reality,
allow it to imprint my thoughts
the way it is tattooed in my DNA
I can not possibly take the biggest step of all.

Drop my judgment of these things
so that humility can dwell within.
You see there is not enough room in the vortex
of my humanness to accommodate the jags of verdict

And the desire for the sublime smoothness of humility.
I can’t chase humility, I have had to face that,
but I can remove the impediments to its residence.


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Old 02-10-2018, 05:19 AM   #2683
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February 10



FORGIVENESS

“Forgiveness is not something to force on people like unwanted coffee,” says my sponsor.
Everyone tells me forgive, forgive, forgive.
“These are the same folks who said, ‘stay and have another drink.’ It is only appropriate to forgive people who ask for forgiveness and show you with their behavior that they want it. It is never appropriate to shove forgiveness on people who haven’t asked, show no signs of wanting it, or demonstrate just the opposite.”
I thought forgiveness was to help me feel better.
“Letting go of resentments is to make you feel better. Making amends to the people you’ve hurt, and cleaning up your side of the street is to make you feel better. Keeping an open mind and heart will make you ready for the possibility of someone coming to make amends. Forgiveness is a two-way street; anything you have to throw over someone like a net is usually a mistake,” she says with a wink, and then she has the nerve to curtsy.



Design your dream tea.
*


Hospitality


What unites us, heals us, serves us,
is the hospitality of the program.
Fellowship encircles us and draws us close,
in a word unites us, hospitality is our core.

Hospital is the root of hospitality
and recovery is the route to health,
hospitality is the skeleton of recovery.

Hospitable aid,
the true gift of self is hospitality;
hospitality the master of A.A.




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Old 02-11-2018, 11:46 AM   #2684
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February 11


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 my complete understanding. I am learning how to be a part of this 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.



Make emotional bouquets for your mind.
*


Recognition

All I have are these two hands
I can not lift the world
All I have are these two legs
I can not flee the hoards

All I have is this one heart
though need and want prevail
All that’s left is this one mind
to try to tell this tale.

Everything in this bright orb
is there for me to see
Everything laid out before me
all that I can be

Everything that I perceive as wrong
and know it in my heart
Everything I think to touch
and change believing it’s my art

Once I take the giant reins
acceptance escapes the scene
Once the fates are in my grasp
chaos is the theme

Once the sight of my right place
is lost from in my mind
Once I try to fill the great big shoes
is the day that I go blind.



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Old 02-12-2018, 07:02 AM   #2685
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February 12


MY TALE

I must be my own tattletale. I must give my sponsor bullets to shoot down my disease. Anything I protect and nurture will grow and overtake me. It is up to me to choose if I will feed my ailment or my health. My life will be consumed, that is a guarantee; all things feed into others. The direction this meal takes is my daily decision. The bull’s eye can be hit if I describe the target. The ending will be happy if the story I tell is my own.



Calculate the risk and build a bridge.

*

Rebellion Dogs

“Rebellion dogs our every step at first”
AA’s 12 and 12

They won’t come to heal, won’t sit, won’t stay,
these dogs circle waiting for signs of weakness
or vulnerable skin, but there they are;
they have been found out.

The ones that worry me more
are those that took show and place,
the dogs that stand in the shadows and lurk in the wing.

What are their names I wonder?
Their distinctive smell?
Must I identify these writhing mutts
or simply call animal control?

Though this never worked with rebellion dogs
these lesser pups surely would run
from would be dog catchers and leave me to my dreams.

Alas, I name them and show them to my friends;
we like they run in packs
and are served well by honest disclosure.


.
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Old 02-13-2018, 09:44 AM   #2686
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February 13


NIGHT FLIGHT

The small log shape with large wings passed the windshield of my moving car without collision, due to meticulous calculation and correction in a night sky. Silent passage… swift and meaningful, the owl lives as it knows how. I was not born to the night; darkness not my given realm. I have inverted my senses and compensated for the moonlight. I pull my way through the air and hunt for my survival in a world of shadows. The morsels caught on the wing, snatches of conversations and lines from books, sustain me, give me strength to live in spite of the nocturnal bondage. I have made peace with the night. I am changed by my living and my living endures. The grace required to abide here is bestowed on me nightly. I wear it though it is not the prize I sought.


Write a letter home to you.

*

Whittle it Down


A famous sculptor mentioned
that he doesn’t so much create the objects
as remove the stone which doesn’t belong.

I have had the same experience with willingness.
Encased in the bedrock of my will
willingness had no opportunity to open doors.

Flaking away the extraneous
the key shape appears, rugged, blockish, rudimental.
As the tears stream down my face
and wrong thinking flies from my brain
the key is more finely formed.

As I wheedle at misconception
and haul bodily wrong action
the teeth of this thing show sharp in this day’s sun.

Many doors stand ajar,
at first those with basic tumblers,
but now even those with encrypted defense
are no match for the willingness,
which I wield with rapier wit.

The obvious blocks to progress open to me
as well as the subtle doors to untold destination,
I am let out of danger, released into possibility.




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Old 02-14-2018, 07:16 AM   #2687
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February 14


TRAVELING PICTURES

I parked next to a beaten little import. The well of the passenger’s side was filled with empty sport-drink bottles and cans from soda. The dashboard was a shrine: three taped photographs, one of a young man and young woman, one of the young woman and an older woman, one of the young woman and an enormous marble statue. There were small carved objects affixed to the dash: jade and soapstone figures, beads and a feather. The sanctuary in my head is decked out in a similar manner. Post card pictures line my mind: people I love, trips I took, pets long gone. The road signs of my journey stand as exhibits of a tour of duty not always to my liking but nothing I would trade. I know clearly where I have been, and study the map to prepare for the future. Escapades and loved ones, trinkets strung on my lifeline give texture, flavor and flash to my pilgrimage.


Think of fish and dream of birds.



*
Progressive Fourth


All I can do is stand on the grass
and count the shutters, the windows, the doors.
At first I cannot approach to inspect any closer than that.

Time passes and the other steps work me.
I peer through the windows the next time
and count the stuffs I can glimpse through the glass.

I possess no periscopic vision,
but what is in plain sight I reckon.
Subsequently I wished to exteriorize
and draw the inventory of the house
out onto the lawn and tally there.

Wishing to avoid that interior life,
the poisoned vixen who haunted there.
Time passed and she recovered as did I,

Into the house I went.
I am now able not only to number my possessions
I can assess the flow and function,
work patterns, interplay, reliability.

I have now appraised not just the what,
but the how of my life
and progress into tomorrow.


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Old 02-15-2018, 04:54 AM   #2688
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February 15

SHAME

I push shame around my plate like a chunk of spoiled meat, the toxins leaching to every interface and cavity. With an inverse half-life, the lethal substance grows, reinforcing, sending runners and tendrils to worlds known and those yet undiscovered. I wage my war on this shape-shifting plague. Thrust and parry, I step back from the insurmountable walls and set my sights on tearing down the bunkers in my personal city. Like lead plumbing, the danger eludes the observation of my fellow citizens. I am labeled a lunatic and no attention is paid to my evaluations of water quality. I search for similarly crazed friends, variants within a theme. I depend on the poisoned sanity of my wounded compatriots. We shovel the plate loads of spoiled meat and detritus. The foreshortened mountain of shame allows tiny strands of light to glimmer across the surface but the shamed devotees turn their heads. We, the few, face this glowering mass. I worry like a petulant child. What if we can not prevail? Is shame stronger than recovery? Have we traveled this far to miss the glacier’s edge as it slides away from us? I console myself with the sure knowledge: this life of sobriety is better than any other offering. Healing the world, what a lovely thought. Living free from shame today, what a necessity.



Crumple a sacred cow then iron it flat.
*


ONE


One skin, One mind, One spirit, One day

If I live in more than my own skin,
I am a body snatcher and ghoul.
If I live in a duality of thought I am ejected,
ostensibly out of my mind.

If I redouble my spirit
the increase takes a dark cold turn
and I am lost.

If I try to live two days at a time
the sand shifts in the glass
and I am worse off in that hour than Dorothy.

This skin is all I can be in,
as many times as I walk in someone else’s shoes
it’s the skin I’m in.

This mind is my only bequest,
treasure enough to earn my keep.
Free as this spirit is it is still tied at the heel
and like my shadow it remains.

And today is the only day where the magic works,
witches melt and clicking my heels gets my attention
even if it doesn’t always take me home.




.
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Old 02-16-2018, 10:40 PM   #2689
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February 16



THE DEALS I’VE MADE


Because they are deals and not resentments or secrets, these circular schemes did not come out in my fourth step. They didn’t come out in the wash; they come out whenever they are broken. If the deal is don’t eat pickled herring and you won’t have to remember X, the deal will get broken when pickled herring is served to me at some social gathering. As I get healthier, the breaks connect ever more deeply. What in early sobriety would have given me unexplained discomfort now gives me full-blown flashbacks. And I watch the deal unravel… you weren’t supposed to eat this because this is what was on the plate when… but now that it’s on the plate here, now you have to face this ugly roiling mess. The deals saved my life, but unless they are handled with care and honesty, they can cost me the life I have now. I must choose a safe person and place to share these broken shards, living alone with this will not work and making it public fodder is a set up as well. In every one of these deals there is a back door to a drink and therefore We have to go out the front door together.



Pick three color words and use them all day.


*


The Long Dark Ride


Are fear and ignorance one thing
that looks like itself
or terrifying twins who feed one another?

Can they be separated
and if they can will it kill them?
And if they die
what will spring from their remains?

Will it be better or worse?
Can I tell what better is?
Should I tell if it turns out to be worse?

Is there ever an end to either fear or ignorance?
If there is, how deep is that well
and will I survive a trip to the bottom?

Do you know and do you care?
Will you go with me if I find the way?
Will you take me if you find it first?



.
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Old 02-17-2018, 11:04 PM   #2690
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February 17


PIGS

“Never try to teach a pig to sing. It wastes your time and annoys the pig.”


Talking to a chrysalis about flight is like talking to a fetus about dry land. Descriptions of future events and possibility are lost in the translation. To the uninitiated, these realities sound like gibberish and flights of fancy or foolish dogma. Yet, I am drawn to talk of these things, imagine and describe them. I am changed by this procedure. I am transformed in the details. When I can accurately depict it, I am taking the stride into living it. I am my own pig. I have taught myself to sing and have wasted no time at all.



List your favorites so you don’t forget yourself.




*
Suzy Q’s Mother
Through process of elimination
I have had to learn who G-d is and who G-d isn’t.
When it comes down to my understanding
everything incomprehensible is off the table
and what is left is mine, all mine.
I can’t fathom an all powerful G-d;
therefore my G-d is not all powerful.
I cannot begin to comprehend a vengeful G-d,
as you might have guessed; my G-d is not vengeful.
Because of these constraints I have
a non-omnipotent G-d, one with limitations and bounds.
This doesn’t mean I love my G-d any less
in fact it may be why I love my G-d so very much.
And G-d loves me with a Mother love
that trails me to the depths and heights of the path,
but like any mother, she can’t do everything.
My G-d is accomplished and wonderful,
but there are days that I need things,
which lay outside my Higher Power’s area of expertise
and I must turn to help beyond our little circle of two.
This is not easy at first.
We both feel awkward in the attempt,
but Suzy Q lives two houses down
Her mother still has her hook shot from college
and since my mom’s experience of basketball
is that it’s the court you walk through to go play tennis,
I ask Mrs. Q with help making the three point shots.
I don’t have to understand Suzy Q’s mother,
I leave that to Suzy.

I just have to ask for help,
learn the jump and go home when I’m done.
It’s nice to be able to slam dunk,
but there is no place like home.



.
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Old 02-18-2018, 06:21 AM   #2691
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February 18


THIN ICE

The ice is brittle, transparent and breaking away. I brace for destruction, turmoil and frigid descent. I am stuck in my topside thinking and can not realize the chance for freedom the cracking expanse promises. I am an oceanic creature. I can escape my watery bonds with the splitting of the ice. Trapped in a hole I keep open only through the friction of my unrest, I am kept from the community of life to which I belong. My reflection mixes with my view of the sky and I forget my place, forget my name, forget how I have come to be trapped here. The pining after what is not mine to have has brought me to this thin edge. I must break through to be who I am; in doing so I shatter the illusion of who I thought I was. Zeal to zenith I must move away from the phantasm and mockery and take refuge in what I am.




Remember your genius.

*

Hiding
“Defeat is what you make of it,” says my sponsor.
“Fighting a thousand secret battles
when you claim that you want peace is not right.
The agony of defeat is when you keep on fighting.
There is no honor in waving the white flag,
but never laying down your arms.”
“I can’t just give them up
they have been in the family for years,”
my whining retort.
“I’m sure they have, darling, I’m sure they have,
and haven’t done any of you a lick of good either,”
her smug reply.

“They are good for sabotage,”
I begin my running start at her.
“Sabotage is something you only do to yourself,
because who else can you really sabotage?
Who do you really hate enough other than you?”
“My hobby is denying that, you know.”
“Yes, and sweet lot of good it does you,

The war rages within you
and outside you say it’s harmony,
no matter all the signs of discord.”

“And if I were to really give up. If, I were really tired enough,
how can I insure my safety?”
I asked with my hands nearly in the air.

“Tell the truth, even if it’s only to yourself.
Put space between you and weapons of mass destruction.
Oh, and make sure you surrender to a friend.”



.
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Old 02-19-2018, 09:45 AM   #2692
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February 19



LIFE IS UNFAIR

Assuring myself I will not be permitted through the gate, I walk the perimeter, assessing the fence, looking for a place to exploit, a wire slightly high. Trying to look graceful, I duck under the fence, telling myself I prefer life on the edge. The water is less dangerous here on the fringe; I wouldn’t want to be swept away. I stay clear of my peers. I stand in the baby pool and feel confident I won’t drown, brushing from my conscience that I won’t swim either.
Struggling to the top of the pile or scurrying underneath is a blatant lack of humility. Skirting the margin is the same. Facing life and finding it unfair, I take to the world of exception and hope to slip through the cracks to a life of safety. In that act I discount my talent and ability. Worst of all, I disconnect from God.


Toy with your thoughts, play with your food.
*


Jenny

Though ignorance may be bliss,
living in the shadow of someone else’s
ignorance is sheer hell.
The confusion is bad, but the lies are worse.

Want to cripple a child for life
give it to a well meaning fool
who has the rule book to the wrong board game,

That child will grow to need crutches they don’t make
and medicine they can’t brew.
Dependent on misguided insanity the child will require
a miracle cure and may lack the ability to ingest it.

Best case scenario the kid makes a brave escape
into a world she can barely comprehend,
worse case she turns the rule book upside down
and reads it backwards to her own unfortunate brood.

Ignorance is always a twilight proposition,
half agreement the other half handcuffed nightmare.
Full consent is by necessity impossible
while blameless innocents is similarly unachievable.

The only suggestion I can make
from this side of the looking glass
is to pick your poison and plan your getaway.



.
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Old 02-20-2018, 05:08 AM   #2693
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February 20



TIME IS HERE TO STAY


I have passed my days emptying them like breadcrumbs onto a trail of rescue. Expecting them to facilitate redemption, and if not that, at least retreat, I release an audible sigh as I let each evening slip to the path behind me. The future I view as a cliff I am nearing. I hope to be ransomed before the edge. I plan carefully how to stay in sync with revision; things must be resolved and revert. But this is not the way. The past is there to be mined. Inert gold, as well as land mines, linger beneath the surface; the days stream on. I am not nearing the limit; I am shrinking from hope. I turn my eyes from expectancy with a shudder. Deeply, I realize I must leave my fairytale life and walk away with my days in my pocket, a treasure that is mine to spend.


Tie a string around your hopes then let them go.


*

Katie’s Wish


Does G-d arrange for my parking spot,
foil the Colts opponents,
release the stains from my dry-cleaning?
Can I ask for the petty and pedantic?

All One G-d Faith,
reads the side of the soap bottle,
but really is there only one?

Like Santa? The Tooth Fairy? OZ?
Is my life better or worse for the whimsy?
How would I know? Why would I care?

As long as I live with what I get most times,
it truly is okay to ask for what I want sometimes,
I mean hell, the Superbowl is only once a year.
I’m allowed to be unreasonable and happy.


.
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Old 02-22-2018, 08:58 AM   #2694
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February 22


SAFETY IN MY CHAIR

Sometimes I have to sit with my knees tucked up under my chin. My feet can’t touch the floor at these moments. I hug my legs to me, I feel contained but somehow adrift in my chair. I center my mind on breath and pulse. Pure fear flits and flutters while I gain my composure. When I feel safe enough to put one foot down, then the other, and connect with the world again, I am leaving home to embark on this earthly trek. The journey is there for me every day but some days I curl up in my chair.


Complement your feet with your shoes.


*

Patricide

I never killed my father.
Why finish a job that
someone is completing all on his own.

It’s not that I didn’t wish him dead;
I did and do for that matter.
Don’t misunderstand me,
I wish him no harm,

It’s just that he is like a creature so tortured
that he is nothing but a danger and a misery.
Left to live he is a hazard to everyone he has contact with,
an agony to live inside.

What can I wish for him,
but departure and rest,
something he can never give to himself.

I don’t plot, don’t scheme,
I only know; know in part,
the terrible lie he lives
and hurt he drags from place to place

Acting like it is not there and nothing matters;
let’s just get by. So, if he is not dead he should be.

He is the embodiment of the hurtful impotent god
and I don’t kill that man
but I kill the image, perish that thought.

.
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Old 02-23-2018, 09:16 PM   #2695
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February 23



COMING TO THE TABLE

For many years, decades even, I stacked the table against myself and others. I piled the sacred next to trifles; I deposited item after item and built towers to confusion. After years of sobriety, I sorted the piles in earnest. I made a place for myself at the table. It is amazing what I can accomplish with a seat and a surface. Over months, tediously separating the needed from the useless, I made a place for others at the table. There is a whole world of life I had missed while trying to keep myself safe from unrealistic expectations---expectations of who I am and what I can do, what I should do and who I should do it for.
Having strong boundaries and a clean table is like a homecoming. I am coming home to me. The good games and happy meals had at this table are unexpected and surely welcome. The wall I built held good times at bay because I could not keep the flood of trash from spilling in from every direction. I had to learn to hold my head up before I could look around.


Invent a new language to talk to yourself in.
*


Ace

Like an ace in my pocket
step one is the beginning
and end of my step work.

This step carries the high and low count;
its rise is so near to the ground
I didn’t have to lift my chin to clear it
as I crawled my way in here,

Its appeal so exalted that it is all I hear
when I finish the twelfth
and am on my way back around.
the high and low of any hand.

Plus the card I keep up my sleeve for emergencies.
The greatest blessing is I don’t need four of a kind,
not even a pair; as long as I have step one.

I am guaranteed a full house, full heart and full life
between you and me that’s just how I like it.


.
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Old 02-24-2018, 08:47 AM   #2696
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February 24



DOMINOES

What happens to the dominoes that do not fall, the show cut short by my sobriety? The tiles stand front to back; the least foul respiration will send them to their preordained destination. I hold my breath as I glance over the display of generations. The design is set. Painstaking patterns lain with meticulous, ingenious deft. Skill for falling, laying waste. Sad pictures told and retold in speedy drops. The rhythmic fall of dominoes turning eight blocks to a corner. Direction shifts but the descending continues. I can not occupy this ground. I must not upset the arrangement. I cannot clear it from this world. I must walk away from the upright mosaic, a flower waiting to bloom with destruction. I have to move. Climb the steep slopes. Vertical life, leaving the tumbling destruction for Yet. Grasping the sides of the cliffs, I haul myself off the tableland, a place set for a show of lying down. I build my strength and keep off the well-known flats. This is a life apart. The game is there if I return. It is a game no one can win.



Carry yourself.


*


Over Troubled Water

Though God might be everything,
for a long time, God was a resident
of an unknown country;
a theoretical citizen of a theoretical land.
It took some time for me to spy yon distant country
and longer to realize what a miracle it was
that I could see my neighbor,
holding my optics turned around the way they were.

Turning over the binoculars came long before
introductions or interaction, but it was an important step
in relationship building nonetheless.

Having seen the island my mind fled
due to the trumped-up stories about its resident.
Open minded observation cleared up the fallacies
of ogres and super heroes,

But this only told me who God wasn’t
and nothing of who God is.
Direct knowledge was going to require direct contact.

I began throwing tethered balls of string
across the channel that separates us
and was shocked, delighted, horrified
to find that the far end would get tied to the far shore.

I threw twine next, then rope,
after a few successful repetitions
I was able to shinny across for the first time.

Filled with fear and trepidation
I arrived on the opposing bank
and stood shivering more from nerves than cold.

I saw no one and felt much.
I didn’t stay long and swam back.

The first plank bridge was simple and straight.
Having this link somehow emboldened me
to explore the land of my own country.
With great regularity I found narrow margins.

I crafted a new bridge for each slender passage.
The more I learn about me
the more regular my connection to that inner land.

Like something shy of my wrath,
God made an elusive sight.
The more I calmed the more often the sightings.

We made acquaintance and then we made friends.
I’ve widened some bridges and God has widened others.
We stroll together often hand in hand.
We talk and laugh, cry and joke.

Occupancy is fluid, times I live on the island
and others the surrounding continent
sometimes we live together
other times we are one another’s quests.

All the days are not happy ones
but we are always happy to be together
and more than that I will not ask.


.
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Old 02-25-2018, 07:55 PM   #2697
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February 25



SOD

Green and black, pinwheels of rolled grass speed by me on a flatbed. Sod headed for home. That is how it is for me. I grew 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.


Advocate for the sweetness inside you.
*


Cured



Ham is cured.
Thank God I’m not ham.
Ham likes to be the center of attention.
Thank God, I’m not ham.

I can’t be the worker among workers
if I believe I don’t need to work.
I can’t be a friend among friends
if I am an island or a precipice,
above or away from the need or reach of others.

Cured is a one way street
that leads to a dried up lonely end.
Just the same way that turning my cucumber
into a pickle took me out of the garden,

Curing takes me away
from the only home I know, recovery.
Though I am often raw and sometimes fresh,
these I can survive,

Finished due to the drying out process
that would be a living death.
Thank God I’m not cured.


.
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Old 02-26-2018, 11:15 PM   #2698
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February 26


TOP

The chipped paint of the red stripe gives the illusion of fading to rose as it spins. The edge, painted with green, thalo in its intensity, reflects the windows of the room. The bead, purple and gleaming, affixed to the stem, holds the cuff with its two apposed openings, the cord recoiled inside. Underneath, protected from easy observation, resides the point, lathed and faultless. The turning weight is carried and balanced perfectly on this nib. The hum, spiraling and melodic, comes from the table as well as the top, the epitome of form and function, grace and harmony. In spite of it all, the only thing that truly matters is who pulls the string.



Be polite to your dreams.

*


Exceptance


“I want God’s will for me,”
I sigh to my sponsor.

“Except for this and except for that,”
is her trig response.
She knows me, knows I have exceptance.

“You have a list of exclusions,
a list that dams up the works.”
“Well, trust is hard,” I splutter.
“Trust is not the issue here,” says she.

“You don’t feel acceptable
and exceptance is what follows.”
“Whatever could you mean?”
my broken bluster leaving only this plaintive whine.

“You believe you’re not good enough
for God or anyone
and cross everything off the list
in an attempt to duck blame
or shame or some other nasty thing.

You are good enough kiddo,
get that and everything else is good enough, too.
At least good enough for now
and now is all we have. Accept that.”


.
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Old 02-27-2018, 04:50 AM   #2699
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February 27


BELIEVE

Listening to what people say is a half waste of time; believing it is a full waste of time. Truth wills out in behavior. No matter what is said, what is done is the real deal. What is done over time is the final test and the things which are repeated, resounding from one generation to the next, are to be counted on. Believing in told truths is a snare and delusion, the trap of all traps.
If your sponsor has a sponsor you may sleep at night. If your sponsor works with that sponsor you can sleep soundly. Doing the right things, doing them over and over again, doing them with others, your group, your friends, your sponsees, will make you believable. I can think of nothing else that will.


Tickle your age and laugh with it.
*

The Resentment of an Acorn


Because no one believed
that I was a giant oak inside,
I had to prove it and drop my little cap
and leave my shell behind.

Now I stand big and tall,
alone, board feet to the sky.
I have lost my portability in my quest
for the recognition of my potential.

My amazing growth painful due to its cause;
poor mental health is a bitter road to achievement.
As I stand head and shoulders
above the undulating canopy
reflection comes on a sweet breeze.

Am I sorry I’m here, it could have been worse,
could have been eaten by a squirrel
or glued endlessly to a third-grade art project
“my walk through the woods”

Bugs could have gotten me,
though that looms even now.
I could have disintegrated, lost my power and integrity.

Whatever the driver I am appreciative of the destination,
there were many darker roads on that map.
It’s good to be here.
It’s good to be anywhere sober.


.
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February 28


ONE IN A THOUSAND

“Did they tell you the odds when you came in?” asked my sponsor.
“Yes. One in thirty makes it to the rooms. One in thirty of those stays for five years. One in a thousand gets truly sober and is catapulted to another dimension." I responded.
“What was your response to that?”
“Well, I showed the proper amount of surprise and said, ‘Oh, my.’”
“Yes. What did you think inside?”
“I thought. 'Climb with me or I’ll climb over you.’ Not very spiritual is it?”
“It worked. You’re still sober; a lot of folks aren’t. The company you keep is sober. There is nothing less spiritual than being drunk,” said my sponsor.
“Is that why it’s called a selfish program?" I ask.
“I don’t know. It seems to me sobriety is a gift you give to the world.”
“But I give it to myself.”
“Can’t give a gift you don’t have in your possession.”
“Point taken.”


Do what you can and try the rest.

*

Adjustment


The chase is on, round and round it goes
and where it stops no one knows.
I run after control and change as I grasp,
but can never quite get my fingers
wrapped around the thing.

An open fist is an adjustment;
no fist at all would be a feat.
The fool’s errand I send myself on brings suffering;
there would be suffering anyhow,

I feel I am the cause due to my attempt to avoid it;
another backhanded attempt at the illusion,
the goal, control.

Adjusting to reality is at first freefall;
rarely do I get to second.
The shape taken by the shift in my gears
to no gears at all dilates my pupils and the rest is white.

If the colors come back I don’t know when.
If the ground beneath me returns I don’t know how.
I am blinded by the light and can only follow the sound.


.
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