Wee Hours

September 30

WEE HOURS



In the wee hours I hear the high pitched wail, the tiny pest whining in my ear, the onset of my thin stretched nerves reaching their end. A few more hours are required of me tonight. I rally my spirit and lift the edges of my willing resolve. Long slow nights carry me to the far corners of my mind. I am more average than I had imagined or hoped for. The commonness of four AM brings the base to disclosure, the charmed exposure of predawn wakefulness. The fuzzy vibrations in my brain make me feel deep and real, vulnerable to all the normal limitations of nature and caprice. The sun will rise, ending this night. My sentry over, I will fall to earth, and rest, and bed.


Change everything, change yourself.

Death Practice

September 29

DEATH PRACTICE


“Why do you practice death like it were a skill? Do you fear you lack ability? Or, because it’s your goal, have you made it your hobby?”
Beleaguered by the questions of my sponsor I search quickly for some believable response. “I confused calm with death and thought I was practicing the former…..Death came for a holiday, how could I refuse it?…..It’s a test drive, if I like it I can keep it.” My sponsor doesn’t think I’m funny.
“Check your motives, wants and desires. Make sure death is what you really want, that it’s not just your fallback position because you fear life. Don’t get me wrong, I hope death is a good thing, but why try to chew tomorrow’s food when your plate is full of today?


Ride change.

Lineage

September 28

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, to live a lonelier but healthier life, all caused by a change in direction.


Enjoy change like flowers before the fruit.

Pirouettes

September 27

PIROUETTES



I turn and spin; the world flashes as I go. I am erect, proud of my self-possession. I can stand the forces of vector rotation, public opinion and gravity. Sobriety has made a dancer out of me. I sprint the stage and take my place. I know the moves and trust, as best I can, the choreographer and the choreography. I feel the wind move on my body as I revolve, the blur of existence spreads out before me. I can let it all pass. To spot myself and keep my upright posture, the only place that requires my clear and unobstructed view is the line of sight from my sponsor’s eyes to mine.


Let your work speak.

Screaming Lethargy

September 26

SCREAMING LETHARGY



The screaming lethargy of being alive after many years of wanting something else, the exhaustion of pulsing, breathing, waves and 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. As if on a free trip to an unwelcome destination I arrive with randomly packed bags and low expectations. I’m 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 of travel, fearful of arrival. Fury courses through my veins but the weather is pleasant, I might take off my coat and stay.

Optical Illusions

September 25

OPTICAL ILLUSIONS


“Like my new frames?” I ask my sponsor.
“Who wrote your 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 as 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 will ask you again. The view of the world you base your choices on, who chose the color you see it through?”


Breathe to improve your mind and mood.

Works

September 24

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 dreamworks allowing mental maintenance to occur. Slipping into my political face I make 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 mountain of homework waiting for me and bearing my name.


Suggest solutions in your diary.

Wild

September 23

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, this recycled life.


Interest yourself.

Megaphone

September 22

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 feeling 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.


Pollinate ideas.

Self-Seeking is a Debt

September 21

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.


Own your own blocks.

Just a Taste of Sunshine

September 20

JUST A TASTE OF SUNSHINE


The sunrise is so beautiful I want to taste it. Like a child who needs to put everything in her mouth to really know it, I feel the need for a bite. I want to participate in every way. I want to blend with the color of the sky, join the horizon and dip beyond. Look at me, who in the past sounded every retreat, now I leap toward life. I stretch my arms to take it all in, merging with the continuum on this greatest of adventures. The sun raises the charge and I lick my lips in anticipation.


Find the stop signs in your life.

Humility

September 19

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 mountaintops 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 the 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.


Know your friends well and your books better.

Smarts

September 18

SMARTS



Intelligence should be used as a tool not a weapon. Intelligence is as common as silica and can be used to do anything, so, why not as a helping hand, lifeline, foothold? Intelligence doesn’t preclude ignorance, arrogance or stupidity. Nor does it eliminate selfishness, greed or anarchy. Intelligence is not a substitute for wisdom and cannot hold a candle to kindness. Intelligence makes things possible, help and hurt; intention makes the decision. Intelligence is like a hand full of sand.


Pair your books for companionship.

Hatchling

September 17

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 dove? Or is there something of which I am unaware? Did someone sit on your nest or was it covered in sand? Are you turtle, lizard or snake? See, so much is out of your hands, but still your actions are your choice.


Touch your books and pet them.

Roof Top Coffee

September 16

ROOFTOP COFFEE



Who is more powerless: the person driving down the road with his cup of coffee on the roof of the car, or the one who sees it happen? Lost in mental chaos, lost to the small things, I set the cup and forget, or content and serene, I am examining details and notice the oddness. When my mind wanders I am helpless in the whirlpool and suction. When I am grounded I am struck by the separate sealedness of the carnival around me. Potential rides on the top; will it fall forward or back? Will there be a sticky haze on the front windshield or the rear? Or I could remember at the stoplight and spare myself everything but the embarrassment. As the observer I try to be helpful, I point and jump and shout, calling the predicament to the attention of others in an attempt to increase my chances of success. We all stand as the coffee speeds away to unknown disaster.


Wear your boldness like a mane.

Whining Brat

Sept 15

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 the spiritual leader, the tough guy or the PhD. No matter how bad it gets or what the struggle is, there is no place sweeter than in my head. Many are the days when I wished not to exist, not at all, but never to shuck my skin for the skin of another. Now that I manage, breathe right and face each day with cheer I know it was almost worth it and might be worth it yet.


Write your name on a piece of paper and slip it into your pocket.

Killer Squirrels and Other Sober Drama

September 14

KILLER SQUIRRELS AND OTHER SOBER DRAMA


I can tell you stories to make your hair curl: death-defying fifth steps, speaking commitments with microphoned podiums, sponsees with killer squirrels trapped in the house. Courage and sheer determination are needed to face plague, after crisis, after pestilence, and yet with sober mind and willing heart these travails are surmounted and we live on. Tears turn to laughter with rescue and remedy. How strong we feel as the cape is passed, when the one-time panic prone sponsee becomes the model of calm and stable sponsor. Hoards of relatives at holidays and interactions with bankers, police officers and all manner of people in shiny shoes are handled with grace and boundaries. Porch loving skunks, children becoming teenagers are faced with humor and wit. Things, which in years gone by would have sent us screaming to the phone, are now casual asides during after-meeting discussion. Life does keep on spinning but we learn how to stand still.


Spend a day on a lily pad.

Recognizable Nonexistance

September 13

RECOGNIZABLE NONEXISTENCE



You will never take time to tell the truth. You will always take time to tell a joke. As you run from your life I see the familiar vapor trails of an unlived life. When I flee my life through caretaking I leave the same mist of unfulfilled desire behind me. I look at your potential and the damage that you do by not being here. I turn the magnifying glass on me and search for the same trends. I feel abandoned by the you, the you you never were but always should have been. I pray for the key, which will get me on the other side of the door you never opened. I hope to live life as it is rather than the comedy it can never be.


Cross the rivers in your mind.

Why Not Home?

September 12

WHY NOT HOME?



Power is not production and production is not art. I have to keep pulling the car over 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’s not mine to sort.


Learn to read God’s handwriting.

Yes, That Too

September 11

YES, THAT TOO



When kindness becomes a weakness, when mental agility becomes emotional instability, it’s time to reassess everything. I cannot leave any thing off my inventory because my grandma, or 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 I could lose myself. Warmth is nice but I don’t want Death Valley. Integrity requires balance or depraved indifference will be the outcome. Weak and strong, right and wrong, it all goes on the scale.


Be generous with yourself, then others.

Do You Hear That Sound?

September 10

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 it to the ground. I thought nothing had been apparent until it all lay in ashes. My sponsor said, “no, we all knew when your tank ran dry. The sucking sound could be heard for miles around.”
I asked her, if that were true, why I hadn’t heard it myself?
She said, she guessed I had my denial turned up too loud.


Box a gift to be set free at a later date.

Harvest Timing

September 9

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?


Catch rain on your face.

Will You Get to the Other Side?

September 8

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?


Tell the truth as if it were the weather.

The Fruit Bowl

September 7

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 chalice is dramatic, ever a reminder to stay where it’s fresh.


An offer is better than a gift.

Funk and Wagnall's Back Porch

September 6

FUNK AND WAGNALL’S BACK PORCH



Bottoms come sealed in envelopes from unknown accountants. Amazing how many nominees and how few winners! The audience, filled with past recipients, holds its collective breath and prays for this year's finalists, and prays a bigger prayer of thanks to this year's donors, the ones who prove with their lives that it hasn’t gotten better out there. The speeches are the same, a gratitude list and maybe a punch line, the smiles and tears fresh but familiar. And when the lights go out on this night, the days of diligence begin once again so no one need lose their seat and we can all celebrate here, next year, together.


Open even though the hinges are hidden.

Do Not Be A Fraud

September 5

DO NOT BE A FRAUD

“Fake it ‘til you make it" is like saying "keep drinking ‘til you get sober,” complains my sponsor.
“But what about the things I can’t do yet?" I ask.
“You work on them; that’s all. You work. You adjust your attitude, practice the steps, carry your behind to meetings and talk with me and the other people in your network.”
"Yeah, that sounds like a breeze."
“Easier than staying sober while lying. In this program we try to stay in the moment and be honest. Pretending to feel differently than you do at any given time defeats your ability to be present and makes it hard for people to trust you.”
“But it’s so awkward,” I grumble.
“Which is why we of the alcoholic persuasion try to find short cuts, but don’t get sucked into them. Tell the truth and do the hard work of sobriety, and stay away from the persons who try to sell you a softer way.”


Let people give advice to you, never take it from them.

Waterline

September 4

WATERLINE



The interface of water and land is compelling. Soothing but dramatic; I’m drawn to this transition. I stand and watch the lap, lap, lapping of the liquid to the land. The gift of one place to another calls me. Change and transition exhilarate my senses. Whether it is rock or sand, river or sea I feel the pull to watch life in response. Boundaries are beautiful. Borders allow safety and recreation, not just risk. When I embrace this in life I embrace it in me.


Do it twice, once with the pattern and once without.

Hard Time

September 3

HARD TIME



Sometimes I pack the earth down so hard that weeds can’t even grow up through. I try to make nature inert. I try to kill my alcoholism. I confine my disease to this tiny path of compacted dirt and wear blinders as to warn off distractions. I forget there is a garden to be grown in the fertile ground of my recovering mind. Losing the compulsion to drink is a gift; stopping my mind from thinking is soul murder. I can sink my toes in the good brown soil and look to the lilies and the Queen Anne’s lace for inspiration. I can stop giving myself such a hard time.


Let art talk.

Broken Promise

September 2

PROMISE BROKEN


If promise shatters without anyone touching it, if it pops like a floating soap bubble that lost its cohesion, what do I do? Name names? I can’t even take fingerprints. Sometimes dreams just end. No fault or blame is attached. The ice breaks under its own weight and nothing can be done. I am more than just holding on. I am alive even if all the promises melt away. I can accept the unexpected and the unasked for and still know this doesn’t affect my worth. My value is intact regardless of disappointment or discontent. I have learned that anticipation is mere amusement; promises are pleasantries. I am made of stronger stuff. I am not broken by words, ideas or hope. Promise can be broken but it doesn’t break me.


Open the mental crayon box.

Origami

September 1

ORIGAMI


I fold my reality like origami, each day a shape to suit my whim. A dog when I feel like begging. A horse when I want to trot away. A pot to brew up some potion. A penguin when I feel cold and I stand on my egg all day. I can bend and flex, change my image, but in the end I am truly flat and lifeless, a construct of imagination, but soulless and boring. Reality cannot be my creation made in the accordion of my mind. Truth and breath come like the wind and I need to let them change direction and change me, too.


Turn right both ways.