Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 25


AUTUMN



The falling leaves slap my hand as I ride the road at fifty miles per, my arm dangling
The trees are shedding their masquerade
Exposed they stand stark, stripped
Naked to the soul
The growth of this year's yearning waves on the fringe
I can follow this lead
Remove pretense not clothing
Stand before all who have an interest in seeing me
Unashamed of my wants
And the things I reach for
I can cast off the uniform of evolution
And enjoy a long winter of truth


Do what you do.
*



Echidna’s Child



The difference between perplexed paranoia
and procrastination is sometimes a subtle distinction.
The confusion which swirls,
confounding me along my trudge,
gets the name of procrastinator.

I am not at all sure I should continue to call it by that name.
I believe that quite possibly I am an internal chimera,
a blend of creatures, both mythic and fantastic,
striving to live as one functioning specter,
in a world too hard for a disparate visage as myself.

When I am most myself,
when the goal is pure and true, I work with a will.
When I am making deadly compromise
and risking my soul for social ease or the approval of the keepers,
my dragon heart rebels and I am struggling
against the fire in my stomach and fear screaming in my head.

I don’t know how to eliminate the conflict,
but for now I will attempt to stop calling myself names.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 26

NATURAL LAW



Gravity is always in effect, but invoke the laws of lift and you can make a stone fly. I have no gills but strap on a tank and rebreather; I can share space with sharks. Given enough willingness and step work I can walk through the world sober though every cell of my body is alcoholic. The laws of nature are fluid. When I flow with them I can keep my goals. Instant gratification is often my stumbling block. Gaining access to my far-flung desires is not impossible but it is also not immediate.


Make little plans with salt and big plans with sugar.
*


Make Use of Brown Soap



When I have death in my pocket
it makes it easy to cross the street without a glance.
A little arsenic in my in my veins
allows me to swallow the rest with no thought beyond want.

Twist the screws tight enough in my brain
and no other pressure seems problematic.
All of the trouble in the world can beat a path to my door
when I carry within me the seeds of destruction.

I have to check myself for stow-away devastation.
Ruin begins in tiny droplets but will wash me down the drain
if not wiped immediately from my skin.

Vigilant acknowledgement of the power of small burdens
protects me from the mind blown ravages of the ensuing cyclone.
Microbes cause mayhem,
so I must watch where I touch and wash before I eat.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 27

THE DREAMER


“What about the dreamer?”
“What about her?” responds my sponsor. “You ask me about her like I was the one who pushed her off the cliff.”
“Are you saying I pushed her?” I questioned my sponsor.
“Yes, that is just what I am saying. Do you need me to sing it? You wanted the dreamer to fly off to safety and happiness and wanted her to take you with her. In an attempt to grab hold of her ankles and propel her to heaven you threw her from the precipice. Now she is broken and bleeding far from your sight. Your dreamer is damaged and you ask me what about her. Do you want to know what you did and how to remedy it or were you looking to duck responsibly?”
“Quack.”


Run before you fly.
*



Defining the Indefinable

What is Alcoholism?
What is a Hurricane?
What is a Cataclysm?

I know I look for the root cause,
look to predict the outcome,
look to prevention and preservation.

This thing which comes pouring
from the four winds
to land in my yard
and knock on my screen door.

What it shows me today,
the furious winds,
the slanting rain,
may not be how it presents tomorrow,

I must keep in mind it is all the same storm
and must be regarded with the same respect
and treated with the same care and diligence.

Whether it’s the thirst or the thinking,
a jail cell or my mental mouse trap,
alcoholism is an umbrella term for the tsunami,
which came to collect me,
but no definition will convey the devastation it has wrought.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 28

PUBLIC PRIVACY



My public privacy is protected by my smile not my scowl. Maintaining boundaries as I travel the common areas of life is more readily accomplished by a pleasant demeanor than a dark stare. I have used negative attitude and found myself outside of my own protection. The buoyancy of my manner keeps surface tension a natural and acceptable reality. Hooded behavior drags every interaction into suspicion. When I make part of my business to put others at ease, it is easier for me to preserve my business as my own.


Put clothes on ambition.
*


The Slick Nature of Grace



The higher I climb the more severe the fall;
the sweeter my life the more brittle my blood sugar.
I must be more careful as I get better.

I thought being sober would make my life free from care,
but I think it is a freedom from fretting
that might be more accurate.

I must still climb and take in all the sweetness
which comes my way,
but always I must vigilantly keep my balance.
Hold on tighter; eat more protein.

Grace is a glorious thing
and I am the consecrated recipient
who knows the slickness of the slopes
and the cunning of the glucose.

Daring to be sober is an athletic endeavor
I must tighten my cleats
and sharpen my sweet tooth.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 29

SATISFACTION



Satisfaction is like a marble in my pocket. Formed when correctness was still red hot and my sponsor rolled my mind until I was whole. I sigh and square my shoulders. I know I am up to any task. I am skilled with my tools and know well the talents of my intimates and helpmates. I am not invincible but I am capable. I value who and what I am today. I sleep the sleep of a person not a hostage or a captor. I am me. I have a marble in my pocket and it reminds me of the world. I have a world within me; knowing how to live with that is a great satisfaction.


Listen clearly to angry words but don’t repeat them.

*
Even at the Bottom


Why is it that I feel God leads me to the path,
but expects me to travel it alone?
In all honesty it feels more like God leads me
to the stairs and I fall down them on my own.

I lay in a heap at the bottom
filled with self-reproach for the landing.
I forget that a power which draws me forward
can also endure.

I did not come here alone,
I will not leave here alone;
I am never alone,
even at the bottom of the stairs.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 30

THE CALL

Within the sound of your voice
I sing
In the beat of your heart
I heal
I feel in your touch
And dance when your toe starts to tap
I see myself in your beauty
I warm inside your embrace
Your thoughts are my inspiration
Your lungs breathe me in and blow me out
I soar in your flight
And dream in your waking
I ring in your ears
Fall with your tears
I’m lost in you
Found in you
Travel and lounge in you
I share all your rantings
And hide in your secrets
You hear and caress me
My darling
You know who I am


Return to an old joy for a visit.
*



Rex

Hungry dogs who love me anyway,
dance around waiting to be fed.
If they didn’t love they
would take bloody bites and I don’t forget it.
These puppies have teeth,
like cigarettes I want to smoke but don’t.
And meanwhile back on the farm
I seek to quiet the whines and barking
of the unfed, malnourished familiarity
which writhes at my ankles and jumps at my knees.

I can no longer pat my disquiet on the head
and expect it to stay or heal.
I must hunt down the beast which bothers me
and feed the meat of it to the pups.

I must not leave the lopers to quarry my burden
if I want to remain master
and leave them to be pet.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 31

CHANNELING


It’s a full feeling to be a channel. Only an empty feeling when it’s blocked at the base of my spine and God can’t go to my head. The river flows through me and my banks will hold. Excuses dam me up and leave a dry and lifeless basin, with tributaries taxed for usefulness. Staying in the groove conveys my Higher Power’s will without need of my furrowed brow. A hose with no water running is a place for spiders to spin. If I shut off to service, I am a breeding ground for creeping sadness and shocking misery. Compliance allows me the view of flowing strength and rushing joy, the greatest of which is living with intent.


Repeat until you chant.
*


Shadow of Doubt


The long dark cast covers my face,
my thoughts…….. my life;
it is the light blocked by my skepticism.

To tear down the obstruction
means a profound change of my internal architecture;
walls will have to be knocked down, windows installed.

The poor mouthed structure
takes better to the steamroller than I wish it would.
I fear the loss of my hideout,
panic at the thought of a life in the sun.

Skepticism builds a paper world;
opaque, weak yet frightening to tear apart.