Unnecessary Words

March 17

UNNECESSARY WORDS

I’ve spent years trying to put names on the streets in my twelfth step map, post clear signs with monikers easy to remember, themed and progressive. But I have been wasting my time. The map is there, no doubt, and I have seen people follow it to varying degrees. The names are unnecessary. Like ants, we trail each other’s scent. We track closely so as not to lose visual contact; we don’t play with our survival. Or we are bees standing in front of the meeting, doing the dance, which describes the path to sobriety with meaningful jokes and well earned tears. As I stand at the foot of a few twenty-fours and see the evolution of my recovery, I realize the names in the placards are ever changing. Meaning and value pour through the kaleidoscope of time and come out as indescribable gifts, which I can only give through action. I will no longer fritter away my time looking for tags and titles.

Rename your problems.

*

Malaria

Flailing, reaching, screaming;

hiding, avoiding, misdirecting,

theses are subsets in a list of extremes

whose commonality is lacking, lacking humility.

I fall to pieces just thinking of standing exposed,

imperfect and unprotected.

I’m not sure what I think will happen to me

in this posture; instantaneous death?

Couldn’t be, I’m not that lucky,

nor am I foolish enough to think that I am that lucky.

Possibly, I fear rancorous humiliation,

but really who is powerful enough to do that to me?

I know and like myself well enough

to deflect obvious flying nonsense,

so what is it that I do flee?

I think it is the endless grinding inelegance of life,

the stinging nettled nature of things,

my inability to weave my way around

my weakness and slip into the open unpoisoned.

I fear exchanging peace for failure.

Humility is when I know I cannot fail.

Angle of Return

March16

ANGLE OF RETURN

As in a hall of mirrors, it is sometimes hard to tell if I am moving forward in my recovery. Likewise, as promises are fulfilled, their obtuse arrival is a quandary. The juxtaposition of acute homecoming of former faculties is also startling. How the light finds and reflects itself from sober face to sober face, from open heart to open mind, is the spectral of hope to me. My soul seeks me day after day though I left it so far behind. It brings to me the person of God’s intent and my new acquaintance. Patience, never my virtue, finds me stacked with packages delivered in piles so high I can’t keep up with opening them. Never in my life have I known less about my future or felt more assured.

Earn your own respect.

*

Suit up, Show up

I stand naked, paralyzed,

unable to reach my intended destination

or any destination at all.

Goose flesh is no real motivation

and I am reluctant to use the prod

having only produced resistance

and reversals with past applications of this weapon.

Entreatment might work

if only I could find the right one;

then again anything might work if it were a fit.

Covering my all-together is an action;

taken judiciously it sometimes is all the arrival I can manage,

taken disingenuously it precludes the chance

for any further forward motion

and may create set back or retreat.

I should not attempt to hide fear with wardrobe

though I can try to warm it.

Façade building is best done with a bottle in tow

reality is best faced with a sponsor by my side.

Pretty Feet

March 15

PRETTY FEET

I look at the line on my heel where I must stay vigilant with the pumice and the moisturizer. My toes are clean and straight but nothing more. I see my feet as passable; it’s hard for me to see them as beautiful. Well cared for is the best I can do, but there is a beauty in that. I think of myself; I am an alcoholic. There is nothing beautiful about alcoholism either. The care I take in tending my sobriety, the nurturing I see others use in their own lives, there is a certain loveliness to that. Crusted-over hearts, scraped and oiled, are fit and ready to beat anew. Polluted minds, drained and reformed, turn lives upright. Step work and making meetings are just functionary things but gorgeous in their own way. Efficacy is a pearl not to be disregarded.

Congratulate the part of you that survived.

*

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 serve.

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 layout 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 partner

The First Father

March 14

THE FIRST FATHER

The rest of what I have to say I will slip under your gravestone if I have time after I buy that red dress. To say I hate you is an overstatement; I only detest what I know of you, the rest I leave to other people who might have the misfortune to cross your path. Your unavailability can protect you from anything I could ever do to you. Your hurt and arrogance is far worse a punishment than I could ever inflict on you if I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt. Having to be you every day must make it hard to leave the bed in the morning; I know I couldn’t do it if I had to drag your baggage around all day. The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage. You might think it’s armor, but your misnaming of everything is just another of the things I never miss about you. That is why, although I pray everyday for your well being for the sake of mine, if I never see you again, it might just be long enough.

Live up to your height.

*

Bad Acting

Because there never seems to be enough love

in the world to fill the wound,

my wounded self riots.

At times the debauchery seems good natured enough,

flamboyant yet without harm,

at other times the disturbance is apparently violent

and the issuing tumult a crime.

All for want of wholeness and sanity

I pursue shattered fractured activity

just to keep from dwelling where I cannot live,

where there is no air.

I want land beneath my feet

and full, full lungs

on my own I find neither of these

and little else of use.

Isolation even in a crowd is the tell tale sign

that I am in the, me, myself and I mode

of drowning in a teacup and require rescue.

Little more than raising my hand above the surface

and asking for help is needed

though this is a Herculean effort as we all know.

Rowing up stream is a bigger battle then it ever looks

and I know the river runs through me.

Friends

March 13

FRIENDS

My sweet, dear, funny friend, steeped in Beat, whose hand I can no longer hold. I yearn for the wildly flying words, like feathers in a snow. The shock of hair and glinting eyes I see so clearly in my shivering mind. I must let go. I miss all the friends who for reason or no have traveled down the yellow brick spiral to who knows where. My arms feel open and starved but there is no way for me to retain myself and follow them. Some are lost all together; some are lost only to me but my arms remain empty nonetheless. My ruined heart is sore and sad but chasing this friend or that will not heal it. The lonely path before me is the answer for me, possibly only for me among our former group. And will the paths cross later in this day or the next? I don’t know and am better not knowing. My path requires me to release outcomes as well as kindred. I must travel with my arms open; some fall out of them and others find their way in.

Organize a loophole and escape through it.

*

Three Card Monty

When I learn to excel at the good games

and learn to leave the bad ones alone

I think I will be alright.

Simple enough to do when I can take off this blindfold

and see the long term consequences of my pursuits.

Engage this pastime and have no future;

abandon that play and squander hope.

Eyes open wide, I see what there is to see,

but around the corner I am lost for anticipatory sight

and must guess at destinations, let alone intention.

Tricky, tricky, is this life which toys with me. I

I think I have the bow in hand,

though as life rubs me wrong then right,

I see I am played upon as much and as often as I play.

I take up the reins, but must also be led,

I can lay out the deal,

but sometimes I just have to roll the dice.

Spirituality

March 12

SPIRITUALITY

The bedpan of spirituality was shoved under my ass in early sobriety. It kept me from increasing the mess with which I surround myself. The cold smack of enamel got my attention. The old timers showed me there is a place for my shit; it was not any of the places I had been using. Discretion is the better part of everything. I needn’t show my backside everywhere I go. My side, your side, all sides were strewn with my waste. Fragments, tatters and fearful reminders were all there for me to clean up. Amends as the shovel and willingness as its handle are what I use to clear my past. Sweat is refreshing when progress is being made. I’ve made inroads; paths of travel help me move easily from the past to the present without regret.

Write directions to your heart.

*

Wax On

“Sometimes a dish is just a dish,” I said to my sponsor.

“Yes and sometimes it is the world away,

which you hold in your hand,” her reply.

I stand at the sink and try to wash the dishes

when I am washing the dishes.

I try to drive the car when I drive the car.

These simple acts of concentration

focus and sooth the jagged mental sutures

where I am supposed to be coming together,

but ultimately come apart.

Anything to break my frenetic gyrations is a blessing,

anything to cut away to a closer view

and a clearer understanding of where I really am;

Anything to derail the speeding blur

of a life of my creation, is good.

What I do and who I am are secrets and mysteries

when I don’t know how to pay attention

and ironies when I do.

And if you doubt me, just go ask Arnold.

The Wall of Pleasant

March 11

THE WALL OF PLEASANT

How quickly I am protected by a sweet smile. A disarming countenance and a gentle phrase save my skin and psyche. No longer do I defend my reputation as a wit or critic. I let it all flow by. The simpler I appear the more effective the facade. The energy I conserve not fighting losing battles is well spent in the company of like-minded sober friends in the pursuit of sober lives. I stay out of the fray and behind this partition. Its insides are posted with announcements proclaiming my opinion and the lunacy of the person on the other side. The reading of these notices does not persuade me to dismantle the enclosure but encourages me to keep it sound. Many years of shelter behind this now vine covered fortification allow restraint of my words, spoken and written, to safeguard my sanity. When I am gifted with comment, I am spared the desire for credit. Boundaries are a blessing and living within them a saving grace.

Reconnect to hope.

*

Creed

We have a long standing family tradition

of viewing miracles as tragedy;

this custom has afforded us many

a fine escape from the unknown.

Most things in life are bad; people, places, things,

this belief is protective though useless.

Ultimately I feel this belief is not what colors

the dynastic impression of the miraculous,

but the apprehension is due to the limited nature of the thing.

I come from a line of dissatisfaction;

miracles are provided when what is desired is panacea.

If everything is not imperially resolved

then it is all for naught

Because the same psyche

which cannot begin a process

without a guaranteed outcome

can’t pickup the slack after a triumphant start.

Give it all to me tied with a bow,

I will begin the critique from there

though I will accept, offer me a beginning

fraught with uncertainty and I will decline.

A secure entrenchment is preferred to inexact risk.

I will die with my boots on,

but I mustn’t leave the house.