Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 1


Why is it so hard to be me?

I have everything I could wish for. I have love and friendship, I have talent and ability. What more could I want? I don’t want more, I want to learn how to overcome fear and live with disappointment. Abundance is ever at the door, but I have no room for plenty. Reassurance is the thing I chase after, yearn for, pine about, but it is an illusive thing like taking hold of smoke. Allusion is the gift-wrap of reality the unwrapping often puts me off the contents; regaining my composure and reestablishing willingness is a difficult job requiring dedication and fortitude. The barrier before the carefree me is thought the strongest of all substance. I must heal the calcifications of my mind and resist rigidity. My thinking is what makes being me problematic without it I am nothing at all.





Free fun from the shackles of expectation




*

ACCEPTANCE, ACTION, CHANGE

Acceptance equals action
Without action, acceptance is a death sentence
Action puts me in the hands of my Higher power
Inaction puts me at the mercy of others or worse self-justification
For acceptance to glow with life it must be moving

Action equals change
Action without change is repetition
The moon does not change
It orbits flat on it's face, forever dark on one side
And a mere reflection on the other

Change equals acceptance
Change sparks possibilities in mundane endeavor
Change without acceptance is a walk off a cliff
For change to endure, agreement is necessary
A one-sided argument is fascism and fraudulence

The heart of change is acceptance
Beating the blood of hope to the extremities
Whether we circle the heavens
Or the bowl depends on the cohesion of
Acceptance, Action and Change

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 2


Clock and Calendar Girl


I depend on the count and measure of time to get me through. The swing of the pendulum carries me from moment to moment and the divisions between days are like the rungs on a ladder; I climb from month to month and age to age. When I hold my breath I count the tic, tic, tic till the difficult time passes and I can inhale once more. Harder things require X’s in their numbered boxes to help me transverse the larger distance and rockier terrain. Take away my clock and I go deaf, remove my calendar and I go blind. Tools are tools even if they only aid sight and sound.




Address your future


*

THE SCULPTOR

Stuck in a block, my sponsor chips away at me
I struggle to hold still
With surgical precision she cuts through the debris
With which I have surrounded myself

After my sponsor frees my hand and arm
She places a hammer in my open fingers
When the other arm and hand are rescued
She places a chisel in that hand

This is how before my head showed above the surface
I began to help in my own restoration
I am the sculptor
The program has made me

Recovery has taught me
I can be anything
If I keep chipping away
At the things which hold me hostage

As time travels on I am a new shape
With each turn through the steps
And have an ever lustrous finish
With every application of the traditions

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 3



Unfettered


“The difference between a demand and a request is apparent to everyone.” A drunk once said this and I hold it to my heart. I can not be bullied or swindled into a corner; neither will I allow you to put a rope around my neck like a wayward calf. I obey because it works for me and if you teach me that you are untrustworthy or careless I will obey you no longer, this doesn’t make me less obedient it just takes you out of the lead. Sometimes I hold the reins and most times they are in the hands of G-d, but never shall my reins be in the hands of another, this is what I drank over and this is what I could drink over again. No one person is my salvation and I cannot allow anyone to be my demise. If you consume me like a drink, I will kill you as surely as any drug.





Hobble disrespect


*

STOP TALKING

Try to stop talking when people stop listening said my sponsor
And try not to take it personally
Why is that? I query

Most individuals can't handle much of anything real
Try as they may they are unable to listen
To anyone speaking the truth

Tell them a story and you can hold their attention all day
Sprinkle bits of honesty into the tale
And you still will keep your audience

But strafe them with bullets of the truth and they run for cover
I've seen it happen, I never knew what made them scurry
But I have seen them sprint away

It's a coping mechanism
If you try to turn their heart too quickly
They're afraid it will stop beating

Why is it you never worry about that with me?
You tell me the facts whether I want to hear them or not
I can tell you because you take step three

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 4

Give Me a Goose Any Day

The geese breaking wind resistance, the close ones, the far ones, the ones behind trumpeting, this is the gang who gets me sober and keeps me that way. Maybe you think that G-d is not a flock of geese, but it has been my experience and the honking and the mess are part of it all. I spend my days making sure I am one of them. Sometimes I am even in the lead, which may seem like a place of honor and prestige, but is actually a lot of hard work. Sometime I am the cheering squawker who makes my encouragement heard. Other times I am the one waddling around leaving an untidiness behind me. All of this just makes me part of the flock. I am especially fond of my nest mates though they are often the ones I chase and bluster at the most. I feel a sense of identity and pride when I see any goose flying high and know that because we don’t do it alone we are able to do it together.




Pet inspiration

*

FINE PRINT

I can scrawl the wall with everything I know
I can fill my books chapter and verse
With pure and honest hope
But let me begin the precision of language and watch.

My once open face becomes tight
My associations peek regularly around each corner
Neatly painted lines are a trap with teeth laid bare

Serrations of careful craft sever my umbilical
And God floats off untethered
Truth returns when I am shouting my prayers
Scrupulous observance never advances my sails

I must meet life with an open hand
The devil may not be in the details
But be sure to check the fine print.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 5

Please Sir

Gratitude is a thing which collects and solidifies, it’s pink and I can walk around on it. Some days it is a broad highway and other times a winding spindling track. Ever present if I am mindful, gratitude roots out pests and pestilence while planting a garden beyond my dreams. Gratitude is like handholding; it warms and strengthens me, keeps me connected to real life and reassures me that I am not alone. Many days I find a way to make a face and pout, plundering the rich rewards of sobriety for the thin gruel of discontent, poke me with a stick on these days and remind me who I am, for I am never Oliver even if I feel a little twist.





Rest between great ideas


*

FEELING TEMPLES

I failed to appreciate the initial onslaught of feelings
I spent much time trying to capture them
Lock them away or in some other way submarine them

This only had the effect of retarding my recovery
I had to reframe my thinking
I had to start with simple calisthenics, embrace and celebrate

As my emotional health began to take shape
I started the foundations for tiny shrines
Each with its own theme

Happiness had a party going on until all hours
With grief there seemed to be a constant internment in progress
Body or no

Fear showed on IMAX film
Of the realities of life on earth
Curiosity had an endless library plus a DSL line

Making myself a willing and frequent visitor
To these contrasting places
Created in me wholeness and peace

Never again do I have to trudge
The two dimensional desert
Of my monochromatic former life

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 6


Fearing Fearlessness

How many times have I given the credit to night blind fear, credit due the brave persistent child? How many times have I blamed the willing diligent pursuer when the fault was the backstabbing delay of mistrust? I resist the onset of freedom. Fear was my oldest familiar and I put from my mind that it was my jailer, captor; kidnapped me from my cradle and kept me locked from G-d’s fine intentions. Fearlessness sounds debilitating to my crippled ears, organs who hear well the disclaimers and are deaf to the claims. I am the producer of bile and addicted to dread, endorphins wear white hats and win the day once this yellow belly is put to bed.





Allow yourself distance from uncomfortable people



*

BIRDS AND BEES

Birds and Bees can get me drunk
I have to watch the amount of envy
Which pours through me as I watch their bliss

When others make a beeline to the hive
I must head to a meeting and save myself despair
If my spiritual condition is not sound

When other couples are weaving their nests
I have to be careful
Not to weave my way back to the bar

The mating dance is so sweet and seductive
I have to make sure
I don't end up doing the two step

For as much as I hate to admit it
If steps one and twelve where enough to keep me sober
The rest would not have needed to be written

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 7

Two Things That Should Be One

The difference between my will and G-d’s will is that G-d actually likes me all the time, never looks to punish and would rather that I don’t settle for less then what is best for me.

The difference between G-d’s will and my will is left to my own devices I would run in a perpetual circle and dig a trough. I would never ask for help and would refuse if it were offered. I would take on misguidedness as a mantle and wear it to my wake.

Often my will and G-d’s will are miles apart, but they needn’t be. G-d is the president of my fan club; I just need to start attending the meetings.




Make music in your head that you can feel in your whole body

*


WHIP

I have been to the meeting where the play 'whip'
The meeting where the members are gotten in line
The tempo increases constantly in an attempt
To flick each other off into the land of shame and slips and less-than

This game is invisible to the participants
Though the stress on their bodies is surely felt
Spectators often misunderstand the meaning of the activity
And wrongly interpret it as strength training and endurance building

I think of it as a backward step
Throwing me to my initial desire for a drink
Living other peoples skewed lines
Sent me running for a bottle

The same lines
Placed around me in sobriety
Will measure me up for a box

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 8


Out on Your Front Porch


“If you want what we have,” said my sponsor, “you will have to follow somebody and lead somebody and do a few other things.”
“I have to follow somebody, that shouldn’t be too hard,” I mumble.
“In order to follow it helps if you stop looking at the ground, lift you gaze,” her retort. I raise my chin until I meet her eyes. “Better,” says she.
“I follow you?” I ask.
“Me, yes, if I have what you want, follow others if I don’t,” she says.
“Okay and lead somebody, how do I do that?” I ask.
“It’s attraction, Sweetie, be attractive, show your smile and your smarts, but most of all show that you’re sober, because that is always your best asset. And no matter what anybody tells you about the allure of bad girls, nobody can resist a good set of assets”




Don’t let the rush of the river scare you from the bank

*

WHAT IS PAST

The past cannot hold me in a loving embrace
I run too often looking for affection and recognition
In things long dead and purportedly buried

I return to the ghoulish obsession of digging up
Old hates and sorrows longing for support
And finding only the cause of the ulcers in my soul

I wallpaper the crumbling facade
Not wanting to cover it up but to hold it together
Trying to unify something which is totally scattered

When I view it with a sober eye
The past is nothing but a slideshow
Under a strobe light

The pulse triggers the impulsive belief that it was all real
When in truth it was the lie I survived
No life existed in the past

Only now is there air to breathe
The past is all vacuum
And I don't need to be sucked away

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 9


Up and Down: Round and Round

Like the wheel on my spinning wheel I pump up and down on the treadle and the wheel spins round and round, the roving twists in my hand and yarn is made. Really all I do is tap my foot and gently hold on, pulling occasionally. It is a small part I play in this production at least it feels small almost unnecessary, but with a clear mind I see that without me it doesn’t get done. I am essential yet still just a foot-tapper and hanger-on neither of these is prestigious yet the whole fabric depends on my mundane actions. I take great comfort knowing that all over there are foot-tappers and hangers-on keeping safe this way of life, sometimes keeping it safe just through sheer repetition. And if you ask, “Is that Unity or Recovery or Service?” All I can say is “Yes it is.”



Powder your bottom line

*


CLAW MARKS

There is a brackish River
Whose current changes directions twice a day
Its bed is well washed on every side.

It begs the question-
Which way is down hill?
There are times I struggle up hill in both directions

There are times I slip from every slope
What is up is often down
Judgment of topography requires distance

Scaling the surface takes tenacity
I plan on leaving my mark as I go
Life's residue staining my finger tips.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 10



Stumbling Under the Tenth Step

When I’ve been outside of my mind it is so hard to tell when I’ve come home again. The landmarks take on such distortion in memory that the facts seem bloated or anorexic as I turn my face from side to side. Old journals remind me of old journeys and perhaps there are accurate landmarks mentioned, but how can I know for sure that these too are not just the ravings of a mind gone mad. Real or imagined I must take the daily count and try to keep the score in favor of the actual. I don’t always know that I’ve fallen until I inventory the dirt on my face, but better that I face the dirt than live the delusion of a mole.




Notice the shape of your fixtures



*

DROWNING NAKED

Bare & Exposed
I laid myself on the alter
Of my home group

AA, my only Source
I emptied the contents of my soul
And bore the mantle of overexposure

But vultures lurked in many rooms
I was safely guided by persons of my gender
To more secluded and effective place of transmission

I thrust myself into the arms and mind of my sponsor
She escorts me to the steps with the door closed
And taught me how and when it could be prudently opened

AA is a power greater than me, so is the ocean
Precaution needs to be taken when wading in
Care must be exercised as to how much to bare.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 11



The Key You See


The key you see is letting you, accept me. Oh, how I hide from that, run from that, flee from that. I must be in control of what you think of me. I curtain off the view of me I don’t wish to share with you. Add to that the unusual choices of what I hide. I will strip down with all the lights blazing long before I would let you see me drop the ball, be confused, misunderstand. What I truly fail to realize is that in the process of trying to hide my faux pas and fumbles; what I show you is my controlling ass. Backside bare I moon you with my freak show trying to hide my humanity. Your compassion and tolerant waiting for me to calm down and open my eyes is the key I fail to see about you.





Learn the difference between area and circumference


*

RANK

I took an area level service position
And my sponsor laughed herself off her chair

What is your motivation for this? she asked
I want to move up through the service structure, my reply

Are you trying to make rank?
Problem with that? I ask

Ever heard of self-fulfilling prophecy
You will become what you desire

You will become rank
And you will stink

The triangle is inverted to help you clean up your act
Don’t get washed away in a tide of ego

I put down my swim fins
And removed my epilates

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 12

My Experiences with Tennis

I have held the racket, I have hit the ball, but I have never played with a partner. I have slammed the fuzzy orb against the wall for long years now, but I have never had a mate. There were times when I had opponents; yes I’ve had a couple of those, a collaborator though, that I have never had. I have learned to overcome opposition either through wile or guile. Slugged my way toward some inevitable outcome, I never expected you on my court. The game we play is for keeps and the muscles required I have never used, I ache from the pain of ending an atrophy imposed on me by isolation and misunderstanding. Often I don’t know how to stand, don’t know how to act; don’t know how to be the equal to your service. I play chase, running after the thing I didn’t see and only faintly felt. I have come to the place where I know, you and I are a team; you will not be leaving looking for someone better equipped or with greater experience. It is time for me to lay out in front of you my host of tendencies and inclinations. I’m in the habit of overwhelming with my strength to hide my weakness; I must expose this all to you, the strength and the weakness, and work together for the resolution. I will no longer pretend that I know what is right and wrong in this un-played game. I fear that I will lose the old game by making this change, all that is familiar put up for grabs to the uncertain outcome of paired sports. All I truly know is that with you by my side I can never lose and I will learn to do whatever it takes to be your wife.


Dream with an open mind
*

SOLIDITY

Apprehension stands in the archeological site
Which is my life -----listening
Listening for the rumble of a cement truck to come
And help solidify the shifting and tenuous nature of my existence

A wet and sloppy solution
A solution to be raked and smoothed, covered and cured
Something to build a monument on
Or a place to park my car

The nearby grass looks lush and green
But I dare not leave apprehension alone or it spreads
I stand with it on bad days
And against it on good ones

I pray for the mixer to arrive
Or at least the gravel spreader
I need to fill this hole so it can be a life
And stop being a grave.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 13






Neither Frog nor Fish

I was falling and my Higher Power caught me in a net called AA, all of which was a pretty neat trick, but the strangest consequence of this is now I somehow think it shouldn’t be possible for me to drown. Defying gravity 24 hours at a time doesn’t make me aquatic or even amphibious for that matter. I still have all the corollary restrictions of anyone who is me. I still need sleep and water, food and warmth just like a mere mortal. How silly I am. I dodge a bullet and suddenly I think I am waterproof.



Don’t exchange your trinkets for your tools


*


WHAMMO

I have been hopping on one foot
With a ball of hope shoved under one arm
And a ball of hysteria under the other

I wish I could tell from the outside of the ball
Which one is hope- I worry I will put down the wrong one
So I hold onto both

My life is sorely limited by the baggage
And I fear I am losing life with every hop
A lack of information is my problem

I don't adequately know the properties of either
And suspect my every interpretation
Finally I stand before my sponsor

To ask the question of my life- That's easy Honey
Hope is the one that bounces back
Is all she had to say

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 14




Who to Ask

“You ask good questions and you ask the right people,” said my sponsor.
“I ask questions because I need answers,” my reply.
“Do you know how many people need answers and never ask?” she quipped.
“I ask my friends, no stroke of genius there,” I continue.
“You ask your playmates, you ask the people you trust enough to have fun with. You don’t realize how clever that is. You know lots of folks who work hard and you could ask your questions of these, but instead you save them for those diligent ones who still know how to play and that, Sweetie Pie is proof that you are no dummy.”





You may mute your horn, but don’t soap your bow


*


CRUMPLED PETALS IN MY POCKET

I can't bring back the bloom
Cohesion, lost ripeness
Is left only to memory

I carry home the parts
Folded, petite, fragrant bedding
For my wistful desires

I put these colored remnants into a jar of salt
I make an aromatic rub
For the sweetest wounds

Transforming the parts to useful duty
Doesn't restore the flower
It doesn't pay tribute to the past, it is survival

I have a mind filled with roses but I must make hay
Today I live, today the rose is dead
Its pieces in my pocket

I don't die with the blossom
Though my head blows in the wind
The rose runs its course, I run mine.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 15


Chickens and Eggs


Who is more sober the early riser or the long-timer? How do we get here and what does it mean. It all starts with a day, which is good because this is more than we had hoped for, sometimes more than we could do. Then it moved into an ever escalating game of can you beat this, each day an improvement over what had been accomplished the day before. For years the standard bearer is the pain or relief of the very first in this string, orbs of 24, yet here stands the question, “Is the essence the last pearl you touch or the total of the strand, which makes it real?” I don’t know for sure. Sobriety is like light; is light made up of waves or is it made up of particles and the answer is invariably yes, for it is. And what you need and how you look at it seems to make the determination, scientific method or no, the watched is affected by the watcher and vice versa. The end is a day round and imperfect as any and what is strung between the beginning and the end is what you’ve made of it.




Never underestimate bitterness

*

ESCAPING THROUGH THE CEILING

Up and away is my motto
Upwardly mobile is my goal

If I can flee without leaving a track
I'm clean

No heart wrenching walk down the isle or lane
No dust on my shoes, no possibility of stumbling

Grace at all cost
Empowerment through elevation

If I must leave my human plane to attain this, so be it
Give up my natural rights, such is life

But yet, if I lose my bonds to earth
What did the leaving gain me?

I arise, to appear better
As a result, I appear not at all

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 16




Not Fur but Fin

You can’t delay the river, I’ve tried, all it does is distort. I block the flow and swamp ensues, mighty oaks waist deep in water. The current is strong and I fear being swept away, not realizing I was born to swim. Dreading the swim back for spawn I try to stay too close to my origins, never make it to open water, never to live the life I was intended for. I’ve heard it said, “Don’t push the river it flows by itself,” but I can’t stall it either.









Line up the little endearments offered you


*

FEEDING THE MONSTER

Who will feed the monster, once they’ve made her?
Her hunger burns in her like a beacon
Should I let her starve?
Should I put her on rations of old crust and tepid water?

Rebuke her as if she were her own idea
Possibly bind her hands and cover her eyes
Stand her in line with the good girls and fit her in
Turn her visage from her desire and tell her to forget?

Hold her hand and tell her that’s enough?
When I stand in the face of her yawning hunger
What do I say---It's for your own good?
Well that's what THEY said too.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 17




Like an Elf Working in an Empty Tree

The chairs in the loft are empty, but I still hear the choir sing. The bottle though it’s empty, still sometimes calls my name. Though front pocket is empty and there is rolled up empty sleeve, still the nicotine haunts my dreams. On this empty road I travel, I still long for company. The stillness is not all that’s empty, but I run to fill that spot. Chaos is like a tapeworm it eats me from inside, but in the meantime I still believe it’s filling me.







Curve around what is sharp on your tongue

*

HOW THINGS SEEM

Not everyone who pushes me down is my enemy
Not everyone who pulls me up is my friend
I have been seduced by the closeness of people
Who used me as their shield

When I have been held in a place of honor
The point man of life
I forgot that made me the replacement target
For the one who stood behind me

I have been offended as I was thrown to the ground
The hands that shoved me I saw as my rejecters
I was spared the tragedy and peril of the thing which flew by my ear
Thanks only to the grace of a thrust in the right direction

Accurate appraisal is my weakness
Seeing thing for what they are is hard
Things are rarely how they seem

[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.