Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

March16



ANGLE OF RETURN

As in a hall of mirrors, it is sometimes hard to tell if I am moving forward in my recovery. Likewise, as promises are fulfilled, their obtuse arrival is a quandary. The juxtaposition of acute homecoming of former faculties is also startling. How the light finds and reflects itself from sober face to sober face, from open heart to open mind, is the spectral of hope to me. My soul seeks me day after day though I left it so far behind. It brings to me the person of God’s intent and my new acquaintance. Patience, never my virtue, finds me stacked with packages delivered in piles so high I can’t keep up with opening them. Never in my life have I known less about my future or felt more assured.


Earn your own respect.


*

Suit up, Show up


I stand naked, paralyzed,
unable to reach my intended destination
or any destination at all.

Goose flesh is no real motivation
and I am reluctant to use the prod
having only produced resistance
and reversals with past applications of this weapon.

Entreatment might work
if only I could find the right one;
then again anything might work if it were a fit.

Covering my all-together is an action;
taken judiciously it sometimes is all the arrival I can manage,
taken disingenuously it precludes the chance
for any further forward motion
and may create setback or retreat.

I should not attempt to hide fear with wardrobe
though I can try to warm it.
Façade building is best done with a bottle in tow
reality is best faced with a sponsor by my side.



.

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 19

WET BLANKET



I have carried this sodden thing with me all my life, its weight a burden for numerous years. I have never been able to explain my continuing drag of this pitiful thing. Though it has been commented on by many, my fidelity is boundless. In spite of inner questions and doubts, now that the fire is here, I am glad to have it. I pull it over me and step into the fray. Thick and moist, I somehow struggle under its influence and am able to do what others, bare of my encumbrance, cannot. I don’t believe I can quench all the flames, but I hope to help some to safety and bat down the encroaching inferno a bit.


Acknowledge the upswings in your value.
*




Bent, Spindled, Mutilated


Injury changes memory,
not just the memory of the individual trauma,
but the very nature of the mind.

The hooks and loops distort
and I can’t hold on as I once did.
The misses and disconnects become more frequent,
then they become expected.

Emotional fluff-ups do not suffice,
the hardware is damaged
and a positive attitude is advisable
but the pliers are a necessity.

Some things are easier to break than to repair,
in fact most things are easier to break, no skill required,
though some take it on as skill,

Most destruction is ignorant or accidental,
nothing personal just a part of a pain filled landscape.
Direct intervention is not the same as hands-free degradation,
though both have their cost.

Redemption, restoration, is sought from all comers.
Possibilities and probabilities stack;
action is a relief, whether or not it is a fix.

I take a breath to face the final blow,
for when the cost adds up
and I look for recompense
all I hear is the check is in the mail



.

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 20


JAG

I have the most interesting lawn ornament. It is long and sleek, low to the ground, resting on rubber rolls, steep of side and languid front and back. It has glass, glass that slants and glass that slips into its sides. Its paint shines when I buff it and shows dust when I don’t. Inside there are seats and many artistic accessories. I sit on the steps and admire the thing; then I sit in the thing and admire the porch. That’s all there was until I was handed the key.



Live at home.


*
When is enough, enough?

What is the difference between full and all?
Don’t know? Well, let me tell you,”
said my sponsor with a wink.

“Full is when the broccoli that went perfectly
with the entrée leaves a pleasant smile on your face,
full is when the arrow on the gas gauge points to F,
these are little indicators of full.
Indications that you have reached all:
the wet scary feeling in your mouth
after your second piece of pie,
all is the gas pouring down the side of your car
because you have to try to squeeze more in.”

“Yes, yes,” I reply, “I know when I’ve overdone it;
I resent everyone or at least I am cranky about everything.
I know when I’m under doing it, too;
I get either a lost feeling
or the sense that I should be in charge,
but how do I really know that I am doing enough?”
“If your sponsor has a good idea of where you are
mentally, physically and spiritually;
if the people in your home group can count on you
to contribute service regularly.

If most people in most meetings know not just your face,
but also your name.
If your sponsees freely admit that you are their sponsor,
those are sure signs.
Though the biggest signal for me is how constant my contact is.
If I’m reluctant to pray
I’m usually not doing enough of something.”


.

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 21


20 CART PILEUP

“What’s the problem here?” asks my sponsor, as she approaches my apparent impasse.
“Well, I’ve been trying to get these carts lined up. What do you think of my progress?”
“How many carts do you have here?”
“A few, quite a few. Why?”
“And how many horses?” She asks.
“Just the one. The same as everyone else,” I answer.
“And where is this poor animal?”
“Back there, behind the carts.”
“Okay. We have a two-fold problem here. First, one horse can handle only one cart. So, pick one. Second, that sad creature needs to be in his proper position to do any good at all. You had best figure out a way to get him in front or you will remain stuck even after you whittle down your burden.”
I was stunned. She went to her cart, climbed to the seat and took up the reins.
“How long did it take you to get yours like that?” I asked.
“Honey, it takes every day. Don’t kid yourself. I wake up every morning with the same train wreck you're standing in now. Learn to sort faster and you’ll have the rest of today. You can start over with the rest of us tomorrow.”



Sip the bitter, drink the sweet.
*


Clever Me

I am clever, I am so clever,
everyone knows it and I know it, too.
So, why do I get slam stuck
on the very simple things
required to keep my life running smoothly?

I know what needs to be done,
yet have no clue as to how to accomplish
these threads of minutia.
I stall; panic, plod, pout.

When I do force myself to do it
I end up creating either a new pile
of impossible incidentals
or some anticlimactic end,
but secret solutions are as of yet undiscovered.

The whip, the lash and the club avail nothing
though sweet enticements do no better.
I pray, “Dear God please help me!”
but this has no point, I don’t want the help,
I am afraid of the help.

I am afraid of the change
and of course who wouldn’t be?
Beyond here lay someone I don’t know,
someone I only fear,
beyond here lay the fearless me
and I am clever enough to be afraid of her.



.

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 22

MATH

“If this is the solution, why aren’t I happy?" I ask my sponsor in a piteous whine.
“You’ve run the equation and the solution equals happiness?" She queries, “That’s the whole and total answer? How many times did you go through the computation?”
“What’s your point? Are you saying happiness isn’t the answer? What about joy, and freedom? I heard someone say that was the goal. I know that’s what I heard.”
“Let’s think about it for a hot second. What would you think if I worked the steps as hard as I do and, as a result, walked around in a perpetual grin?”
“I’d think you had lost your mind.”
“So, you’re telling me you believe the product of recovery is idiocy? The thing we all are aspiring to is bliss and nothing but?”
“No, I guess not. Then what is the solution for you?" I ask.
“A tally which fits the day I’m having. Joy sometimes fits that bill but other days it’s sadness or concern. There have been days when disbelief and dismay were part of the appropriate response. For me, the solution is having an equation that helps me respond to life instead of reacting to it. That’s better than unending happiness; that’s wholeness,” she said with a grin.

Harmony is at contrast with permission.


*
Suddenly

Creeping realization has never been my experience
with God’s handy work in my kitchen.
I start out making a mess
and I find in short order that G-d has made a meal;
fit food for apt hunger.

I could throw myself into the kneading and shaping,
but without the yeast
which is so freely given I have no bread;
only a lump that will choke me in the end.

Even my very own abilities are gifts
I was incapable of offering to myself
and are only found here in my possession
through sheer grace.

I have woken up with my face
saliva glued to the table top far too often
only to discover my Higher Power doing
and I am grateful for without that action
I would be un-done.

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 23



MISSING


The good times we never had but should have, the pleasantries I endured waiting for the pleasure. I remembered your potential with fondness. The days, weeks and years I waited for you to grow to me have passed, and yet--- time is what I have, not you. Hope is a wonderful thing until it turns on me and bites. Images I built have tumbled and colors wash from your portrait. I carefully remind myself it’s the idea of you I miss, not you.


Practice your manners on yourself.
*



Water Buddha


The longer on the river I am
the less I fear the river.
I still don’t know what lay ahead,
anything may wait for me
just around the next bend,
but I fear this less and less.

Experience is a great foundation
no matter what you are building
or in which direction.

I’ve gotten my sea-legs,
a sure sign of the mind cooperating
with the realities the body is experiencing.

I have learned to avoid some forms of trouble
and anticipate fortune more often.
Further on could be a waterfall, ocean or dam;

I will contend with any or all, come what may,
for when it comes to riding the river
I have learned the most important thing:
I don’t need to push.

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 24

PARADOX OF PARADISE

Paradise is created when I collect paradox and live with it. Paradise is the set of acceptance and suspended disbelief. If anything is possible, accepting what comes is less heart-wrenching. If I arrest my misgivings, gratification in the voluptuousness of now is velvet. Vague consent is a Hell of incapacity. Fighting fiercely for both sides keeps the heart pumping and the mind at bliss. I must work to embrace contradiction and happiness. There is more than one path to take and I must take that one.


When you give time also take time.


*
Two X’s


I play sport at the three X folks
and their still sometimes skewed thinking.
Yet, I attack myself for feeling like a babe in the woods.

Old and wise should be my stock and trade by now though
I find vastness at my door regularly
and confidence struggles to peek in the window.

What in the world will I do if I can’t perfect this stuff soon?
Hopefully nothing as foolish as fretting
or anything as mean spirited as accusation.

Possibly I could try reception.
Truly this only comes in gift wrap and after twenty years
I would hope I had learned to live in the present.