Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 4



Origins



At the root of it all is darkness. The place from which I grow, the structure that holds me fiercely upright, is pressed on all sides by dirt. When I get right down to it the ethereal leaves and twigs even the branches, do not exist, except for my foundation in the composted death and recycled life; the ground. For is it G-d who rains down from the heavens light and water or is G-d truly living at the center of the earth, warming my toes and securing me to what is real.






Use a mirror for words on the tip of your tongue



*

KEY

I asked for the key to my problems.
My expectation was a metal instrument
With which to unbolt the lock to my desires.

What I was given is a systematic explanation
Of the symbols of the plan of my life.
This has been a wonderful gift
And I have benefited greatly.

But first I have to stop brooding
About the loss of my wished for trinket.
Putting names on my map helps me
Stay off cliffs and out of rivers

The code is broken
I can decipher direction and intent
The composition of life’s offerings
Fit and harmonize in unimagined ways.

It creates archways strong and unbending
Giving me access to reefs of beauty and rest.
I asked for the means to open a door
But gained entry to the world.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 5



Tyler’s Truth


The snow is dying, pouring itself into the creeks and riverbeds. Sacrificing its crystalline structure and community for the ubiquitous oneness of liquid. Drawn by the gravitational lure of the ocean. Unity conquers the frozen individuated whole. Pulled from coast to coast the sun tempts the water’s life, the sea gives up her soul to the sky to be reborn as snow once more.







Open your mouth just to see if a song comes dancing out



*

THE RAINBOW

What is that look of concentration?
Asked my sponsor
I am trying to see the gray.
The gray? She queried.

Yes, I heard at the meeting that between the
Black and white there’s a lot of gray.
Well my darling
I don’t want you to have black and white thinking.

But what lies between black and white
Are all the colors ---the full spectrum
What am I to do with this information?
What do I do with all those colors?
I ask in shock and confusion

For right now, just remember
That all colors aren’t blue.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 6


What is at the Eye of the Storm?


Serenity is the alignment of three knowledges
1. Knowing that I am not without skill, talent, gifts.
2. Knowing that I am not without community, connection, comfort.
3. Knowing that I am not without G-d, whether or not I believe G-d is able to intervene.
When I am in full or even partial possession of these three I am safe from storm, or no, drought or no, fiery hairy pestilence and without this knowledge everything is storm, drought and pestilence, no matter what anyone else says or all evidence to the contrary. I will make my own mess when bereft. I will pay a large price for ignoring the facts and the lion’s share of this loss is loss of my serenity.





Disrupt the effectiveness of negativity



*

THE BEAR

Living with my disease is like having
A sleeping Bear in the house.
I knew it was there, could hear it snore.

I never felt comfortable or able to turn my back
On it and get on with my life.
I felt under certain threat.

Fearing the bear would wake
When my attention was elsewhere
I proceeded to poke it with a stick.

I prodded it to wakefulness
In retrospect it is clear I was unprepared
For a wakeful bear.

Even with my full attention fixed on the brute
The Bear, which is my disease, roamed about the house
And made forays out into the world.

I had no plan or tool for these events
Finding a legion of people who had worked out
Living arrangements with their Bears
I happily joined their ranks.

My Bear wakes and sleeps at its will
But I am no longer afraid or unskilled
At handling this creature
Today I am so grateful for the Bear in my life.

I would never want a life without it
I live in a world filled with Bears
And would be at a loss as how to exist
If not for the practice and success
With the Bear that is my own.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 7


Keeping My Seat


I can sit through this. I can do it even when I don’t remember that I want to. I will get through this no matter how it tweaks me and I squirm in my seat. In spite of the unfairness of it all, I can do what is right, because that is what is best for me. Acting out or giving up are options that I have, but I like me too much to choose so poorly. When this is all settled I will still have me no matter what else I gain or lose. If I don’t like me anymore I have lost everything, if I can hold my head up, proud of my behavior this is the most valuable gain. Love is only love if I am still here to feel it, so I will sit still.






Set group goals for your tiny terrors


*

TIME TABLES

I know the train is coming
And I want to read the schedule
I hear rumors that the convoy going to
Feeling will arrive in two years.

The five-year expedition to getting my brains back
Seems unlikely but is often commented on in meetings.
Excursions to far-off destinations such as
Functional and Reasonable have me on my feet
In gleeful anticipation.

Still I wish for a clear mapping of time.
I feel I could leave off the worrying
About the How of it if only I could
Be sure of the When.

This cavalcade of adventure
Would be so much more palatable
With a well written itinerary.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 8


Tooth Fairies and Super Heroes


I never know who the tooth fairy is going to be. Who might be the one person who will know CPR in my hour of need. Which unlikely friend will whisper to me the secret code to my mental lock. I have been caught off guard by the power of the most unlikely wallflowers. It is important for me not to prejudge, but even more important to leave space for surprise and the delightful aptitude of those around me and for that matter from strangers on the street. Also, it is good for me to remember there is change in my pocket and a resuscitation certificate in my wallet.




Repattern the impressions made on you

*
FAR OFF PLACES

Meetings too near home are unsatisfying to me.
On smooth simple days, local meetings are fine,
I catch a meeting, just slip it in.
On rough days I yearn for an out of town meeting.

After these many 24’s I come to realize I need the ride
As much as I need the meeting.
Like a discontented baby,
I need more that just a trip around the block.

The comfort of taking flight in my car
Is equaled by arriving at some far off AA meeting
Fresh faces and a new take on old woes
Are an antidote to my colicky attitude.

The drive back offers a sense of triumphant homecoming
A good meeting can be had anywhere
Sometimes I just need a change of place
Or a change of pace.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 9




Night Clothes and Bed Clothes


Is there any indulgence quite like that of clean sleepwear warm from the laundry? Pulling on jammies over squeaky clean skin and the little shutter that goes with tired hedonism is a pleasure without formed words, left for grateful sounds and little moans. Hard work creates more than stability, more than cash flow and more than mere exhaustion, hard work changes my mind about delight and allows me to see it in the most obvious, most subtle of places. My bed has become haven, hospital, refuge and I am tucked up in my nest and safely out of my mind.



Tidy around your messy emotions


*

THE WATER YOU DRINK

Anyone who has to be drug to water
Doesn’t deserve a drink. said my sponsor
What about raising the bottom? I question.

I’m not talking about that
I am discussing people you try to convince into recovery
The folks you try to accommodate
.
The ones you attempt to bend reality for
These are the type who will piss in your well
Let me be clear--------

I am not concerned with individuals who piss in the pool
Which is rude and disgusting
But basically not life threatening
.
When your well is defiled
When the place you draw your drinking water from
Is used as a chamber pot--- your life is at risk.

Don’t ever pull your pants down
Over someone’s fresh water
Don’t let anyone squat with their bare ass over your sobriety

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 10


Special


Is it the wiring between my ears, the size of the pump in my chest? The difference which can be seen when you look from me to the neighbors? I know that you feel me to be special. I feel me to be special, too, just like you. Defining that thing, that combination which unlocks the mundane is more than just an attempt to point a finger; it’s a search for that little light. Close and closer we pull together and that is special but now I will whisper it, tell you the secret truth is my ability to play. Come play with me!




Whistle with the tune the wind brings you

*






IT’S MY PARTY

The party I was throwing myself in addiction
Was nothing but a very long wake.
There were no smiles, only murmurs of what might have been.
I was filled with tears I couldn’t cry
And mourned my death as I caused it.

When I took off my little black dress
And stepped from this shroud
I closed the bar, clicked the switch and the dirge stopped.
The funeral ended prematurely
I walked into AA where I learned to be the life of the party.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 11

Let God Do What?


I hesitate to let go to G-d because I fear that G-d doesn’t like me, or likes me now, but doesn’t like me all the time. I think I got this belief from being the only child of parents who don’t like children. It never mattered how good I was, how smart or thoughtful, well informed, helpful, I always ended up being treated like I was a burden, someone to be endured. If only I was likeable, I would think to myself and try recreating me to become….what? Finally I settled on indispensable, if I could make myself necessary, then my life would be okay. People would need me therefore they would want me. What I discovered is that people who can’t live without me end up resenting me. By the time I was so important to others I was no longer important to me, so I didn’t need G-d’s help because I didn’t need anything, I didn’t exist. Over time what I have settled on are a few truths: People who don’t like kids shouldn’t have them. And I need G-d’s help to learn how to want to be here on this planet since I was not brought to earth by people who wanted me.



Title your dreams
*

SYMPTOMATIC BOUQUET

My bouquet of symptoms took root in alcoholism
I displayed these blossoms to few.
I thought I could keep these problem posies to myself.

No need to worry
Everyone has a bit of manure in their lives.
Mine hardly seem strange.

Planted in addiction things grew in a dramatic way
Pruning became unworkable,
Drastic measures were required.

Uprooted and exposed these virulent stalks
Created the need for help from better gardeners than I.
Thinned and repotted these character traits
Have fruited many a lovely harvest.

None of which could have happened
Had I been left in the family plot.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 12



A Year for Me



The world is my mollusk and I am its pennyweight paragon, witty girl that I am. I have spent enough time surrounded by wet feet and confining shells, all held at the bottom of the sea. This is a year for me. I am going to climb over the rim of my briny brink and try myself against the fearsome winds of chance. Although souse is buoyant I feel strong enough to stand my ground. Time has come for life, open and raw, but I shall leave the clams to the casino.







Allow ticklish issues to make you laugh

*


HOLD THE LINE

Relax is not the same as give up.
Unwind is not fray.
Letting go doesn’t mean never grab hold.

It is important to have moderation in all things
Including moderation, exuberance and enthusiasm,
These are wonderful in their season
Too much and I could get an adrenaline addiction.

Make sure your song has more than one note
And make sure you sing more than one song in your life.
Change, interest and excitement are vital to my existence

If you take all the spikes and ridges
Out of your life line
It means you’re Dead.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 13



Old Nasty


My addiction is like a Percheron, bigger and more powerful than I am, but what I have learned is that if I treat this horse with due respect and a guiding hand from my recovery and my Higher Power I can harness the energy of my illness and use its’ force to make my life work. I can never be the master of alcoholism, but I can see it for what it is; an overgrown instinct looking for an outlet. When I am given my way out I take this beast with me and when I value that partnership we are both safe. When I have tried to lock it in a stall and run far from the barn, it kicks my life down. When I put my head in the yoke willingly, together we are led and we do the work which is fulfilling and rich. I was meant to work in a team, I am grateful to have a teammate.




Close your eyes and look at yourself
*




QUICK-------SAND !!!!!!

Don’t ask how deep the quicksand is. Said my sponsor.
It’s your job to get out of it--not quantify it.
I’m not sure how to get out.
Will you come and get me. I ask her?

No Darling, if I get in we will both be down for the count
The only chance we have for me to help you
Is if I stay out of the morass
With my feet firmly on solid ground.

What if you can’t get me out. I cry?
I will go get more help.
What if all of AA can’t get me out?

Angel, my hope is, that if there was no way out
You wouldn’t even know you were stuck.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 14


Wales



It is safe for the houses to sleep in the streets, but not for me. I cannot follow that which is so right and regular for mundane things. I am a jagged piece and it is hard for me to find my place.

The sun comes though everyone’s windows and peeks around the blinds left down. I must mind my manners and not be a nuisance or a bother; draw no undue attention to my brightness, carry a basket to hide it in.

And while every river can drown its sorrows in the rush of the downhill sweep to the sea; I must stand here stock cold sober and bear the pain appointed to me.



Curl your fingers into the tangles of life and hang on

*



WAKE

Don’t worry that you might spoil the procession
By getting out of your coffin.
You don’t need to lie there waiting for the lid to close.

People will walk past saying ---so sad---too bad
But don’t lie instate just to keep them from feeling
Their trip was a waste.

Just because the crypt has been purchased
Doesn’t mean you’re ready to go.
There are still opportunities to dance.

Don’t die for love, glory or pride.
Don’t die before your time.
Death is only an honor
If you lived every preceding second.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 15


Sympathetic Strings


A guitar with 28 strings generates much sympathy from the cords which were not strummed. Pluck is contagious and inspires much harmony and verve in the vicinity in which it shows face. Sympathetic strings vibrate in response to the jangling around them but are tuned to their own notes. Much distortion adds to the depth of the sound created by this throng. Can you hear my life? How a disturbance in my life rings in the lives which surround me? How I twitch and chime when things are twanged in the lives of my neighbors, my friends, my kin. We make the music of care, the discord of reaction. To every move there is a sound to every sympathy a harmony.





Surprise yourself with the light in your own eyes

*




THE LIVING DREAM

Throwing yourself into the river in pieces
Drowns you as crumbs.
Casting aside love and longing
makes you less in your heart
and your soul stops beating.

Pitching your tent with critics and complainers
Leaves you out in the cold on warm summer evenings.
Crest the hill to meet the rising sun
Orbit the constellations without hesitation.

Petit point the pictures in your mind
Then set them to music.
The world is your dream
Live it into reality.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 16



Rounder



Back again, yes, that I see, but change is not the same as return. What I know of you is your past. I believe the past because I know it. If there is a new you to meet that remains to be seen. Even a chameleon sheds its skin, though I doubt its intrinsic nature is altered much in the process. So flash your smile and wind your words into the thoughts of those with whom you have no history. I’ve been exposed before, the virus doesn’t conquer me, I am immune. Once bitten makes me wary when you come around again.






Pick a color and let it find you all day

*
TO SLOOP

When I was a tanker- I carried such a heavy load.
The diesel cycle ran at regular intervals
And my internal temperature was terrific.
The fuel sprayed and things went round and round
The cost was high.

Now my principal means of propulsion
Is the wind in my sails.
Conversion was difficult
Though I found the rigging and mast a fascination
The ballast was a heavy load to bear.

Cargo is something short lived
To be cast off at the next port.
Incumbent discretion is welded to my keel
And will go with me to every harbor.

As a tankard, liquid was transported or consumed.
As a cutter, dependability keeps me tacking into the wind.
Now my outlay is low and my rewards are high
I carry only what I need, I am free, a sloop upon the sea.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 17



Horse Play


The sequestered equestrian rides alone through the night; the wood is as quiet as she. Passing no one; speaking not a word, she slips into the paddock without a nicker or a neigh. I long to be just as she, not silent sentinel, but living a whist fleet life, a power unto myself. What stands between are my hurt feelings and my longing to be loved. I can’t blame myself for either, but work to heal and grow. Nagging need is a pestilence I will be well rid of; the irredeemable past is luggage for a catalog, not for hauling on my back. I will mount up and ride my great round stead, the night is mine when I am ready the path is there I know.





Imagine an ostrich in flight


*
GRAFT

The bottom has been cut out
My underpinnings stripped from me..
Budding ambition whittled down, transplanted,
Saddled onto the rock like stock of other peoples sobriety.
Taped to the leg of my sponsor I heal and grow.

I splice my thinking with the rich ideas of improved living
I cling to the cleft, divisions made from the people,
Places and things of my past leave me split,
Primed for fresh growth and opportunity.

Never again do I need return to the sordid
Acquisition of power or control
There is no gain when I am bolted to position and influence
Graft is graft for good or bad
I don’t have to grow where I was planted.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 18


Cicatrix and Love



The mark left by injury is indelible though it may heal, the consequence remains. This is also true of love. I am branded and changed by your affection. The improvement wrought in me does not leave when you do. If you stop loving me, can no longer remember my name, my face, my sigh; I am better for having had your love if only for a short time. Good medicine offers lasting results; the miracle of your love is my health. The blush in my cheek, the revitalization I feel is traceable to you, to the days you held me in your heart and the nights you held me in your arms. And though I want you back in my world the best of you lives on in my life.



Slice time with your thoughts and peer through the pieces

*



JUXTAPOSITION

Right next to this world is the globe that I came from.
The landmarks are similar but these spheres have little in common
The angle of refraction illuminates the place of my origin
The source of this light is legend.

On my home planet, the existence of sobriety is cast off as myth.
I held onto this tale with my heart.
I slipped the gravitational bonds of Crazy one night
By the glow of the ready button on the coffee pot.

Here and there intersect at only one point
A room with some chairs and a circle with a triangle.
The meeting was on step one
And it was a good place to jump in.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 19



Rings of Color against Butterflies



Resistance I can accomplish directly; impedance requires magnetism from an alternating world. I can drag my heels and live life in a sandpaper shack making everything a chore, but what it takes to throw furniture in the path of progress, slamming doors and turning off the lights that is more than I can do on my own. This takes the cooperation of my disease and me, the monkey-hoop, which is effort and clever repartee. Look how well we do it, too. Distracting possibilities, staving off humanity and the humane, may not sound like much, but it takes up our whole day; goodness is such a persistent little grub. It takes a concerted effort to prevent it from chrysalis and failing that, still more determination to make sure it doesn’t fly.




Listen to music the way you walk through a garden

*


2 CHAIRS

Math is the language which moves
Closest to the speed of my brain.
The language of recovery slows my thinking
So I am more than numbers and clicks.

I need not race my mind in an effort to win.
I am my prize.
The victory is mine if I can embrace who I am.

I can use numbers to figure whether I am more or less
But owning who I am must be given
To the talk of the soul and heart.

My nashamah is not an astral projection
To be theorized but the seat of my emotions.
The only way to discover myself
Is through deep and loving conversation
So I had best pull up two chairs.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 20


Taking the Field



Humor is an illustration; a joke, an explanation. I learn far more from the smiles than the jeers. Laughter carries me; an action, which tears can’t always accomplish. It is hard to live with constant descent, but wit is a quick impassioned friend. Thoughtless conformity is an evil companion I prefer the company of those who play. Life is too hard from the sidelines; I would rather take the field.



Find a pit crew before you crash

*

DEFINITIONS

I am close to my Higher Power
But I have no words to describe It.
I have found it best to say nothing unless asked.

When I do speak it is always the path I took
Or the way I held my face.
I know the things, which changed
And the wind, which blew.

This is not the sketch most people seek.
My skin is brown and my smile broad.
This is not from over exposure to beams of light.

Closeness warms me, I glow from standing near.
I know the face and form is different for everyday
I must not stop for definitions.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 21



Rules

There are rules about breaking rules. You can do it this way, but must not that way. Cross this line and you get dragons; cross that line you get a good natured slap on the wrist. Beneath the reflective surface of law I have found many shoals and sandbars; rocks and outcroppings, layer upon layer of blue depth I can only partly chart. I also find inquiries in this matter meet with the same reaction as asking about: yeti, crop circles, or what was kept in Uncle Author’s spare room. Those willing to talk about it I often fear to hear from and the reluctant to speak I fear to pursue. You see this investigation is just another thing from under that sea.






Look before you listen

*

MY BABIES

Too often I have abandoned the infants
Of my creativity to doorways and charities
Having little patience I did not raise them
To their intended station.

Joyful parentage need not stop
At the cutting of the cord.
Down playing the importance of each birth
I leave beauty and art to be foundlings
And the province of others.

I can share the guardianship of these precious gifts
And be more than a broodmare for cunning and craft.
I have neglected things
For the promise of each new conception.

Overpopulation weakens the body of work
And leaves my portfolio listless and immature.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 22



The Landscape of Words



Paint takes time to dry; I work with words. I say azure and you are there with me, even if I am far from this mortal coil, my pigments stay fresh as long as you know blue, as long as you can hear me, read me, see me. I paint 6X8 cell and we are imprisoned together, trapped, til I tell you of the key I slipped into your shoe. I love the flow of watercolor, adore the mushy paste of oil, but nothing beats the world we paint and repaint here on this page.




Explain why frogs don’t have wings


*

GAME PLAYING

My Higher Power doesn’t play me like a board game.
Doesn’t monopolize my time or put me in jeopardy.
My trouble is my own.

I pursue trivia at my discretion.
I take or reject risk at will.
I scrabble my thoughts and am sorry when I make mistakes
.
But don’t expect to live in a candy land.
When I stick my hand in a mouse trap
Or fall down shoots and need to climb up ladders.

I know the game may not be over
But it is far too late to play let’s make a deal.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 23



Before Ophelia


Young women drown themselves before Shakespeare immortalized, memorialized Ophelia. But having a poster child changes us. Cautionary tale or rallying cry, Ophelia is a hand to hold on dark cold days when the light is hard to find and everything seems bent toward destruction. Not that I think she solved anything with her despondent act just that she stands in the familiar frame I find myself in from time to time. When I imagine I’ve invented the wheel it makes it harder to step down and walk. Ophelia’s fate makes it easier to get off depression’s bus and find my way back home.





Press your excuses for truth

*

TOOTH FAIRY

I slide my hand under the pillow
And am disappointed not to find a quarter.
I feel I deserve one though I didn’t leave a tooth.
I did leave my bite,
I’ve toned down my bark a bit too.
It has not been easy.

I’ve spent much of my life snapping and growling
At the world around me.
I have shortened the leash on these reactive behaviors
Many I have put to bed all together.

Improved conduct is prize enough
But I surely would enjoy a winged visitor
If only just for fun.