Three Toys Floating

November 14

THREE TOYS FLOATING

I bat the ducks across the surface of my bath.  Soaking is supposed to calm me.  I’m waiting.  I assure you my impatience is no help to this process.  These yellow, tub-bound misfits grinning at me don’t fill me with the joy of living, either.  I have blown bubbles until I’m blue.  I smell like a French elevator from the bath oils.  My hair is stiff with conditioner; my face packed with mud.  “Do the right thing," said my sponsor.  She is such a pain.  Here I am, bubble bath to my armpits, and not a hint of peace.  Her question rings,  “What do you want?”  But isn’t it obvious?  If I knew that, what would I be doing wrinkling in this swilling vat?  I wouldn’t.  I would be out doing my ‘thing’, whatever that ‘thing’ is.  How I’m going to figure myself out I don’t know.  And ‘she’ is no help, (you know who ‘she’ is, she the sponsor lady) 

So what do I want?

World peace.       A clue.        Maybe just a hint.

But I know part of it.  I know more than I admit.

I want sobriety and happiness, dignity and respect, enough time to do these things, and love.

“Well," says she, “those things are easy.  Work the steps, then the traditions; practice them, do service, and take the advice you give to your own sponsees.”

I stick out my tongue in her general direction.

Creep toward the unknown.

*

Surfs Up

The first time I arrive at the beach the tide is a shock to me.

I had no way to anticipate it.

As the days pass I calm, realizing there is a rhythm

and that the sea won’t escape the shore.

Over time I begin to anticipate the movement

and then rely on it.

I learn to live with the in and out nature of the water

lapping the lip of sand;

What it brings and what it takes away.

I am human, I adapt, I survive.

How do I make the jump to blessing the moon?

How do I touch the divine?