Friends of Bill W.

[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]

Kinky, Sober and Free: BDSM in Recovery



http://www.thefix.com/content/kinky-...d-recovery2016

[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.

Wow! Change is in the air.
Skeery stuff
Did ya'll find that you changed almost despite yourself?

Wow! Change is in the air.
Skeery stuff
Did ya'll find that you changed almost despite yourself?

..........

[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.

[tomboystud]

I'm a friend of Jimmy K. I have been clean for 12 years. I am so grateful I found this thread.

Originally Posted by tomboystud

I'm a friend of Jimmy K. I have been clean for 12 years. I am so grateful I found this thread.

Hey there tbs, I'm a friend of Jimmy K too, by way of Bill and Bob

Tis grand to see another one of us onboard

[tomboystud]

Originally Posted by Daktari

Hey there tbs, I'm a friend of Jimmy K too, by way of Bill and Bob

Tis grand to see another one of us onboard

Thank you.

[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 inborn 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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 25



Coming Home to Work


I have arrived home to a beehive; everyone industrious, everyone filled with purpose, everything buzzing right along. My response to this of course is anger. I have a sting and I want to use it. I have a place it falls into yet I fear falling. The living world is now opened to me, but my destination had been death for so long that the prospect of diligence ignites steel blue fury. I divide my time between gratitude and rage. I want to accuse myself, rescue myself, then I remember everyone in this place has a buzz, a stripe and a stinger.





Hum in a foreign language

*


DESSERT

I have to be my own appetizer
I have to be the thing which entices and intrigues me
I must be the roughage, the salad full of color and variety
The entrée must be me, as well.

The things which sustain me
The meat of my life
I have to supply and swallow it down
I can be all this.

I run to the sweetness of others
But this cannot be my source of sustenance
The greater part of me
Needs to derive from me.

I can set the table
And fill it with the fullness of who I am
I am enough and others are dessert
Twinkies will never be sufficient, they can only be a treat.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 26


Imperturbable



Perfectionism is a cover, a blanket of lead; hard to move and rich with poison. What it tries to hide is my unwillingness to struggle and strive. It’s not a fear of failure, but the horror of success after a long hot pursuit. If I can stall on the intricacies of the first move there is no further movement. If I can fail before I begin there is no sweat, no stain, no stink. Catastrophe is no bother, but skinned knees are my undoing. Winning is not so important to me; my unfortunate goal is to look untroubled.





Snap a picture of your beliefs


*


TRANSITIONS

During the months of winter
The trees stand tall and leafless
Static in their appearance, frozen in direction

The insurgence of spring brings to life the truth
The buds and flowers show the draw of the their owners
The pull of life from the earth and sky.

Other trees have begun to restore the gifts so graciously given
These leafless giants open themselves
As home and sustenance to the surrounding community

Returning favors and flavors, coming to terms with wholeness
Celebrations of all I have, call for me to give back
Even during the time when we all look the same.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 27


Blinded


Alcoholism hits me like a kind of blindness. I stagger through the living room cursing anyone who changes familiar placement or published timetables. Just like every aspect of this disease, shocked sightlessness, is mine to deal with. I must pick up the white cane, procure the Seeing Eye pup, learn to read clustered braille. When my vision clears in these well worked spaces I am relieved, but I must accept that when I walk into a new room more often then not I will be blind again and must pick up my walking stick once more.



Apply a timeframe to misery


*

STREET SIGNS

Hanging out on the corner of Disillusion Boulevard and Grief Road
Then returning to that special spot on Despair Avenue
Was my daily routine.

I made the circle and never looked far afield
Widening my circuit
Allowed me to find Anticipation Place and Hopeful Terrace

I pushed my search and found roads
Whose existence I never fathomed intersected
Creating areas of intrigue

Optimism Court interfacing with Realization Way
Is the fairest of my finds
But many a fine street corner has me lurking

Catching stray sunshine and encouragement
I make my home wherever the hospitality is available
And return less often to the dark and stifling places of the past

Happiness is where you find it
Just make sure to read the signs.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 28


Perkiomenville

Being actually alive does not feel as good as I imagined the relief of being dead would feel and therefore I have anxiety and dread, or is it disappointment. I feel like a failure when I am in the process of trying and I want to throw the pieces in the air and run. Does this mean I’m weak or does it mean I am frightened? Or is there some heavenly host of other reasons why my crêpe paper soul twists and turns in the breeze of the marketplace? Some part of me was auctioned off and its removal left a psychic scar that even equanimity can not ease. I am all things wonderful and yet there is this flaw, this toe tied thread which holds me back, holds me down with painful accurate precision. I look for the knife with which to cut it all the while wondering if this will turn it into a toe tag or a price tag.





Police your self destruction
*




K-TURNS

I do not believe in a universe that makes complete sense
I often find myself trapped
Because the things I pull into no longer feel firm.

I attempt K-turns in alleys far too narrow for the maneuver
I can’t back myself through the passages I plunged into willingly
My faith doesn’t compute in reverse and I find this disconcerting

I may walk into the face of fire
But find it impossible to turn my back on the flame
Today a one-way faith is fine
As long as I am moving forward.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 29




Would You Rather a Lamp?

I am a girl filled with expectations. Like a ginger jar filled, stuffed caulker block full, though the filling is the part which is unpredictable; it could be match books, or seashells, acorns or all those pretty capsules. This makes me erratic and sometimes volatile. Are you strong enough or far too sane to stay and help me sort the contents? It’s lonely work without a witness or a spotter. I rather be alone than with you reluctantly, so please try to shuck that husk and remain. Yes, I am sometimes capricious, but I try never to be cruel. I know sometimes you convince yourself that leaving me to my own devices is the wisest of courses, but don’t be fooled; you disappear due to your weakness not strength and the worst part about the price of abandonment is that everyone has to pay it.





Design a window that looks out on your dreams


*



THE SHINY THING

The starling stands with the candy wrapper in its beak
The cellophane flexes in the breeze
Here is my life

I have the shiny thing in my possession , What do I do?
Do I give up my intended tasks to attempt dominance
Or control of the shiny thing?

Do I release this thing of intrigue and beauty
I am drawn to the shimerance and sparkle
But shutter at the price

The world is filled with shiny things
I can enjoy them
But need to leave them where they lay.