08-28-2011, 07:37 AM | #901 |
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August 28
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 of this thing which comes pouring from the four winds to land in my dooryard and knock on my screen door. What it shows me today, the furious winds, the slanting rain, may not be how it presents tomorrow, but 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. Make sure you are more than your memories * THE FRUIT BOWL Meetings are living and precious fruit I must squeeze every drop from them even the lemons. I am privileged to be among the succulent growth and pungent fragrance of determined hearts and minds ----the infusion of strength. The vitality received from the essence of truth gives and gives to me. I am refreshed by exposure to raw talent revived by action and growth. The diversity of shape and flavor cheer and inspire me. The contrast from bowl to challis is dramatic ever a reminder to stay where it’s fresh.
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08-28-2011, 12:43 PM | #902 | |
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Hi there, Thanks for posting this. It is always thrilling to see this original stuff , which is still right on today. I have the 1976 edition. As always, thanks for keeping the light on. |
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08-29-2011, 06:44 AM | #903 |
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August 29
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. Check your motives against something fixed, then against something in motion * WILL YOU GET TO THE OTHER SIDE Chickens stand together on the edge of the road Pecking and scratching People make fun. People tell jokes But it’s not so funny when we are the ones Playing on the tracks. We forget that all the excuses about Longing for excitement and Not wanting to be cut off from the world Sound like so much cackling To the ears of people who value their lives. Life in the pasture or the backyard Is fulfilling if you want it. That kind of life is no adrenaline rush But then again isn’t adrenaline just another drug.
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08-30-2011, 04:20 AM | #904 |
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August 30
Even at the Bottom Why is it that I feel G-d leads me to the path, but expects me to travel it alone? In all honesty it feels more like G-d 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, will not leave here alone; I am never alone, even at the bottom of the stair. Pat-down unwanted thoughts * HARVEST TIMING The harvest fits in the growing season And the oak fits inside the acorn. My sober mind fits right in my sober time. The soul of everything rubs across The hind leg of a cricket to sing. The infinite machinery of the universe spins But you stand there questioning The existence of a Higher Power. Well, that’s who you are But I have only one question for you Who else could have made All the best tomatoes come from Jersey?
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08-31-2011, 04:21 AM | #905 |
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August 31
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. Rip yourself away from distress * DO YOU HEAR THAT SOUND I was running on empty And thought I was getting along that way But the smoke gave me away. My life had caught on fire And I burned to the ground. I thought nothing had been apparent Until it all lay in ashes. My sponsor said, No------- We all knew when you tank ran dry. The sucking sound could be heard for miles around. I asked her, if that were true, Why I hadn’t hear it myself? She said, she guessed, I had my denial turned up to loud.
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09-01-2011, 06:11 AM | #906 |
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September 1
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. Rub the place where you land * WHY NOT HOME Power is not production and production is not art. I have to keep pulling the car to the side of the road so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me, from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living but I still want to go home. I will never give up these roadside excursions into the river of thought though I do wonder why the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel? Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed? The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere as long as it’s at least five miles away. Power is not production and production is not art. I let it pour through me---it is not mine to sort.
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09-02-2011, 05:30 AM | #907 |
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September 2
Here Kitty Kitty Litter training the lynx seems like a good idea until it is accomplished and all concerned are less for the accomplishment. Domesticity is a transparent cage, which has a presence felt by all whether loved or hated. The air is changed and the cat stifles, everyone is safer, so it is said, but what are we safer from? And what is a broken lynx, certainly not a house cat? Peer under obstacles then climb over * ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE Just because the crows fly away when I arrive doesn’t mean they are afraid but they might be. The obvious answers are usually the correct ones but I must leave room for the unlikely answers too. Sometimes a spade is a shovel and a gofer is occasionally a retriever. The world is a wonderful and fearful place where possibilities are endless if I am willing to allow the light to strike these sheltered doubts. Any day---any where --an alcoholic can stay drunk or get sober.
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09-03-2011, 04:32 AM | #908 |
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September 3
Where’s Your Chair? Is the ring more unnatural for the tamer or the lion? One the trapped, the other the trapper. Who is the more in danger; the one with loss of freedom or the one with possible loss of life? And while this question is still in play the next question is begged. Why is there a ring? What is worth the price paid by the whip holder or the whipped? Spectacle is a thing whose cost reaches from the forest to the trees; can take you from the highest rung down to your knees. All this lost for some Owwe’s and Ah’s from people needing diversion from the ring they turn tricks in. Refuse delivery of bad acts * HOW EVER YOU CAN I heard --Let go with love. You know how to do that? Asked my sponsor. No that’s why I’m here to see you, But it sure sounds like something I should do. Well in a perfect world maybe we can all do it that way. But for now let go with a mean look in your eye. Let go with rage in your heart. Let go with words boiling on you tongue. Let go with the butter knife up to its hilt in the jelly jar. Let go standing at the sink wishing for some other life. Let go as a reflex Let go as an anthem, as a prayer, as a declaration. Let go even when you don’t feel you are holding on anymore. At the same time-hold on to what’s important--- Your recovery---Your Higher Power, and your sense of humor.
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09-04-2011, 06:02 AM | #909 |
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September 4
The Naked Not the Dead Because comfort is sometimes no comfort I can shave my hair and walk bare in the naked world. Removing pretense helps in unexpected ways. Foolish action becomes formulaic when you are scared or hurt. I lived through the summers of blood; the winter is not enough to stem the tide or heal the wound. I have no want to raise the dead, but how to save the living? Poverty is the inheritance of so much misguided lethargy and I must shear off the illusion of maturity and let the children speak. Bury pettiness in an unmarked grave * WHINING BRATS Some days whining brats come at me from all directions And my hair won’t curl, Apathy chases me around the house. I wonder how it has more energy than I do. My mind twists into a wrinkled mess I drag my good foot and hop on the bad one. And even on those days I still rather be me. I never long to be the innocent victim Or spiritual leader, the tough guy or the Ph D. No matter how bad it gets Or what the struggle is There is no place sweeter than in my head. Many are the days I wished not to exist at all But never to shuck my skin for the skin of another. . Now that I manage breathe right And to face each day with cheer I know it was almost worth it And might be worth it yet.
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09-05-2011, 07:28 AM | #910 |
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September 5
No Reason Reason falls through, where it lands is a place of unknown seascape and unrelenting tides. The roar in my ears furthers the disorienting effect of relocation. At first it seems easier to let go of reason but when I descend into madness I scramble for purchase; looking for sanity like a cleft in a cliff. Loss of skin and blood is nothing to compare to the loss of my mind. I believe I could be more easily separated from a limb or two than to lose rein on my brain. Reason falls through; I must follow even though the terrain is arduous and my heart is sometimes faint, for without reason there is no reason and without reason there is no life. Write songs to the dead, sing them to the living * HATCHLING When the shell gets too tight It’s time to hatch. I can’t tell you it’s safe out there Just that it’s time to go. The leaving is not easy. Exodus fulfilled by the use of one small tooth This experience may or may not prepare you For the rest of your life. So much still depends on predestination And your attitude. I mean are you a chicken or a hawk? A peacock or a dove? Or is there something of which I am unaware. Did someone sit on your nest Or cover it with sand? Are you a turtle, lizard or snake? See so much is out of your hands But still your actions are your choice.
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09-06-2011, 04:15 AM | #911 |
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September 6
Nightcrawlers and Nightingales I wriggle blind eyed through the dirt; friction, my friend giving me something to push against, resistance aiding my travels. I worm my way through life and believed that was all there was; having never seen the sky. I traveled far and wide once I had taken to the air. Open eyed I push against a thing I cannot see and peer down on the dirt I left behind. I soar rather than struggle and go the distance leaving my mind open to the next frontier. Say what everyone knows in a way that no one thought of * HUMILITY A great woman walks my street everyday. She carries a tall walking stick with a loop for her hand. Each morning I see her low crown of hair and the half smile, Her friendly wave when I catch her eye. Each morning when I see her I see the secret play across her face--humility. This is the secret she cannot share. I know she would sing it from the mountain tops if it would help. But humility is not a secret you can tell. It’s a secret you have to live with. As I slowly learn this precious thing I see it shine in others. Recognition of persons with inborn dignity And a keen understanding of their personal value lights inside me. When I see this fine woman walking with purpose I appreciate myself better and am so very grateful For those who keep humility alive by living it.
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09-07-2011, 04:32 AM | #912 |
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September 7
Genius I am often bonded to a self which thinks I know everything and when in doubt believes I should know even if I don’t. Freeing me of this requires the constant support of friends and neighbors’ assuring me that in a capricious world willingness is a more practical resource; it packs neatly and handles most jobs with aplomb. Staying consistently free from the bondage of self requires truckloads of willingness and the spirit of humility and sometimes even forgiveness. I am freer when I like myself, for the true bondage of self is the hatred of self. Acknowledge the marks left by the street you came from * YES---THAT TOO When kindness becomes weakness, When mental agility becomes emotional instability, It’s time to reassess everything. I cannot leave things off my inventory Because my Grandma, society or the preacher says It’s a good thing to be. Every blessing can be a curse. All my characteristics have their dark side. I have to list the entirety of my cargo And keep a watchful eye. I have to moderate my investment In all my abilities or lose myself. Warmth is nice but I don’t want Death Valley. Integrity requires balance Or depraved indifference will be the outcome. Weak or strong, right or wrong. It all goes on the scale.
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09-08-2011, 06:08 AM | #913 |
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September 8
Helping Hands? Why would you go to a rattler for a snakebite remedy? It feels so much like the hair of the dog that bit me. The truth is I must, must stay away from the quick answers. I am a slow healer, but I do heal if I allow myself to do so unencumbered by poison or untruth. When I am returning to the vomit of my past it is incumbent upon me to search for the old lies and/or the new ones, either or both will get me drunk; do I even need the help of a prescription pad? Never cage harbingers * SELF-SEEKING IS A DEBIT Trying to get credit for everything I do Has run me into debt in my anonymity account Which draws directly from my humility bank. I cannot expend my resources seeking acknowledgement And expect to retain much dignity or class. How can I build within, while constantly grasping, For nods and smiles from scenery and landscaping? I want approval so much that I have lost my center. In an attempt to top the charts I forgot my song. My ego writes checks that my soul can’t cover. I run my potential into the red Looking to get my name in black and white. If I keep my name out of lights I have a chance of building up my dignity.
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09-09-2011, 04:20 AM | #914 |
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September 9
Barnum, Bailey & Me When I wake to find a whip and a chair by the side of my bed I know I am in for a circus of a day and the tears of this clown will not change a thing. I ready myself for the tightrope walk and watch out for stray elephants. All the trained poodles in the world can’t make this into a day in the park. Painted ponies prance through their paces; I try to stick to my own act, meanwhile remembering that no matter how difficult these routines may be it still beats a seat in the stands. Raffle off the surplus grit from your nitty gritty * MEGAPHONE The point of surviving Or maybe the goal after survival Is enabling the voices of victims to be heard Starting with my own. I allow the surging waves of thought and feelings To rush the gates and exit I try to bleed the bad With and without the use of leaches. So much is stumbled upon rather than sought after, Some things hound me, I run down the street With memory at my heels I must let the screams out or become them. Today I talk, tomorrow is for others. When I pour forth I open the way for the rest I have become the megaphone Rather than the cheerleader It is good to be of use.
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09-10-2011, 06:13 AM | #915 |
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September 10
Oh the Wells Fargo Wagon Tying myself to one rail of a set of railroad tracks gets me the same results as tying myself to the other. Swapping one chemical fix for another is like changing my socks in a rainstorm, nothing dry will come of it. Not seeing potential harm does not eliminate the harm. Like a child with my hands pressed firmly over my eyes I yell, “You can’t see me,” and run headlong into disaster. Whether the train comes and makes a mess or not I make my own soup Ducky and must get on track by staying off the rails. Go relax on the porch of your imagination * WILD When I run wild through the rain My hair streaming behind me Water fleeing my face I see with my heart The thousand other rains Pouring from my past. How I peel from me the soaking luggage Covering my naked pain Nothing drives me to the cozy retreat Of my bed like the humid chill Of an early fall drizzle. I slip my trembling skin between The comfort and the comforter, Flex my toes, Towel my hair, wipe scenes of lost love From my pale, pale soul. Leaves rush my gutters, clog my mind. I see the change in me as I turn heel to heel. Trees spinning bare in a blank wet world, I know this ever relived fluid, recycled life.
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09-11-2011, 04:50 AM | #916 |
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September 11
Louet Consolidating fuzz into yarn makes me a friend to sheep everywhere. Spinning the filaments of truth into cables of life does not impress the mutton in anyway, but sure does my mental health a world of good. Free floating fiber is bad for my lungs and piles lint all around. Giving things a firm twist pulls together what used to be fluff and keeps me warm and dry. Jones for candor * WORKS I cry the waterworks so necessary to the healing of my heart. I explode with the fireworks required For anger to set living boundaries. I sleep the sleep of angels, as I link to dream works Allowing mental maintenance to occur, Slip into my political face, making time for public works. I return to my abode, call the pie maker and order “the works”. Have it delivered so I can face the homework Waiting for me and bearing my name.
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09-12-2011, 04:19 AM | #917 |
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September 12
Hypothetical Is my inability to understand what creates mystery? If I were brighter, swifter, keener, would life be free of unknown communion? Would comprehension eliminate revelation? Would I lose perceptual apprehension by arming myself with knowledge of forethought? Could I end mysticism through education? Should I even if I could? Sample other people’s assets * OPTICAL ILLUSIONS Like my new frames? I ask my sponsor Who wrote you prescription? Oh the lenses aren’t new just the frames, I reply. You want to be seen differently, but you want to see things the same old way? My question still stands--- Who wrote you the script for those funhouse glasses you have used all your life? Did it ever occur to you the distortion is ground into the glass? Remember some people need you to see things for other than what they are. Unhappy families look great if you can’t see them too clearly. It’s hard to know what to say to keep the peace--said Grandma. She never took off her specs to see there was no peace to keep. So I ask you again --The view of the world you base your choices on who chose the color you see it through?
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09-13-2011, 03:59 AM | #918 |
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September 13
Cadentia The randomness of love is matched only by the randomness of loss. What slips into view or out of grasp whispers beyond my control. Like cookies baking in a nearby oven I long for the sweetness to be inside; even if it is simply in an olfactory way. The similarity of the pain of what I have and the pain of what is no longer mine haunts me; scares my security, rattles my hope, affects my sleep. For minutes make a life and moments are all it takes to remove the very same. In the end all that I know is that loss does not remove love and love does not remove loss. Check your drawers for memories * SCREAMING LETHARGY The screaming lethargy of being alive after many years of wanting something else. The exhaustion of pulsing, breathing waves, waves of thinking. Yet as tired as I am, I am. Here without a doubt, I stand. No crawling, for I have not fallen. No climbing, for I have reached the plain. I wait for the rain to wash over me. The truth to run through me, time to pass by me. Like a free trip to an unwelcome destination I arrive with randomly packed bags and low expectations. I am here now. The train doesn’t seem to be moving on. I might as well leave the station. Nothing to do on the platform. There may be points of interest or flowers to be smelled. I step haltingly and fear making any connection to this unbidden place. My name is unknown. I befriend the lamppost, the birds, the street. I am tired from travel, Fearful of arrival. Fury courses through my veins but the weather is pleasant. I might take off my coat and stay.
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09-14-2011, 04:28 AM | #919 |
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September 14
Heartfelt Boab trees litter my dreams; gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun, I wonder at the tales they tell though I am far too young to understand. The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life; they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind. Coming to age seems merely a step when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life. Too long drought, too deep rain, are places I can pick my face up from, stand my ground or be on my way. The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams and I will return to my life. Chime in * HOME TO HOPE Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days And I have trouble finding my way home to hope. Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk. Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail. I am lost. Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention. I wander deeper into a dismal wood. How can I chop my way free? Dejection dulls my senses; I am blind to solemn assurance. I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky Skepticism passes like storm clouds. I may feel the rain for a time. Necessity reigns on both sides of every street But still I can crawl into my bed Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
09-15-2011, 04:27 AM | #920 |
Practically Lives Here
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Daddy's good girl Join Date: Nov 2009
Location: Jersey
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September 15
Warhol Wouldn’t Be There is no trick to art. If I work to make my pieces fit with the familiar I lose my individuality. If I make what is truly me I fear there is no line in which to stand. I must make the work, find the market, live life and die happy; all this with no map and a world filled with people who tell me what to do, but none who can guarantee the outcome. My unwillingness to fight, to look at and feel the ugliness of life is at the core of my impediment. Except change then accept change * LINEAGE People stand in the cue and I stare, Lost in contemplation and compliance I weigh the conflicts and complications. Is this the method to clear identification? I think I am better known for the lines I’ve crossed, The times I press between warm souls And force myself to the area beyond. How can I wait my turn for generational stew When the fruit trees bear life for those who break free From ruts and rumbles to bite deeply the flesh of the future? I can’t stand here though I love so many in this line. I cannot love the line itself. I must step through, breathe, Stretch my legs and mind. Take leave of grids and locks Living a lonelier but healthier life All caused by a change in direction.
__________________
Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
Tags |
12 step recovery, acoa, al-anon, alcoholic, alcoholics anonmyous, coda, on-line meeting |
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