Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 18



In Training

Like a faithful dog that was hard to train, patience is a thing hoped for yet peevish during the breaking in. Stanch companionability is hard won, but worth the cost of acquisition. And what is the price I truly paid in the end; whatever I gave in the pursuit of patience was a cheap babysitter and kept me from far worse reformation. For what would I do in this late day and age as a tempest torn toddler, no bottle to sooth my woes and bothers. Strictly speaking this is a world ill suited to the edgy intolerant masses and only seems to fit those who can mark time and bend.




Be careful what you do with idols



*

SERVICE & SACRIFICE

The difference between life and death in my recovery
Is the equal difference between service and sacrifice
If I offer you what is in my hand, fine
If I also give you my fingertips, I am lost.

Service lightens the load in my heart
Sacrifice removes my tools for living
When I go into debt for your existence
The cheer and optimism is sucked from my awareness

My eyes go dead and soon I follow
The cingulotomy of obligation crucifies my future
And murders true hope and love
Service feeds my heart and yours

Renovating makes space
It builds the muscles for joy and contentment
Pumping and refilling
My plate with spirituality.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 19



Ground Floor


Step 10 is the place where the doors slide open and I discover I am out of the basement. I have to pay close attention to where my feet are; it is so easy to stumble here in the light of day. Oblivious limitations and universally accepted interpretations are pried from installation and put on trial. Never is it acceptable to allow my alcoholic thinking to make decisions for my sober life. The road to my door must be kept clear so I can get out to do my part and so G-d can come home to me.






Spin heads, spin tales, spin dry

*

CHAPTER & VERSE

I remember being trained and rehearsed for finding the words
Which would release my soul from bondage
The scrupulous concern for detail pointed me to heaven
And yet I drank.

Inside these rooms the path is wide
Judgment is suspended and I have the right to be wrong
The penalties for error can be great
But the privilege and risk are mine

As in all things, the extremists come
They have come to this place too
Thumpers hound and belittle
Threaten and cajole

They tell page numbers like punch lines
And narrow the field at every opportunity
I can't stay sober sitting on my old stool
I can't maintain desire by their chapter and their verse.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 20




What I Take from Laban’s House


If I have the audacity to have a problem I must provide the instantaneous solution or be the cause of world-wide panic. Additionally it is the height of rudeness to have open-ended dilemma. It makes the gods uncomfortable, don’t you know, makes them shift in their seats and wish me away. I prevent banishment by either, being problem free or solution-full and when the answers are not to their liking, I exile myself saving them the inconvenience and me the embarrassment. It is never good to implode the household deities; you never know when you might need one for historic perspective or a door stop.






Inventory your reservations

*


WHEN A SNAPPER CROSSES THE ROAD

What should I do?
I see the soggy green/gray lump creeping the macadam
Too slow to survive for long

The urge in me to aim
And end the duckling-eaters life
Is short lived but a palpable surge

My Disney style justice is dismissed
But heard from nonetheless
Shall I pull over and assist?

This turtle is as ill equipped
For this stretch of road
As I am ill equipped to aid in its conveyance

Should I reach with my fingers or toes
To something I know can extend its neck
And sever me from parts I hold dear?

The ever present missionary in me has spoken and is silenced
In fact what I can do is slow down and give wide birth
I know this creature is a danger but never more so than me.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 21




Bound


The reason the sleeves of my disease wrap around and tie in the back is so that I will struggle with change. Alcoholism is my straightjacket and my goal is that ‘loose garment life’ I’ve heard so much about. The sweat I work up from railing against my confining existence causes petulance. Frothing and enervated, defeat is the landing on which I collapse, acceptance a flight of steps away. My ailment leads me to believe I have nothing to hold onto as I adjust; and though this isn’t true, the fact remains that this is still a process of letting go.






Have a parenthetical lunch with a friend

*

PINK CLOUD




When the pink cloud lands in my valley
My task is to walk
The pleasure of its presence can never outweigh
The practice this cloud affords me.
Walking in a haze of cherry blossom lightness
The future is a blur I do not fear
Forward motion seeds my inertia
I will keep on.
When the test begins
And I must proceed in the obscurity of night
The lively steps of pink-cloud days
Will cheer and empower me.
I can imbed my future with right action
And bank the confidence I feel today
Saving it for the rain swept days which come to everyone
Progress is positive even when made in bliss.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 22



Bummed

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






Alphabetize your expectations

*

HOLD CARD

My bottom pulled my hold card to the tabletop
I turned it over and found I have a bit of value
Each time I turned over my will
My value increased.

After many spins, the face cards appear
I’m the Jack, the Queen, the King
I revel in the times and practice it has taken to get here
I play my hand and take my chances

I have been privileged to pair with wonderful sober partners
Who turn themselves over and transform before my eyes
The years raise the anti
And I play close to my chest

The stakes are high
And if I turn in the wrong direction
I can be the Joker once again.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 23


Exposition


Is there a difference between being discerning and being critical? Is it in the direction from whence I came or the destination to which I am driven? Does performance to an audience, even if it is the one in my head, create the line of demarcation or is it all one big bowl of goo? Does putting too fine a point of everything pierce my serenity and prick my skin? Is it the grating unplanned nature of life that bothers me into commentary or is it my in born desire to dissection that pushes me? And where is there room for kindness; is it in my dissertation or could it be in my critique?






Bury ideas about nuts

*

THE MEAL

Home cooking is the key
I want to order in,
Have my life delivered to the door

The takeout menus entice me
From three courses on china
To burgers handed through sliding windows.

It all sounds good and I request all for take home
But this is not the way
I must light the flame and chop the veggies

I can’t have a life prepared by others
I can share recipes and suggestions
This is help not displacement

I can stand and cook with others
And together make a feast
I can not sit and wait to be served.

I stand at the range while the sauce simmers
And it comes clear
I am my own meal.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 24



More Better


When I take a break from my idyllic life, trading up to paradise, I balk at thoughts of returning to the simply marvelous day to day I have worked so hard to attain. Self accusation floods under the door, but I whimilate it with fact. My reluctance to turn my back on a good thing is an asset which many days keeps me sober. I greedily seize every improvement and hold on for dear life. If reflections of the past even held a glimmer for me I might worry; I turn from all but the highest good. I don’t regret the past but I shall never return to it.







Glance at the path you feel lead to

*

REALLY RAINING

Why do people ask if someone is really sober?
They’re checking for winners, I guess responded my sponsor
But what does that mean?

Well, when the clouds roll in
And the next thing you know it’s really raining
You can clearly discern the difference between that and just a shower

The commitment of water saturates the atmosphere
And rain is the undeniable certainty
That is what people are looking for
And they ask to discover if the person even comprehends the concept

What do they do if the person is really sober?
Stand next to them
And soak it all in.