Pink Cloud

April 30

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. I walk in a haze of cherry blossom lightness; the future is a blur I do not fear. Forward motion seeds my inertia; my gyroscope is set. When dark clouds gather and the way is overshadowed, 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 embed my future with right action and bank the confidence I feel today, saving it for the rain swept days that come to everyone. Progress is positive even when made in bliss.


Get a cozy blanket for the times when the answers don’t come.

When a Snapper Crosses the Road

April 29

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 surge in me, to aim and end the duckling eater's life, is a short-lived but 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 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 berth. I know this creature is a danger, but never more so than me.


Plot your graph and measure your curve.

Chapter and Verse

April 28

CHAPTER AND 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 and I can’t maintain this desire by their chapter and their verse.


Notes are numbers, so count out your time and sing your song.

Service and Sacrifice

April 27

SERVICE AND 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.


Wriggle your toes and flex your mind.

How Things Seem

April 26

HOW THINGS SEEM


Not everyone who pushes me down is my enemy and 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 the place of honor, the point man of life, I forgot that made me the replacement target for the one who stood behind me. I had 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 that flew by my ear thanks only to the grace of a thrust in the right direction. Accurate appraisal is my weakness. Seeing things for what they are is hard. Things are rarely how they seem.


Grow tall with your grain and the years will grow around you.

Feeding the Monster

April 25

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 crusts 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.


Round the corners and square your shoulders.

Escaping Through the Ceiling

April 24

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 aisle or the 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.


Hold your hand then touch your face.

Crumpled Petals in my Pocket

April 23

CRUMPLED PETALS IN MY POCKET



I can’t bring back the bloom. Cohesion, lost in 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 of 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.


Line your clouds with anything you like.

Whammo

April 22

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 is the hope. I worry I will put down the wrong one, so I hold on to 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 has to say.


Give yourself credit in a currency that enriches your life.

Solidity

April 21

SOLIDITY



Apprehension stands in the archeological site that 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.


When your emotions are at low tide, explore the shoreline for shells and trinkets.

Rank

April 20

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 epaulets.


Listen intently enough to hear the music of the planets spinning in your mind.

Drowning Naked

April 19

DROWNING NAKED


Bare and exposed, I laid myself on the altar of my home group. With AA as 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 the more secluded and effective place of transmission. I thrust myself into the arms and mind of my sponsor. She escorted me up 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.


Wrap your intentions in wool to keep them warm and in gold to keep them untarnished.

Claw Marks

April 18

CLAW MARKS



There is a brackish river whose current changes direction twice a day. Its bed is well washed on every side. It begs the question: which way is downhill? There are times I struggle uphill in both directions. There are times I slip from every slope. What was 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 fingertips.


Design caution signs for your emotions.

Luck

April 17

LUCK



Luck, transposed for gratitude, makes a mockery of grief and loss. If you are lucky, what does that make me? The forgotten? The orphan of fate? If what I lost and what it cost me is just a lack of fortune, then why do right? What is sea level? I may deserve all the sweetness in the world but what explains the pain? I’ve heard that life’s not fair and laughed at the underestimation of the claim. If pain is the touchstone of growth and you are lucky and I’m hurt, does that make you short? And what is the point of growing tall?


Blow kisses to stars which look familiar.

Napping

April 16

NAPPING


Too often, I have lifted the edge of the lawn in an attempt to join the worms for a bit of a dirt nap. Or I crawled into a self-constructed cave to bear my feelings and hibernate from life. The times I sprint with the deer, jumping the fences in hopes of escaping the wolves, these are all the times when I forget who I am. I forget to ask direction, fail to make a meeting. Seeing those of my ilk puts my feet on the ground, focuses my perspective on just what sort of creature I am. I can’t always follow my instincts when I don’t know who I am. I can’t see myself until I stand next to you.


Relax one toe at a time.

Trap Door

April 15

TRAP DOOR


The trap door of my mind opens occasionally and I find myself acting out things better left to conversation. When I leave too many things unsaid, the pressure builds and the door opens. My thoughts connect with my body minus the benefit of my brain, not to mention the brain of my sponsor. I can ill afford the consequences of these open door exhibitions and I am obligated to spend much time scrambling up the hills my outlandishness slid down. Thinking, speaking and contemplating, the prerequisites of action, must be done frequently or my mind’s sink, piled with my dirty dishes, will flood the counter top, then leave dishes crashing to the floor. Even if I can’t keep everything caught up, at least I can leave things soaking. I can start notes or little chats so I am not weighting the latch. I can prevent the coupling of impulse and exploit. All I have to do is stick out my tongue.


Release your emotions from captivity.

The Playground

April 14

THE PLAYGROUND




Getting my ass kicked in the playground of my mind was once a daily event. Now, it is a far off memory. I absent myself from the jungle gym the same way I absent myself from bars---places set with traps and schemes I am no longer attracted to. Bullies and ego trips can’t draw me toward the fence. Dares and double-dares are such ancient devices I can’t even find the trigger they used to pull. Trouble doesn’t know my new name, my sober name; I don’t answer to the old one. I hate to admit the isolation of my school yard days, but no one I knew back then will keep me on the road to the future. So, I leave the ball in their court and wish them well.


Expectations are lovely as long as you leave off the outcomes.

Willing Piecrust

April 13

WILLING PIECRUST



I lay the crust of my will over the pie plate of God’s will for me. I must have the willingness to trim off the excesses. I hesitate; I worked hard to roll it out. I know from past experience, when hot issues come up, these tags and hangings-on burn and drop sometimes ruining the flavor and appearance of the whole. It is easier to cut loose the things outside God-given intent. I get the pie in its entirety when I crimp and bend to the shape of my life.


Hope is free, so spread it around.

Whip

April 12

WHIP


I have been to the meeting where they 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 in other peoples skewed lines sent me running for a bottle. These same lines, placed around me in sobriety, will measure me up for a box.


Turn your plants and your mind so every aspect has an opportunity to get some sun.

Birds & Bees

April 11

BIRDS & BEES




Birds and bees can get me drunk. I have to watch the amount of envy which pours through me as I watch their wondrous bliss. When others make a bee-line 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.


Pad barefoot through intention.

Feeling Temples

April 10

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 an IMAX film of the realities of life on earth, and 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.


Write love letters with your favorite pen.

Fine Print

April 9

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 free 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.


Open one eye and wink at the possibilities.

Conservation of Love

April 8,

CONSERVATION OF LOVE





Love does not diminish. It recycles like the rain, ever in transition and transmission. Love is not salvationary or redemptive. Nor do I believe it to be the currency of Godliness. Love is an element like cobalt or gold, it has weight and substance. Love is the coinage of responsibility not a door out of consequences. Love, true love, inspires right action, never cowardice or disrespect. In this strange amelioration, standing in the wings of realism, love is love no longer. Love is the standard I have to bear, not the canopy I stand beneath. In the frozen center, love cannot endure the pressure of misinformation, and melts with friction, floods with irresponsibility. Love, like money, admiration and sex, has its place and must not have expectation of being more than it is. With that said, Love is peerless, to be treasured, protected and shared.

Harvest kindness

Arabian Days

April 7

ARABIAN DAYS




There are days I feel like Scheherazade and could spin a thousand tales. Other days I feel my brain grab for its satchel and exit my ear. I find it hard to be a hospitable host to all of me, but when I stretch or strain my elbow or knee I think, “oh well, they go out, they go out,” but if my brain runs off and leaves me I am in a serious mess. I try to be a lover of my mind for when I don’t I grow small in my heart. I scent the mental bath water and light the little lights; I sing sweet songs. I wait for response. I smile broadly to hear the quick report of Rimsky-Korsakov.


Don’t transpose your feelings.

More

April 6

MORE



Sometimes people get more than they can handle. The evidence of this is their insanity or death. God is not the actuary of heaven, managing tragedy the way my loan officer manages my debt load. The victim blamers run to the ‘lack of faith’ accusation. I have to keep my hands tightly on the wheel of life or risk strangling the parrots who chirp outlandish claims but try to make it sound like help. I have to live with what I experience as real and be sober today. I will have to leave the measure of ‘more’ to time out of mind.


Lift your feet and let the chaos pass underneath.

Stop Talking

April 5

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; 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 will 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 it or not.”
“I can tell you because you take step 3.”


Color a page using only three crayons.

The Sculptor

April 4

THE SCULPTOR



I'm 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 that 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.


Everything has its own intelligence and you do, too.

Acceptance, Action, Change

April 3

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 its face, forever dark on one side and a mere reflection on the other. Change sparks possibilities in mundane endeavor.
Change equals acceptance. 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.


Listen to new music, sing old music.

Paduans

April 2

PADUANS




The pussy willows bloom looking much like crested poultry. The coldest part of my heart is fighting to thaw in this early spring. Weather is not of the mind to be rushed. Neither my hopes nor the changing calendar can persuade the warmth into the May mornings. It’s May for me, too, no longer the early sobriety of January. The years have marched on; I wait for the delivery of my returning brains. Long term sobriety has begun but I am still beset with the chill of fragility. I desire dignity and find myself strutting like a fowl with blooming plumage, addled and gawky.
“Don’t worry,” says my sponsor, “the pussy willow is in no way less for showing itself in the rawness of growth.”


Listen to the sounds of your life.

Rain

April 1

RAIN




The rain makes shadows of water. It spills onto the ground like tiny worlds. What had been airborne and mist is now earthbound and integral, feeding, cutting, learning the world. Once I contemplated theories and mystery. Now, washing dishes is a spiritual service. The view was lovely when I was above it all but now I course through the veins of life. There may come a time when I am untouchable again but by then I will have been a part of it all. I will carry the world with me always, an orbiting servant not just above but through.


Engrave compliments in your mind.