Space

May 31

SPACE

I stand behind the podium and talk about the event horizon, which brought me into these rooms.  My audience: other unwitting astronauts whose lives, like mine, were deconstructed by the Black Hole of addiction.  Though the time and place may be different, the physics of compulsion and allergy are precise and repetitive.  Nodding heads affirm my calculations to be accurate with the vectors and trajectories of their own experience.  I conclude, with the gratitude of a reassembled life, and pray, with gravity, for my feet to stay on the ground.

Toast your bread with satisfaction.

*

The Attention Tax

Paying attention is the price exacted for living in this society.

A taxation which is like a leach;

it takes the life force, diverts my brain waves,

claims the water rights to my river of thought.

What is left I use to wash off what I can,

never quite managing to feel clean or clear.

I sit in the mud puddle

still unsure if I understand what just happened;

harboring a dark fear of the wave to come.

Frozen Strawberries

May 30

FROZEN STRAWBERRIES

“I have them in the freezer,” I tell my sponsor.

“I’m sure you do.  When are you going to take them out and reenact spring?” her retort.

“I don’t want to take them out before I’m ready.  I don’t want them to go to waste.”

“Oh, the Excuse Maker, the Staller.  Are you going to drag all the old chestnuts out of the closet?  I thought you were going to defrost strawberries.”

“Fear, you’re saying fear of strawberries is not a sign of stability?"  I ask her.

“Eat the strawberries or not, but it seems to me you didn’t get sober to avoid the sweeter things in life, keeping all your goodness locked up in the deep freeze destined for frost bite.”

Let sunshine climb in your eyes and fall upon your heart.

*

I’m not Brian

I thought life was based on a system of

‘I will suffer and that will exempt you’.

Then I would be horrified when you suffered,

after I had already done so ahead of you.

In an attempt to ease my dismay I would look to see

who had broken the pact, you or me.

Had I not endured sufficiently to protect you?

Had you left the safety of the umbrella of sanctuary?

Panic gives birth to blame

and blame of course births nasty biting things

that run loose and bury in all the tender spots.

Now the goals I tend are to end the breeding

of those sharp and painful beasties,

stop laying my neck upon the alter

and start telling better jokes.

Power

May 29

POWER

When power arrives, it comes complete with blindfold, mask and lullaby.  I am blinded to what effect I have.  Others cannot see me, only the unchanging masquerade covering my face.  All my fears and apprehensions are soothed by the melody singing in my ear.  I am possessed.  The hard thump of the bottom reaching up to get me is my sole hope of release.  I can’t reason my way back from a trip with power; the isolation is too far-reaching, my senses numbed, my thinking biased.  Salvation as a cold smack is the jolt required.  Fire takes fire; power takes the same.

Draw your own lines then color out of them.

*

Black & Dedication

The brand of equipment endorsed by my Higher Power

is built so that my hand is clasped inside

lest I feel alone or unaided.

A closed mouth and an open mind work very well

when I can manage either of them

and Step 10 works when I can’t.

I am usually the problem in my life

but I am always the solution. 

Others may change and contribute;

I am the one and only one, responsible for my happiness.

Dropping blame from my vocabulary and adding responsibility,

learning to differentiate between what is mine and what is yours;

these tools are keys and they open worlds of possibility to me.

Also they shut out the demons of wrong thinking,

wrong acting and desperation, which used to plague me.

There are still greater tools I yearn for

but like everything I must be patient

and build my muscles to handle the heavier machinery.

Networks

May 28

NETWORKS

Testing my sponsor when I’m hurt is like probing for gas with a lit cigar in my mouth.  If I can’t find a way to douse the cheroot before posing my questions it’s guaranteed I will get an explosive response.  I need a network; they follow me with sand, snatch from me my burning pacifier and save me from sticking my smoldering end where it doesn’t belong.  We all need a little excitement in our lives but I don’t have to become an incendiary device to fill that need.  I forget that boring isn’t the same as death; it just feels that way.  Some days, distance prevents disaster; a good support system carries me away to face it on another day.

Don’t be afraid to turn the kaleidoscope.

*

RAID !!!

So, you stepped into a hornets nest

and now how am I to respond?

Blame you, no, I don’t think so,

I mean you are the exterminator

and some stings are to be expected,

but this is far beyond even your honed ability

to anticipate wasps.

Cry, running from this ambush?

Again, I decline

I still want you after the war is over,

even if I can not fight by your side.

Protest, I try to refrain,

I never want to make your job harder

but I don’t want to leave the impression

I have no concern, so I walk the fine line.

Standing on the sidelines is harder than you think,

I am helpless and lonely,

not as exciting as your work

and no comfort from this distance.

I must hold my breath

while you provoke the bees.

Memorial Day

May 27

MEMORIAL DAY

Veteran of the addiction wars, I have scars but few medals.  I don’t need a purple heart, mine is black and blue.  I don’t keep trophies either, no empty bottles or old syringes.  Hostages, I have released them, too.  I found often they held me from what my life could be.  I wear my defects and wave my flag.  I am slowly learning to live in peacetime.  The big battles have been won; it is up to me to stop replaying the scenes of engagement.  Armistice is a beautiful thing; too bad there is no better way to get to it.

Write the dedication page for your life.

*

Queens: More than a Borough

My drama is bigger than yours.

My drama can kick your drama’s ass.

Well maybe not, but it sure is kicking mine.

Like a rain soaked grave, I stand in this muddy hole,

sides slick, unassailable and count the piles of tragedy ,

all the while knowing it will bury me

not facilitate a climb out.

I attempt to display the face of comedy

and yet the mask can not fool me, my true audience.

I think if I can keep it all up on stage I will be alright,

But then the point of theater is

that everything is carried away

in the minds of all who come and watch.

Silence doesn’t help either

for there is little worse than a bad mime

and doing it well just makes me Lillian Gish.

So, back to Bohemia for isn’t it all a rhapsody,

though it would all be so much better

if Freddy Mercury weren’t dead.

Home to Hope

May 26

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.

Hop right after you put your foot down and you can skip most of your problems.

*

Estranged

After long years I have made my own acquaintance,

friendship is on a far distant shore.

I know who I am and can recognize myself

on the street or in a crowded room.

I have a legitimate sense of wariness

of the  afore mentioned persona,

nothing too nasty, just a discomfort.

She is not someone I would bring home,

maybe not even share a meal with

but I can stand her, minus intimacy,

minus any deep empathy.

I feel an awkwardness in acknowledging her,

strange as this might sound.

She is no one to be ashamed of,

not a truly bad actor

Yet the reports say she doesn’t live up to her potential

and I have it on personal authority

that she actually surpasses it on most days

and keeps this a closely held confidence.

And there it is, I know her secrets

but I don’t keep her.

This is what makes me strange and her stranger.

Trojan Person

May 25

TROJAN PERSON

I feel confused by the difference between love and war.  The intensity and rush are too much for my frazzled and betrayed emotions to sort out.  I feel like a Trojan person.  I have all these children holed up inside and they are waiting for peace and safety so they can come out and sleep.  For a time I allowed them to leave for bathroom breaks, one at a time. This was not a workable solution.  When these tykes would have a look around, they started to set fires and break hearts.  Each child makes life a battleground, fights and claws her way across the living landscape.  I must heal my insides from the center of my thoughts, not send fragments of me to blend with the unfamiliar and hostile world.  Only when I can stand together with my mind and heart safe within my being will I see a way to make love on my own and leave war alone.

Shuffle your vocabulary.

*

ROUSs

Time passes, I clock it and count it

and use its passage to construct a defense

or accusation depending on my need.

I use the calendar to condemn you

because my feelings do not have sufficient leverage

for my mental calculations.

To prize disappointment from this scene

I watch the water-clock waiting for adequate drops

to lift the flood gate and free me

from your unfulfilled promise and my unrealized hope.

How long is too long to stand in a quagmire?

Why do I feel the need for permission

to leave the quicksand?

Celebrations

May 24

CELEBRATIONS

“You wore a wrist corsage to the dump?”

“You said to celebrate every activity,” I retorted to my sponsor.

“Yes, by doing them with purpose.  Not everything needs to be a production number.  Sometimes just showing up is enough.  Putting too much energy into preparation can leave you without resources.  It’s okay to make an appearance, do the simple act and move on.  That is a celebration in its own way.  Don’t squander your vitality on the mundane.  Do you know what I mean?” asks my sponsor.

“Don’t waste flowers on trash heaps?"  I answer.

“Yes, and don’t wipe your bottom with poetry.  I mention this in case you get any ideas.”

Put flower petals in your phone book

*

If Garfunkel Was Here

Speak of the dead and paint the living.

Paint them in a good light when you can

and into a corner when you have to.

Read the books of future generations

rather than acting as the arrogant,

who attempt to write these volumes.

Expunge nothing leave it all on view,

but move past it after taking in the implications.

Water flows under the bridge until it collapses

then it carries the bridge away.

So, speak of the dead don’t drown them,

paint the living don’t stain them,

look to the future don’t dictate to it

and let the water run.

Clocks

May 24

CLOCKS

When the clock stops, I wind it up or replace the battery.  I have to; time doesn’t end because the arms grow slow.  The device wears down but the day is not over.  Even if my internal metronome is bollixed, the planets keep revolving.  I can’t step off the world; it doesn’t stop turning for me.  I don’t always have to keep my head up but I must always go on.  There is no going back.  I can only remember yesterday.  I can’t return to it though it’s so close the flowers are still fresh.  Sometimes I struggle to keep my hands off of the past.  Those are the days I secure my future and wind the clocks.

Create a map to your own happiness.

*

Princess No More

Decent is less obvious than accent

and so it is with dethroning;

those who put you upon the gilt alter with much aplomb

feel no qualm in taking you down

with not as much as a word or a grunt.

The wind has changed and your reign is over,

the poor startled girl is suddenly in the street.

For a scepter is not a club and why fight for a throne,

which is proven to be nothing more than a straight backed chair

once separated from its right relationships.

The horror of unexpected common status

is for the young bride an issue of safety and trust

not of ego or presumption.

Who is she without the Prince, the Knight,

she is Princess No More.

Soot

May 22

SOOT

I diligently work to remove the soot, the residue from the last time I tried to hot wire my brain.  When I attempted the short circuit of my safety-thinking, I caught my life on fire and the flames, though brief, were spectacular.  Electric fires are very jarring, the burning insulation toxic.  It leaves bare, stuttering lines crossing and recrossing.  My stable base, the method I once used to keep sane, is shot.  All because I wanted to go joy riding in my thoughts.  Suspended reality sounds so good but always bursts into flame, leaving me with soot removal as a hobby.

Add all the numbers of your phone number.

*

The Delano’s

Indifference is the backbone of power.

It is a state of faithlessness,

not infidelity but rank apathy,

saving every ounce of ardor for the prize you seek.

I thought I was the prize and I am;

I’m just no longer yours.

Cast aside for the leviathan and the miscreants

I wonder what I could have done to hold your attention

The answer is nothing.

Nothing could be done.

Blinded by the ambition of heroism

the struggle is the goal

No gem no matter its brilliance

can check your drive toward a place in the epic narrative.

Tis the hero’s lament to save every life except your own.

Choice

May 21

CHOICE

Growth is my decision.  I don’t need conflict or catastrophe to bring me to change.  I choose each day come what may, to roll out the refuse.  I am not tempted to leave it in to rot just because the sun is shining.  Good days are good times to improve.  How could integrity be retarded by joy?  I am not punished into recovery.  I will never accept a Higher Power who set up a system like that and I give wide berth to people who claim their Higher Power did.  My bottom may have been an inducement to start but choice keeps me coming back.

Smile in the mirror and look into your eyes.

*

Balustrade

Just because you appeared from the dark

doesn’t make you a wizard.

Just because you make the world safe for mankind

doesn’t make you Hercules,

nor does your power and foresight make you his father.

Your resourcefulness and guile doesn’t make you Ulysses.

And just because you spend so much time

strapped upon that cross doesn’t make you,

well, we all know the rest of that refrain.

Human is what you are whether I see that in you or not.

Human is a blessing even if it feels to me a curse.

I need the superhuman strength you seem to offer

but I must live in the world of what is real.

I want to be stolen away to the safety of your lair

and not live on my feet and fight for my life.

I have to stop wishing to be your captive

and work harder at simply being your friend.

If I can let you down off your pedestal perhaps

I could then climb down off mine.

Streatching

May 20

STRETCHING

Stretching is not equivalent to change.  Limbering is nice and warms the muscles, body and soul.  Over-reaching, over-compensation is trauma; it distorts the symmetry and breeds erroneous thinking.  Extension beyond the bounds sets me up for a fall.  I misinterpret touching with fingertips with a firm and able grasp.  I don’t step forward because I believe I have a hand on things, failing to see how this is different from an embrace.  The sinew tears and the fabric of my life is destroyed.  I lean forward but I go nowhere.

Open an old letter and read it with a fresh mind.

*

Inspection

My disease paid a discourtesy call on my bourgeoning sobriety.

Peeked in to look for cracks in my foundation,

weaknesses to exploit.

I recognized the patch job I had toyed with

would have made the easiest of targets for this eroding thug.

I am ever so grateful that I cleaned off all the bricks

and made new mortar.

Built on bedrock my re-laid block

will withstand the indignity of the pounding prodding sickness

which used to inhabit this once dilapidated space.

I can keep the villain at bay

and live my cozy life thanks to a true level

and the handsome turn of my trough.

Urban Lanscape

May 19

URBAN LANDSCAPE

“I am taking this giraffe to the penthouse.  Do you suggest the elevator or the stairs?”

“Why do you choose these complicated tasks to fill your days?” asks my sponsor. 

“You think this is beyond my abilities?”

“I didn’t say that.  I do believe either you or the giraffe is likely to get bent out of shape.  But that is only the most obvious of observations.”

“What if I told you being disproportionate is both of our natural states?"  I asked.

“I know that, too.  My darling little lamb, you may be a contrast to the multitude, but why make it harder?  Why not a ranch with cathedral ceilings?  Bay doors even?”

“You are taking out the spirit of adventure,” I say.

“Baby, you may have confused frustration with excitement,” says my sponsor.

“Yes, but you have forgotten the view.”

Put three buttons on a shelf.

*

NaCl

I work arithmetic instead of telling you to stop.

I make a light remark and never take a stand

until I have worked the numbers

and believe that the weight of suffering is on my side.

I store in the cellar the salt I found in my wounds

and label it, with names, dates and corresponding critique,

all waiting, hoping, I will never need to disclose them,

but keeping them accounted for just in case things go badly.

I believe there is no chance for error with silence

and no wrong when I have backup in the basement,

but I need to table the salt and risk my reality.

You can’t hurt me worse than I do

when I pour old salt and create new wounds.

Strong Words

May 18

STRONG WORDS

Serious language, deep language, real language helps me by grounding me.  I don’t have to be nice for company when I can just tell the truth.  I needn’t have guests with virgin ears or unrealistic expectations, and I no longer pander to such foolishness.  I know the layered meanings of my words and value the intensity of a large vocabulary.  I am not intimidated by prudish co-conspirators who stare down pointed noses at powerful utterances.  Weak words make poor boundaries and breed victims.  I will not be trapped by niceties; I will speak clearly out of necessity.

Allow your integrity to increase the value of your truth.

*

Martinizing

The price of upkeep scares me, it daunts me even.

I pay the initial cost, I have bitten that bullet

of required outlay; the continued charges for maintenance

push my face in the mud until my ears clog.

Avoiding the need of perpetual responsibility

to things, relationships, life, doesn’t change the reality,

rather it embeds in my skin a slick denial and an indignant retort

to the drycleaners and shoe-shiners of the world.

Waste and want play tag inside a misunderstanding

of what is required of me; of what life requires in general.

I must make quietude, draw a map

and find my way to this psychic change;

Unfortunately all the little voices scream

“Yes, you paid the price to see the show,

but you don’t make enough to stay!”

All Better Now

May 17

ALL BETTER NOW

Mother kissed the booboo and I wait for the admonition to take effect.  Waiting, I count the problems like telephone poles on a long journey.  What will it be like, the world all better?  The anticipation nearly breaks me for a while until waiting turns to disbelief.  A chill fills the space and 'all better' becomes the cry.  My sponsor calls for moderation and lowering my expectation.  The child’s ears ring with the promise to be fulfilled.  She can not give herself over to a world where a Band-Aid is not a cure-all but only a cover for the slow work of internal healing, scars and all.  Sheer survival is not sufficient for the screaming toddler; heartbreak from injustice calls for more than endurance.  But, alas, a kiss is all we have.

Time pulls the tide and the tide pulls you; let it.

*

Who Rang?

Examine the instillation of your buttons

as a process of discovery for disabling them.

Pay attention to the wiring but also to the hardware.

Sometimes the advertising is the thing

which keeps alive something better off put to rest.

Many things are rooted in other pots

and have a lifeline from outside of the current host.

All the connections and housing should be explored

as well as what work the mechanism does once pressed.

Is there a gong, tinkling bells?

Does it release the wolves from their den or tiger from his lair?

Information is a tool which never fails to help me

in disassembling the traps and their triggers

I must not shy from the gathering.

Mail

May 16

MAIL

I form my query, fold my mind and mail it off to God with a stamp of approval from my sponsor.  The questions sent are of no great interest but the responses are a spellbinding group.  What is returned unopened is a wide array.  The circuitous route taken by some is a charm of elucidation.  I rub my fingertip over the intact seals and marvel at the travels of the wax.  I mourn over the defunked gods and their public relations organizations.  Slow is my resolve to pore over the replies.  I get easily caught in lackings and shy from true contact.  The equations embedded in my heart read the letters and sing the notes; these songs are just for me.  I know them like my name.  I turn the envelope and see how old the postmark is.

Remember your comfort needs a life of its own.

*

Pearly Whites

Reaction is a separation, a polarization;

it cuts you from me and God from we.

Response is a connection, an inclusion;

threading a line from you to me

and stitching God into our pockets.

I realize now that any positive connection

is an instantaneous link to my Higher Power

and can’t help but bring us closer.

Tiny feet carry beauty and kindness;

tiny teeth tear the fabric of the world to bits.

I must let my footwork conduct my life’s work

and seal my lips and reserve the dentistry.

Bratzlav

May 15

BRATZLAV

If all the world is a narrow bridge, I must broaden my mind.  If all the doors close to the passage of a hallway, I must exit through the window.  Never again can I stay and shelter in a small and confining refuge.  A womb is a place to come out of; it is never a place of return.  I am not to seek over- exposure but I must ever widen the gate.  The brave face I show is the gift of a tight world owning me for far too long.  Fear is never meant to be larger than life and the world should never collapse around the sweetness of a smile.  Today carries us.  Tomorrow draws us.  The world is a bridge.

Carpet the memories that echo shame in your mind.

*

Underoos

Why is it that I store undies I never wear

in my panty drawer and leave no room for my favorites?

Why is it that I have things in cupboards

that have not seen the light of day in years,

but they are kept as sacred?

I don’t use my storage for me

it is saved for obligation to inherited obsession.

I live on the fringes of the only life I have;

I didn’t question this.

didn’t see it for what it really is.

I don’t live in my skin only my head.

I don’t enjoy today only plan for tomorrow.

After years at this address it is time for me to move in.

The mortgage is more than paid;

it is time to spend my inheritance.

The Long View

May 14

THE LONG VIEW

The long view requires an enduring embrace of the past.  It requires a great love of people, the race and individuals.  I cannot see what we do and flee.  I can own what happened, what happens and what is to come if only so I can ratchet improvement into my own behavior.  I can see and feel and change, cringe if I must, but go on.  The horizon is there to set the stage.  It hangs there long and low.  It stands guard for the life there is to live.  I will view it and use it as my gauge.  Keeping perspective is the key.  I know it for what it is and that makes me, me.  The short sight and the long view.  My open arms hold it all; my sight brings it all into my heart.

Floss between the permanent ideas in your mind.

*

Life Events in Burlap

Two left feet in a gunnysack allows no forward motion

and creates only a windmill that screws us into the ground.

There is more perspective, front and back, more view,

but nothing to do with it, nowhere to go.

We are better off as book ends than this awkward foolish pairing.

You go your way and I go mine works fine if we are cut lose,

if any one person can be free of any other.

You offer to change your perspective if I change mine.

I smile, almost laugh at the idea of two right feet in a gunnysack

and no improvement in sight.

This is not grade school, not field day,

I must turn to you or you to me and nothing else,

no fair is fair, no turn taking.

Because my past is not your future

and your future is not my past.

Face forward on both accounts and then we run the race.

Queen's Continence

May 13

QUEEN’S COUNTENANCE

I know the 7 P’s of preparation.  I set the table for those I know.  The unexpected arrive clothed in time and tradition.  They seat themselves at the table with the naked.  They become mute.  We prattle and pose, rarely glimpsing the goals sitting at the unset seats.  What we need to become is far from what we are.  I can not even call it other.  It is within when we make room and ether when we won’t.  I can wait and try but the juice is deep with the pulp.  I get myself in line for the future and wait for the clothes offered by my guests.  I sit the emperor and rise the queen.

Hear the sweetness in your own voice; taste the salt in your own tears.

*

Madame Alexander

I am, too naïve;

if you show me kindness I will believe you,

follow you, obey you, so, I have rules.

These rules do not protect me,

but they do make a box for me to seal myself inside.

Where I will ship myself, stack myself, hide myself,

well, that I do not know.

I pull the flaps down

and pray not to have to make any real decisions.

I fold my arms and close my mind

Believing I could never adequately open it enough

to safely live in the world outside of this closet.

Here I sit wondering what to write on this label

in order to be left alone

All the while longing for true love

a thing never given to a quivering china doll

shut up in a carton at the bottom of a wardrobe.

My Sober Heart

May 12

MY SOBER HEART

The heart I have today is not the heart I have had all my life.  Cells age and are replaced.  I slough off what I can no longer use and rejuvenate with fresh layers.  My sobriety is the same.  Past step work is revamped and approached in innovative ways.  Yesterday's prayers are replaced with today’s; today’s meditations will be dispelled by tomorrow’s.  The function remains the same but it is constructed with brand new work.  Service I render is always for my sobriety but I work to strengthen various quadrants.  My heart is not as young as it used to be and vigorous action remakes it new each day.  I rebuild my sober heart continually because forever and today I have the mind of an alcoholic.

Time your thinking so it can fire your mind.

*

No Stone Left Behind

An anchor attaches at the lower extremities stabilizing me,

an albatross is the thing weighing me down from the top,

it tips me, throws me to the ground.

I must remember to choose ferrous instruments

over long necked birds.

Often it’s not the amount of drag, but where it’s affixed.

There are so many variables,

so much to think through, yet I often react

and pick up what seems as harmless as a flock of sea gulls

And turns out to be worse than an iron maiden.

Leaving not tern unstoned is bad,

but do I really have the time to do it the other way around?

On-Coming

May 11

ON-COMING

Anticipation of the approaching traffic consumes.  The tiny spec grows and develops into the arriving vehicle.  50 miles per and the rapid succession of the coming and those leaving eats quickly at my heart.  The pain seers me.  Why are these who travel from the direction of my destination passing me by?  For miles and miles, they appear to be greeters.  The breeze created by their passing chaps my face and I question my goals.  How can so many abandon my objective?  But flee it they do.  My hunger does not diminish and I press on.  Of course if we all went this way, we might tip the globe.   Maybe that’s what they fear.

Smile with your eyes, laugh with your hands, rest your heart, ease your mind.

*

Be That Girl

I have tried to protect the investment I made in the past

by selling the soul of my future.

I arrived self-possessed, a winning girl,

but I slid the self from the scene leaving me simply possessed.

I gained everything then lost it a piece at a time

starting with the parts nearest my heart.

I must draw the shards together once more

and mend this lovely crystal.

The art of living is insured by my action

not by grasping at slivers in terror

of what slips from my fingers.

I am what I have inviolate

and all else comes to fruition when I am pleased;

when I am myself.

Roles

May 10

ROLES

“You don’t have to give up playing God because it was a bad thing to do," said my sponsor in her most gentle voice.  “You have to give it up because it doesn’t work.  In a world seemingly spinning out of control, you, brave child, stepped up to the plate and took a swing.  That is heroic, not demonic, but impractical nevertheless.  You have to be your own full-time job even when it feels like there are other jobs left unfilled.  You don’t have to run around finding the feet that fit those empty shoes, either.  Maybe those empty shoes are just bait for a bad trap.  Keep on your journey and I think you will come to a place where the work is being accomplished by a surprising cast of characters.  You will be free to stick to the role ahead of you.”

Taste your thoughts carefully and spit out the rancid ones.

*

Out Standing in My Field

Trying to remove expectations is like trying to unseed a field;

it is damn near impossible until something crops up,

though when it does I must act swiftly lest things take root.

Tedious as it is weeding the fields

of unreasonable expectancy saves me from

so much frustration later on.

I don’t recognize it

but expectations are like little dictators forever ruling me,

leaving no room for God or direction,

not to mention flexibility or change.

Tap roots dive for the vein

and my life depends on fleet elimination of unsuitable desire.

I can want. I can strive.

I can not leave expectations to grow in my garden.

The 24 Hour God

May 10

THE 24 HOUR GOD

Matching a loving God to the horrors of my past has proved impossible for me.  Projecting a connection to an all-powerful God of the ever-foreshortening future seems implausible.  In today, I see a nurturing God.  Not an all purpose God, not a God who serves all.  In my life, there is a God I trust today.  Each morning, when I wake, it is a pleasant surprise to find a God.  Not an expansive God, not a God to fit the continuum, but a nice neat God who fits right in this 24.

Lift your fingers to your scars and feel the gratitude.

*

Box-a-week Tao

I am going through so many changes

surrounding the cleaning out and getting rid of process.

The flat sided panic that I experience

while even attempting the smallest disposal seems impossible.

I would deny it if I didn't have the repetition

of this experiment to prove it as fact.

I have now moved into the part of the illness

where I compulsively clean the things that I have emptied

in order to avoid facing the next step, the next box, the next mess.

This is a two part trap:

Part 1. If cleaning can absorb all the time

I will not be able to do anything else.

Part 2.  If I can't keep it clean enough

then I have an excuse to give up

and not empty the next space.

I am trying to keep moving without being mean to myself.

Because mean is worse than mess.

The Shiny Thing

May 8

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 shimmer and sparkle but shudder at the price.  The world is filled with shiny things.  I can enjoy them but leave them where they lay.

Play the tune but change the lyrics.

*

More Than a Fedora

I have no explanations only expletives,

I wish I had something to say

that you wished to hear,

but that is not current events;

Foul humored broadcasts are what fill the air this day.

Bad temper is tempting,

but I can no longer be satisfied in this way

nor is this a performance that you care to witness.

I will play FCC to my ruminations

curtailing this colorful darkness for my benefit

and the clearing of the air.

I have never shied from dramatic vocabulary

and I do not now,

but throwing out words is waste

and I am learning to conserve.

I don’t have to leak my power

I can cover my head

and close my mouth.

K-turns

May 7

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 flames.  Today, a one-way faith is fine as long as I am moving forward.

Allow talents to unfold like spring leaves.

*

The Little Black Dress

The holes in my pockets cause me to feel naked.

Though it is an inside pocket

and no one can see I still feel exposed,

My thinking changed and for that matter chained,

one link looped through the next.

I start with a hole in my pocket

so I know I can’t stay in this dress all day.

I know I will need the storage later as time wears on

but I can’t change now

and I don’t want to waste time putting on my tights.

My legs are cold.  I fly from room to room.

I gather my keys, but forget my phone.

I am bare legged and unreachable,

overexposed due to a hole in my pocket.

Street Signs

May 6

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, intersecting, 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.

Exponential growth is a little thing that affects you in a big way.

*

A Good Ship

Recently my life has taken on a surreal quality.

I stand in front of myself

as if I were a business to be run

or a project to be undertaken.

The intensity, uncertainty and drama

seem to be on the wane.

There are choices to be made

and outcomes to be determined.

This is all work and numbers,

nothing at risk below the skin.

My heart is secure, true love its protector,

faith its inborn light.

I am docked in safety harbor;

the waves may rock me,

but my anchor holds me fast.

Transtions

May 5

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 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 it all back, even during the time when we all look the same.

Always step out of the spotlight before it burns you.

*

Pinocchio as a Girl

I should be painting today

instead of reframing the future,

an unnecessary and ephemeral job at best.

Kind of like lassoing an unborn colt,

I try to put a rope around something that cannot get away.

Outcome hasn’t much to do with foregone conclusion

and wouldn’t I be better mixing colors and wetting brushes

than cutting slices from a pie in the sky?

But tomorrow seems more spacious than this crowded present

and I con myself into believing this is a harmless trip to the fair.

I lose my light, my thought, my sight with these thieving sojourns;

leaving me to creak around because all that is left is wood.