And Gratitude

January 31

Principles before Personalities............and gratitude!

As with everything I have to be careful of how I infer meaning.  You say ‘Principles before Personalities’ and I hear, Their principles and Their personalities, immediately I’m on a tear.  How different if I think of ‘my’ principles and ‘my’ personality.  When I face it this way it is reflexive; I embrace my principles and my personality falls into step.  I am safe and sane therefore gratitude follows just as the topic suggests.  Good orderly direction is elegant when I don’t reverse direction.  There is an obvious way to pet the cat when I accept that we get along fine, when I don’t………well, need I say more?

Books open minds, music opens hearts

*

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

I'm sure it will come soon
A time I can be carefree, innocent.
Worn and weary, I slog through the painful
Over awareness of what was considered my childhood.
What can I do but hope things will get simpler as I age.

My sobriety takes years from my face.
Lines slip from me and I feel the weight lift from my shoulders.
My tender branches twisted with the constant force of wind
Bud and flower in the shelter of recovery
Holding them in their own embrace.

Colors seep to the windows of my mind
Forming pictures and carrying me to a new world.
Limpid pools, a place I dive, as I look to the mirror.
Serenity a rebounding of life fills me
And I am the gentle girl I missed so long.

Longing for my loveliness, I cry at the sight of my baby one.
I have not yet taken my place on the swing
But I have been down to the edge of the playground
And run barefoot in the sand.
I will be who I was to be, it's late but it's better.

I know well enough
To enjoy it as it comes
Treasure it for every sweetness.
I will come into my youth

The Was and the Is

January 30

The Was and the Is

The Silent Scream that existed as a placeholder for my G-d was incomprehensible to me.  I entered AA and was informed that understanding my Higher Power was required not just some far distant goal.  In true alcoholic form my first move was to shun G-d.  This made room for my rage which was in much need of the space.  After a few fine years of dissipation I lost interest in incendiary devices no matter how large their detonation capacity.  Having cleared the room I brought in G-d as potted plant.  I talked to it occasionally, watered and fed it, mostly ignored it.  Growing in spite of lacking ministrations G-d was an unobtrusive force living in the corner changing gas into air and demanding nothing.  As I quelled my apprehension and lived with the Presence I looked, listened, probed and questioned the subtle Force sharing the room. “Add it up,” chanted the children in my ear, “run the numbers, settle the accounts.”  I calculated proofs and discarded the faulty and inaccurate.  What was left, the whole, not the remainder was mine to keep, but it was not everything.  I haven’t an everything G-d, because I am not a nothing person.  I am something and G-d is something too.  We are complimentary, like pairs of angles who come full circle.

Show the sun the souls of your feet

*

TRUST

You can trust people to be who they are.
I am a different being in relationship to different people.
To some I am the center of their constellation,
The sun burning bright, I 'm all they can see.

To others I am the moon,
Orbiting them, silent and dedicated.
With another group, I am a comet streaking through the sky,
Seldom seen but well remembered.

For many I am a distant star.
One among the multitude, blending in the night with the other signs.
Then there are the folks who see me in a more down to earth way,
I am the dirt beneath their feet.

The farmer sees me as a plant to be tended.
The cowboys view me as a horse to be broken.
To fisherman I'm a catch.
I am what people want to see.

So what can I trust them to be?
Wrapped in their own worlds
Yes, mostly I guess,
None of my business in the end.

I watch them and learn what I want to do, who I want to be.
In large part by avoiding what I see them do.
I do trust people to serve as bad examples, often
And good ones infrequently.

Inertia

January 29

Inertia

in·er·tia
n.

1.     Physics. The tendency of a body to resist acceleration; the tendency of a body at rest to remain at rest or of a body in straight line motion to stay in motion in a straight line unless acted on by an outside force.

2.     Resistance or disinclination to motion, action, or change

This force is real; the laws that govern it act on me for well and ill.  When I’m on a roll it’s hard to guide me and like the girl with the curl; when I’m stuck, I’m very, very stuck and it’s awful.  

I am bound by this reality and go or stay according to what is set in motion or stopped, but what about ‘the outside force’?  Am I in charge of summoning ‘it’ or is ‘it’ summonable at all?  Will ‘it’ obey like the dog, or obey like the cat?  Or is ‘it’ more random than the rain?  Can ‘it’ be lured or tempted or does ‘it lure and tempt me?  And the biggest questions on my mind: Is ‘the outside force’ also subject to inertia?  Are we in this together? What is ‘its’ outside force?  Might it have something to do with me?

Wash one pain at a time

*

NURSE

What if the word God is like the word nurse?
What if the person is only the simple meaning?
The actor doing the service
The plain act, uncontrollable from my end.

What if my active part of God,
Is the same as my active part of nurse?
What I draw down, how I schedule myself
To be ready when the milk arrives.

How I pull and am satisfied
Digest and draw again.
Like the sea laps at the shore,
The moon tugging it all the while.

What if God is about my hunger,
Satisfaction dependent on finding a suitable teat?
Maybe this is why, when it comes to God
Much of what I do, is cry.

When faced with my need, I open my mouth
Finding only two possible responses,
Suck or Scream.
My aching consumes me and I don't know how to calm myself.

I look for the caretaker, the person, the deed.
I need sucker but never look for the breast.
I am the child of God.
I must learn to draw God in

Sponsorship

January 28

Sponsorship

Right now, as I think of sponsorship, I think of all the things I have done wrong.  Times when I was not understanding enough and times when I was too understanding and enabling.  Sponsors I chose for ulterior motives and the ones I didn't challenge when they wandered away.  I search my mind for the ingredients that were in the mix when things went well and the dominant component was willingness, mine and theirs.  Whether I was sponsor or sponsee, willingness overrode ability, determination and love.  We had to come to the table willing, this was never something we were able to cook up or construct.  Nor is it something I can always hold onto, sometimes willingness evaporates or slips away like sand in a clenched fist.  The permanence and impermanence of sponsorship awes and frightens me.  Like a guidewire twisted from many strands none of which reaches from end to end I worry about the unraveling but depend on the strength.

Expectations are incubating resentments

*

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 oil.

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 arm pits
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 is 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 your own sponsees"

I stick out my tongue in her general direction.

Simplicity Itself

January 27

Simplicity Itself

My life runs at a Gilbert and Sullivan pace, with about as much sense and comic relief.  You say 'keep it simple' and my disease says 'why ruin a good play?’  The truth is this is not play at all but a work that consumes my life from me and doesn't thank me for my time. Simplicity for me requires respect, a gift I selectively give myself; a gift that I often use only as a shield during battle.  My past method of increased self-respect is life in a war zone.  This is no solution.  Release of grief, this is the onerous path I avoid taking.  Purging the wrong thinking and action of others from my blood, my eyes, my skin, allows me to lift my chin and square my soul to plumb and level living, don self-respect as a birth right and set a calendar fit for plausible life, a simple life.

If you are not a hero in your own home you are not a hero

*

HIDE AND SEEK

I have sought You
High and Low
But like the rain
You have always found me.

I like a cold, wet cat on a winters day
Peer into warm lit windows
Hoping
You will be home.

I seek to keep moving
You find me for some unknown reason.
I have given up
Naming You.

I trust You know who you are

 In spite of the fact I do not.
You are places I don't know
Doing things I think better of.

Citing the list of errands I daily make for You,
Not to beleaguer You
But the unfinished list of history
Trails out of my pocket.

I worry I may possess
Your only copy
Of this Injustice List.

There have been days of peace
Days I don't think too much.
Days I turn away from
My history lessons and future projections.

My ultimate problem is with the equal sign
I run the numbers and it figures inequity.
I check my calculations and shake
The calculator of my mind.

Deeply, I fear
You're a one god
And do not comprehend
The implications of zero.

If you multiply with only things above naught
You may be unaware of nothingness.
The empty things I feel
When I can't seem to find you.

Self-possessed - insensitive of the cipher
Your dimensions stay positive.
Bring me into Your realm or join me in the void.

I seek You
But You have found me.

A Living Love

January 26

A Living Love

What I love about the program is that it is a living thing, like me.

It is not perfect, it is growing and changing, adapting and correcting for each experience and need.  AA is a life into life process and saves me because life begets life, no matter what I was told.  The answer to life is living and I get to see that being done by everyone from newcomer to old-timer each at his or her personal ability.  I am allowed to dangle my feet, wade, tread-water and swim, all under the watchful eye of loving support and critical pretender.  Difficulty is not removed nor is the way made smooth, but I am no longer without a thread to hold.  I love the web I help weave myself into and feel protected from the spider of my addiction because together we are living proof.

Bear Grace

*

DEEP IN THE SEA

Under the mirror
There is life
Under what I reflect to the world
I am a world apart.


I smile sweetly, political in my response
To confrontation and conflict
Deep, deep in the sea, is a current of sadness
I can't always shake.

Pain is the past
But it's there like a moray
Lurking to strike aimlessly, pointlessly
At the passersby.

The ripping teeth
And the cold stare
My terror
No way to escape it.

I focus on the topside
The reflective part of me.
I keep as clean
And free as can be.

I stick to my business
List my goals and make plans
The water runs cold
Then hot beneath.

I carry the steps to this underwater grave
Trying to inflate the rubber skin of god
But No
There is no life in the god of my understanding

Or maybe there is no life.
For the character the drowned balloon represents
The sea is bigger than me.
The life stronger and more abundant.

The sky it reflects as vast as liquid
I swim
There is a Power
And it doesn't need that comic book face.

Safety is not the requirement
That can be granted.
Lack of safety does not end my life
It does not end God

Responding to Response

January 25

Responding to Response

Thankfully I’m not in charge of what is so freely given in this program. I want it to be available, but I want gratitude to be the universal response.  At first I thought I couldn’t understand how anyone could hold this gift in their hands and not feel grateful, truth is I know exactly how that’s done and I don’t want to look at that ugly thing.  “Cunning, Baffling, Powerful” But they left out how repulsive it is, maybe they didn’t want to see it either, or thought it was self-explanatory.

No matter which, I’m glad I am not the arbiter of the flowing fount that is recovery, I might have been tempted to cap and meter it, killing all the beauty and wild randomness that makes it real and true.  I despair that others don’t recover as I recover and yet I am relieved that I didn’t have to drink as they drank. 

I have to see those around me well enough to stay out of their traps or follow their leads, whichever is appropriate, but I don’t have to adjudicate their reply.

Pick up sticks and put downs stones

*

THE BUTTON BOX

I go to my button box
To sort out my life.
I lay out the matching sets
The various sizes, shapes and colors.

Coat buttons are commanding
But unsuitable for delicate places.
The tiny pearl buttons with shanks pull my attention
But work well only on silks.

The metal, shell and horn buttons
Come from such far off places
And all end up crossing my table
As I try to see clearly how to stick with the winners.

I know the people represented in this box.
The strong, the loud, the beautiful.
I know the weak and the unique,
The ones of special circumstances and occasions.

I come to the realization the simple ones,
The buttons sewn on the inside,
The ones who silently give strength
And support to the large and the small alike.

The ones which come in every shade and size,
Who match their ability
To service they render others,
These are my favorites.

They make secure all the things I love and trust
Flat and unobtrusive these buttons
Hold fast the fabric of my life.

The Max Factor

January 24

The Max Factor

I apply foundation and rouge to make up the difference between reality and expectation.  My composition is unexamined by onlookers; appearance is the subliminal standard bearer.  My brave face is plaster cast as an estimation and a singularity.  Powder gives and takes power; builds a glass ceiling then a glass floor.  What I owe my mind is more than what I allow its representation to be.  I am made up to a spot on the wall from which I can not move, all because I wanted to put my best face forward.

Cuddle up to curiosity

*

LIFE AS AN ELM

I stand tall
My bark sloughing elongated rectangles
Great bunions of wood protruding
Giant bubbles of tight grain grown in reactionary curls.

These tumors born of abuse and endured in maturation
Are harvested in recovery
The burden of them severed from me
By the sharp teeth of truth.

Sectioning these masses
For purposes of inventory
Allows the twisted and deformed wood
To become dry and constructive.


I inlay the contorted sheets of history
Into the panels of the doors AA built for me.
The doors built to exit hell
Which gave me access to the world beyond.

I stand in the woods
Reaching the sky
Sinking deeply in the underlying spring
Surrounded by the joys of reality.

Things unseen in my pain
Consumed
Blister covered life of addiction
Life was a forest of one.

The wind hit me
The snow fell on me
The drought
Affected only me.

Today, lightened by the loss
Of my inappropriate growth
I grow together with my sponsor,
My group and the We.

I can accept shade and shelter
Also offer it.
The bugs and parasites meet
With the resistance of communal health.


My disease
Has no harbor,
Not in my bark,
Not in my heart.

Today
My program
Strips me of my disabilities
And makes me strong in camaraderie

Frankie

January 23

Frankie

“Why do I expect new leaves to grow on dead sticks?”  I pleaded to my sponsor.

“Is that a ‘why do fools fall in love’, question?” she retorted.

“Oh, I suppose it is.  I was doing so well having a ‘listen only’ relationship with someone then she asked why I don’t tell her my opinion and I like a ‘fool’ I told her.  The ensuing pile of rationalizing and justifying she gave stank up my whole day.”

“I bet your steady stream of self reproach didn’t help either,” my sponsor added.

“But, I know better!” I cried.  “I mean this is why I stopped my speaking role with this girl.  I know she is a reactor NOT a listener.  How could I fall apart at her first recognition that I am wordless in the face of her diatribes?”

“You were hopeful.  Is that such a crime?  You think better of people than they really are.  I think that helps you stay willing to help them,” she soothed.

“Yes, but this snapped my willingness to work with her in half.  How do I put it back together?”

“Maybe you needed to learn that it’s okay to leave the dead sticks behind.”

Why do turnips look like tops and turnip tops look like greens?

*

COMPOST

Looking at the bins
The stages of decomposition
Remind me of my disease
The stinking garbage I came in with.

I have learned to work my program
The same way I learned to tend my pile
Personal experience, advice, watching
And smelling, the mistakes of myself and others.

I learned covering thoroughly with meetings
And steps works like leaves and hay
To eliminate the immediate stench.
Circulation is important to prevent me from becoming stale.

In the end, the secret is turning it over.
If I don't turn it over I become putrid.
I rot and ferment instead of decomposing,
Breaking down in a way which restores me to usefulness.

When I work the process
My higher Power turns me into a medium of growth.
A renewed source of life and depth.
I become rich in all things that matter.

I am sought after by all the people involved
In planting seeds of hope.
My sponsor says, “It’s a sign of humility
That I aspire to be like dirt."

Encouraging sprouts
From the remnants
Of my past.
She might be right

Lathhouse

January 22

Lathhouse

I want to face the sun.  I want to stand and the wind to blow.  I want the rain uninterrupted on my head.  I want to remain upright and unburnt, to prevail amidst it all.  Tender stalks and verdant leaves frustrate my anti-social streak.  I want to bear the worst without cover or assistance but here I am in the slanted shade of this dynasty.  As I grow so does the awareness that even when I am strong enough to leave this sheltered abode I will be relocated to a row where I am never alone.

Dream of a way to paddle a round boat.

*

THE PRIVILEGE OF SUN RISE

I awake happily at 5:30.
I will again see the show beyond compare
In stark contrast to the mornings
I filled with moping or sober angst,
Shades of the same dark color.
I shuck my covers
Bathing and dressing with purpose
And propel myself forward.
I hate to miss the first act.
Down---------------------------
The tint of clouds dusky and sweet
I'm on my route
I start my open eyed prayer.
For all those living at the hands of an addict
Be with them---Please
For the addicts
Help us all to fail----Fast
I scan the horizon
Checking all the views
I reflect on the striking change,
Earth bound green and gold
Sky held pink, orange and blue.
The silhouettes of trees exquisitely lit from behind.
The sweet moon sharing the sunrise with me
Add to the pleasure of my drive.
I start my gratitude list.
Beginning with my sobriety
Each moment.
The people, The life,
The thinking, The feeling
And my ability
To share it all
With You

Guest Flag

January 21

Guest Flag

The polite thing to do is fly the silly blue rectangle with its equally silly white diagonal stripe.   That would be the polite thing, for sure but that would peek my disease’s hold card.  If anyone knew that my illness was sailing my ship instead of me the effect would be ruined.  Or so says the canker that grips me and steers me to disaster.  Announcing this day-tripper as an unentitled accessory to whatever wrong I am about to commit might warn my friends or enlist my sponsor, but no I leave my colors fly and endanger the surrounding water.  For in truth my flag is just as fraudulent as this vessel and is only on loan to me as well.

Panoramic inventory shows the landscape in a better light.

*

THE MUSIC

I hear a tinkling noise and look around the room.
No, it's coming from my head.
It's the sound of the music of my life.

The bells, a horn or two
The strings,
Always the strings.

The sharp clear cry of the vixen
Calling from the hedgerow
The lonely voice of resolve.

The melody shifts
Tomorrow's tune warming up
In the wee hours of the night.


I don't try to part my lips
Replication is not a possibility
I am only just learning to move with the rhythm.

Keep the beat in my heart
And draw it down
For my toe to tap.

I cannot sing my song
I must let it live in me awhile longer.
I can't share things of which I haven't had my fill.

Giving too much
Too often
Makes the anthem run thin.

I have to be fully me, to be full voiced.
I need to stew in the juice
Of overflowing harmony.

The pounding of my feet on the steps unite the accord
Wild things and practiced plans
Put forward the waves of life on earth.

I follow
Placing my feet in well worn trends
The dance school reopened for sober living.

Passion plays and calls my response
For today, I pass
I leave the song inside

Saurian or Dalliance

January 20

Saurian or Dalliance

I love to be mystical, but the only dragon in my life is when I drag on and on.  Procrastination is the winged beast in my world.  I armor plate the thing, shiny and gleaming, my loitering delay is mightily impressive and you might think it would take flight from the way it postures but departure has been adjourned in favor of misgiving and postponement.  I wander through the forest attempting to appear brave and feeling it occasionally while my tale grows longer.  I need the fierce face and sharp claws; I can beat the mythology if I will just continue to take action.

Never confuse signposts for guideposts.

*

THE FROG

Stretched in the water
Still
The frog hangs.

The pond is barely a tea cup
Sufficient for communion
Of God and frog.

I watch the frog
Unblinking
Savoring respiration.

In a pond in Maine, I bore the posture
Center-stage
A quarter mile of water all around.

I hold my head above the surface
And feel I am in the eye of Gods creation
Face to face with benevolence.

Peace spars with uneasy smallness
I am a tiny speck, floating in the soup.
I am one organism in a sea teaming with life.

I am a part of
Not protected
But equal to the rest.

Can I bare this reality
The struggle of living
On a web?

Can I live a humble life
Knowing
I am favored no more then the rest?

Can I set aside my need
For preferential treatment
A God given Band-Aid for my multitude of hurt?

"If you can't, you will drink." Says my sponsor
"If I have to live this way I will cry." I respond.
"That is your God given right."

What is a Sheep to Do?

January 19

What Is A Sheep To Do?

Things are bad out there.  I see the trouble as I circle within the flock.  Many of us whisper to each other as we pass.  How can I create lasting change?  Is there something helpful that will not separate me from my precious life, something that will not make me prey to the vultures before I even realize that I’m dead?  How can I live and strive while the wolves hold the hilltops?  Is the choice merely, one death or the other?  Is there an as yet unseen path?  Can I find it while maintaining my place in this congregation?  What is a sheep to do?

Topple the toys from their bins and play

.

Tea or Sympathy

Tears pouring into the teacup growing cold on the table create a sea of emotions uncharted.  If I can not offer sympathy to the contents, the soulless heel that I am, how then do I expect to have a future?  If I will tender only meager tolerance toward the spindled thing valiantly trying to beat within me why do I even show my face to the mirror?  If shoulders are cold and turned inward then I will collapse into the inexpressive, dismal thing that has been misshapen through misuse and I might as well drink the chilly tea for that’s all the comfort I’ll get.  I must do better by myself in order to brew a better world.

Smooth one hand with the other.

*

SOD

Green and black
Pinwheels of rolled grass
Speed by me on a flat bed.

Sod
Headed for home
That is how it is for me.

I grew up in a place of impermanence
A place clearly not my destination
Uprooted and prepared for relocation I am in transition.

My future surroundings unknown
Will be a perfect fit.
I have been anticipated
Grown for a purpose of which I am uninformed.


I have done my part, I am ready to lay down my roots
And become a lawn of seamless expanse
Somewhere my Higher Power is grading a hill
Smoothing the way.

I am ready to take my place
In the landscape
Of sober living and right thinking.

Between Two Chains

January 18

Between Two Chains

The curving movement half seen sweeps forward and catches me squarely on the chin.  Realization glimmers that next time it will strike me in the mouth and I take a step back.  I estimate the returning arc, raise my arms, push the board back from whence it came.  As it hurtles toward me once more I reposition.  Force returns force; fury comes vigorously my way and I thrust with strength and enthusiasm. And this is fine for what it is.  I have learned how not to get hit.  I can push when I get shoved.  How much better will it be when I can get on and swing?

Tie your lose ends into bows.

*

IN THE PRAIRIE

In the prairie there are small fenced cemeteries
Family plots.
The flat expanse of land opens to the eye
Hand carved monuments stand in testimony
To love and service.

In these places grow wild flowers
These places cordoned off
From mechanization and agribusiness
Held in trust are the bones of loved ones
And the soul of nature.

Blue bells, paint brush, lupines
And all manner of reedy grasses.
Deep inside me is a place like this.
The place I have buried my young.
The little ones who died of shame, neglect and hurt.

And I must return, not to exhume the dead
But to pay tribute.
To return with honor and love
Harvest the daisies and buttercups.
Grow them in the garden of my heart.

I can tend the flowers
Which spring from destruction
I can mingle them with the growth of my sober life.
Restore my prairie
To a splendor it has never known.

I can enjoy the bounty
Of saving seeds worth saving
And planting my Higher Powers will for me.

Hades

January 17

Hades

There is a strangeness to the dark.  A velvety comfort when my paranoia is not alive with ice crystals and contempt.  Cocoons of light create hives of life in an otherwise isolating phenomena.  Pressing to my skin I can wear the night out as a jewel, a talisman for the hope I dare not share.  Pixies and faeries inhabit dawn’s wee hours but the black blank stretch of space is home to things quite different.  Unspeakable in their face I allow them to pass.  Should I be carried off my return is eminent for half the seeds remain.  Not wholly ransomed I live only part time in the sun.  When the shadows fall there is the oddness of home I can neither embrace nor deny.

Load the scale in your favor.

*

THERE IS A TREE

There is a tree in the woods
I've seen it.
It was cut off from any visible source of
Strength or sustenance.
Carried aloft by surrounding trees
The splintered trunk dangles in the air
It makes no connection to the forest floor.
I know the feeling
I have been cut off too.
Violently separated from my God, as it were.
I probe the fractured stump at the bottom of my soul.
I explore the crevices
Seeking tendrils of hope.
My anxiety bonds to my frustrations
But faith eludes me.
I look down to the broken place
The view unrealized by me.
I have a vista of unimagined beauty
Provided to me by the growth of others.
I am eye to eye with my peers,
Held in their loving embrace.
I bloom and flower with them.
I endure the winters the same as they
And come spring am stronger for it.
I don't know why I was damaged.
I don't know why I was saved.
I am grateful it is done.

My sponsor says "It's for our sobriety
And the pleasure of your company."

Bon

January 16

Bon

Comfort or motivation these are the two major reasons for building a fire.  Sometimes I set it before me other times under me.  The warmth can be soothing and the light dazzling, but licking flames move me off the spot like nothing else.  Fuel and surrounds contribute to the effect.  Mental state and personal company provide dampening or air. How high the flames rise or how long they burn varies widely. Inspiring my passions, my thoughts, my fears the conflagration is an apt tool as long as I don’t go up in smoke.

Try to go sometimes with the grain and others against it.

*

IN THE COMFORT OF MY ROOM

I sit and panic concerning the future.
I have come through Hell
Built a safe and satisfying life
But it will all end soon, I can feel it.

The tide rises in my soul.
The blood red tide of self-doubt and degradation.
I fail to see my strength or intelligence
Hell, I can't even remember the sheer willingness which has carried me this far.

All I see is shreds.
Tattered little bits of my hopes and dreams
Scattered by the breeze of fate.

What is the point of me being in this sweet space
If I'm going to intellectually turn it into a dungeon?
Why set out fluffy pillows
Only to frighten myself daily
With thoughts of their removal?

How can I pray for safety and practice personal terrorism?
My mind is closed to the double-side of life.
I know the destruction but forget the glory.

I have washed ashore in the land of love and support
I need not drag my mind and spirit to the nether world of hopelessness
I've been to the dark places
My task is to warm in the sunlight today.

Do Not Drink the Tap Water on Alpha Centauri blog 2

Soup Envy

I had no intention of traveling to Limelight for lunch, but whoever does their advertising earns their keep.  The promise of the perfect hernekeitto was irresistible; hence I didn’t resist and had the most delectable hernekeitto of my life.  Which if you’re wondering, hernekeitto is essentially split pea soup and theirs is the best I’ve had other than my mother’s of course.  

Limelight is a planet with no original population.  A couple of geeks broke down the obstacles to creating water from atoms on a large scale using iridium, then went in search of a real-estate agent with an extrasolar iridium rich planet to sell.  They found one, bought it produced vast amounts of water, installed the strangest semipermeable membrane which served as a placeholder for the atmosphere until one developed, then they hired the PR team who placed ads in every galaxy with the slogan You Never Have to Go Home Again If You Come Here.  The response was better than they could have imagined; who knew so many were looking for a geographic cure.

The planet was assigned a designation but the International Astronomical Union being what it is and the IAU’s nomenclature being what it is the planet was soon renamed for the candoluminescence of stage lighting which was a similarly great discovery in its time.

Not surprisingly the humor of runaways has caused green to be overly popular on their new home; they have the most beautiful green dwellings, green transportation and the best hot green soup.  Try the recipe I’m sure you will be green with envy that you weren’t on Limelight having lunch with me!

SPLIT PEA SOUP

1 pound of green split peas

1 medium onion chopped

2 medium carrots peeled

   and finely diced

1 bay leaf

8 cups of water

Place all ingredients in a crock

pot and cook on high for 4 hours

or until the onion and carrots have

almost disappeared.

Remove the bay leaf and season

with salt and pepper.  It is nice to

add some turkey ham chopped up

after the soup is cooked. Refrigerate

for a day to allow the flavors to blend.

This recipe can be cut in half if

only serving  two people. 

Here is the link to ABouquet of Recipes: From Sherrie's Mon

 http://www.amazon.com/Bouquet-Recipes-From-Sherries-Mom/dp/1481019279/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&qid=1358272921&sr=8-7&keywords=winnie+jenkins

Comparison Shopping

January 15

Comparison Shopping

Cost analysis of the yeas and nays requires a savvy consumer.  Every word has a variable price dependant on whom it is spoken to and when it is said.  Some words charge compound interest and others pay dividends.  Timing and delivery is of the utmost importance.  Knowledge of the markets requires constant assessment.  The risk to benefit ratio varies widely and the short term verses the long term price can flip the market from profit to loss.  Hold my tongue, speak my mind, these must be weighed; the clock consulted and inventories taken.  What I say and when can be less a matter of bull or bear than whether or not I can afford to be a sheep.

Tap the wellspring of your heart.

*

FEEDING SQUIRRELS ON A ONE LANE BRIDGE

Cattle-corn spread on a single lane bridge
The Trap, Food or Safety
There are plenty of other choices
My disease sees none of them.
Gluttony and danger the perfect combination
How can I resist?
Why would I resist?
I have to have More.
I cannot depend on my nature
The ability God gave me to survive in my environs
Help must come from outside
And must be wild and dramatic.
Inward help is boring
Too subtle, to tiresome
Where is my image?
Where is my excitement?
How am I going to prove my God worthy?
Without too much
Without perilous risk and rescue
I can't.
I can't prove my God
My God doesn't need to prove anything to me.
I can find my way off the beaten path
Away from the prying eyes of rubberneckers.
No cheers from the crowd are necessary
I have the equipment, it comes standard
When I take the controls
And follow the twelve step tutorial.
I should be able to manage just fine
No Mack truck in my face
As I stuff myself
With ill gotten grain.

Specks

January 14

Specks

Spectacles are for specks; tiny things that must be watched.  Commotion is nothing but a congregation of minutia with an audience. How many small things do I strain my eyes to see; then seek help to pursue further?  Some of these are put on display fishing for voyeurs.  Others are secreted away only to be ferreted out through magnification.  Whether curiosity or contempt drives me to these pinpoints I must search my motives before I scan the plain.  For truly if I am not careful I, myself will end up either speck or spectacle.

Let old wood and old women inhabit the shoreline of your mind.

*

NO MAPS

Maps have existed longer than I have
By the time of my birth there was aerial photography
Which had made pinpoint accuracy the norm.

I can be tracked by satellite on my daily commute
I can get a trip tic
And travel to the far reaches of this continent

"So what is your problem?" Asks my sponsor
There is no map for where we've been going
There are only the twelve steps, but after that-

It is all uncharted territory except of course-
For my families warnings about dragons
'Those critters stay to home mostly."  She says

"You have bigger things to worry about."
So where's the map
I need to know where to go.

No Map, we go through this together
The pitfalls are similar, sex and money
There are a few others

What each of us finds on this journey is uncharted
Plus if you spend your time looking down
You will miss the view.

We prop each other up as we step off into the unknown
And reel each other back
If we start falling off the beam.

How do I know if I'm doing it right
"Are you still sober?"
Yes, but I'm unsure.

Lots of people are sober
Right up until the time they're drunk
"So true, it's all about motive."

It's difficult to chart a heart
"Do you have willingness?"
Yes, you know I do.       

I have found that is the vehicle
To everywhere, So.,
Learn to enjoy the ride.

Offset

January 13

Offset

I often feel out of round and unmatched to my counterparts.  Awkwardly I sit unable to strike a plausible pose.  I want my asymmetry to seem chic.  I feel a victim of universal ugliness and gracelessly plod through my days.  Luckily offset thinking, the partner of my offset soul, saves me.  I see that I am uniquely useful, like a screwdriver set at right angles for use where a straight one could not reach.  I am counterbalance and compensation.  I may be lateral but I am also collateral.  I am an embellisher, beneficial in unexpected ways and shouldn’t seek to be inline with the multitude.  I am the new growth, the spur to the future.

Romance the noodles in your soup

*

GRAVITY WORKS ALL THE TIME

Limits and boundaries are a drag
I hate feeling tied to the ground
I know I could fly
If not for unseen forces

I sense myself lightening, smoothing
I drop my burdens, I pick up speed
Fourth dimension
Hell, I'm proverbial vapor trails

I should explain, when I get moving this fast
I inevitably wind myself into a position
Where my head is up my nether regions
A place it does not belong

I have slowly grown to love my limits
No restraint holds me back
In reality, I am supported, rooted as it were
I am not hydroponic, I can live in the real world

I am me
Encouraged by the wind and the rain
I am not a hothouse flower
I am truly free

I can walk where I was born to walk
I forget life has not been found outside my little world
And when it is
I am still better off being me

Live Bait

January 12

Live Bait

Is being a taunt to others really a life?  Dangling as the cover for a hook, luring intended and unintended to their deaths, is that living?  Or if I draw you with my attack rather than my appeal is that a worthwhile existence?  If I carry myself filled with poison praying for a strike is that anything other than a march to an unhappy grave for two, or more?  Hidden under an avalanche of harassment strips me of my vital quality and my soul loses its true nature. I am allowed to transcend the setup of competition and social strife.  It’s alright to be tempting with no agenda.  I could be an appetizer if only I removed the barbs or better yet I could be dessert.

Tuck tiny wishes between your toes.

*

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH

I was driving around in my car
Eating a meltingly ripe persimmon
On the radio came a fiddle playing band
Performing their rendition of In The White Room

I was traveling with the three drafts of my first step
Version one consisted of 690-some words
And the final had only four, JOY IS NOT ENOUGH
That's it, the whole thing.

Today my life is unmanageable
Due to the fact that having a balanced life
Feeling my wide range of feelings, including joy,
Is not sufficient to eliminate the pain and damage of the past.
My horrific childhood has not healed
Has not mended seamlessly
I have joy today, everyday, at some point
In proportion to my sober choices.

I fail to realize the promise doesn't say, Heal the past
It says, I will not regret the past.
I don't, at least not any of the choices I made,
Other peoples choices are not mine to regret.

I will not wish to shut the door on the past
And I don't wish to.
I want it Healed
I may not get my wish

Just because I am doing my part to heal the past
Doesn't make anyone else do it
I can't strong-arm the perpetrators into recovery
The way they strong-armed me into the abuse

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH but it's a hell of a start.

Dion

January 7

Dion

Everything in the world happened before I was born and the cinders sift through my fingers.  Accomplishing cohesion of the ashes is a goal I have not yet achieved.  Cremains precious but meager are a difficult building material, shifting due to emotions and wind, I find they stick too well to my lungs and not well enough to anything else.  Tears help, but I will not cry forever.  I must draw from a fresh water source and wet the powdery scratch I have inherited and form the world anew.

Use caution when interacting with the crème de la crème this may trigger intolerance

*

OLD GOLDFISH

I got them when my sobriety was new.
They were tiny little guys, ten cent feeders.
I wanted my stepson to sleep soundly
In our strange jumble of a home, fresh from purchase.

The tank sat on a dresser under his elevated bed
Space to fit my hand to feed them
No space for baby boy to climb in
I loved my goldfish.

There is never a NO with goldfish
Feed them as often as you want
Let the water get cold
Put them in a big space, small place, plants, no plants.

NO was so hard, I hate and fear No.
I am hard, fish are easy.
Tears and mesmerizing aquarium
Meetings and steps.

I could not keep myself alive
I don't know how I kept the fish fed.
The program kept me going,
Kept hope flowing and the fish swam.

In this century when we are finally outliving wild goldfish
We are sober together,
By the grace of Higher Power, in this century.
It's been a wonderful time.

I am grateful to be here with the goldfish.
I am grateful the goldfish are here for me.
Expecting so little
Maybe I could return the favor

Pepo

January 11

Pepo

My father used to destroy a perfectly good watermelon by cutting a triangle in the top and pouring a bottle of vodka into it.  I used to destroy my perfectly good melon the same way.  Emulating bad ideas in new ways was a onetime pastime of mine.  Giving it up was harder than I had expected.  Flawed thinking blends so freely with my mental landscape I have trouble distinguishing it.  Condemning the action and not the man is not usually my preferred method.  I would rather condemn the man, but this leaves me with the actions in place and him long gone.  And though I prefer him gone I will recreate him within myself if I don’t flush his actions as well.  I have a good pumpkin on my shoulders but it is my job to keep it intact.

No need to wait for joy, jump when you please

*

LIFE IS TOO GOOD

I know it sounds crazy, is crazy
But I hate having the fear, the gnawing gut, of WHAT IF
WHAT IF I can't maintain this, the sober life I live.
WHAT IF I get struck, unable to connect to my Higher Power?

I had a spiritual awaking
WHAT IF I get spiritual narcolepsy?
My spiritual cord was cut when I was young, not by my choosing
WHAT IF it gets cut again?

"WHAT IF this line of thinking cuts it?" Asks my sponsor
I hate when she's right.
WHAT IF this is a test?
Be like them or not.

Follow the path of the twelve steps
When there is no weight of need pushing me
When everything is going in my direction
I have to keep my eye on the ball for myself.

I am still not God
This is the lesson
The abusers never learned
The one I have to.

What went wrong was not bad people
Making bad choices, in bad circumstances
It was disconnected people
Making decisions without help.

I have to stay in your pocket
Never be a free bird
I have to remember what true freedom is
It's not being cut loose.

I have had that
And it never felt free
Keep your eye on the ball
And hold onto my hand.

Hoarfrost

January 10

Hoarfrost

On balmy evenings dew forms in my life and moistens my extremities.  This friendly act requires the maintenance of temperature.  If I become suddenly cool the landscape changes and the once welcoming vapor is now a show of crystalline rigidity.  Cold to the morning light I am brittle and snap at even a tentative touch.  For want of passion I have replaced it with definition and structure I can not absorb.  I am outlined clearly but no longer myself.  I am frozen, formally changed within and without.  Warmth is necessary, but how to start my own fire?  Learn, I must and quickly lest frostbite set in.

Wear your mantle don’t leave it to the fireplace

*

LONELINESS EATS MY LUNCH

There are days loneliness eats my lunch
And I can't fight back.
How can I stand it,
How can it still be this bad?

I pull out the old chestnuts.
If I'm not happy with what I have
How could I be happier with more?
Even tickets on the 50 yard line don't interest me, I came to play.

I think of other slogans, the tidbits, the smiles and hugs.
I roll them around.
Still, there are days my lunch is gulped down
And I sit with my plate empty.

Pickle juice, coleslaw drool is small comfort
Actually, it's a jeer.
I stare at my empty plate
I turn and twist it, stick my tongue out at it.

"Your good company." Says my sponsor
Then why am I alone, if I'm so good
If my company is worthwhile
Why do I sit her hungry and desperate?

"Are you sure you are?"
It sure feels that way.
"Well, it might be true and it might not."
I get it.

I am unhooked from myself
I am ignoring the multitude at my elbow
While looking for someone in my lap
I'm holding out for old terms from a new contract

I am loved by people
Who aren't trying to consume me
And I am letting my expectations
Dine for free.

Crestfallen

January 9

Crestfallen

“Whoa is me, I have crested the rise only to slide down the other side.  Hard work and determination culminated in victory but alas it was short lived.  Success is barely meaningful if it is permanent.  Poor, poor dear, I will have to strive once more at the face of a new challenge or even worse might have to make another run at this one.  How shall I ever bear it?” I lament, my sponsor smiles.

“Are you learning to be amused at yourself or hoping to bring back melodrama to the everyman?”  She queries.

“A little of both I think, whining is a consolation to me,” I reply.

“It’s nice that you’re not doing it at me, but even nicer that you have let your achievements teach you to laugh at your mishaps,” says my sponsor with a kiss to my forehead.

Butter both sides of your intentions

*

BREAKING MY OWN GLASS

The police of a small town caught a serial glass breaker today.
The man who owned a plate glass repair shop
Was breaking store front windows.
I break my own.
I go through my life, I slash my own tires
And break my own glass.
I fear continuity, stability, success.
I love damage control, making arts and craft from my slivers and shards
"Think what you could do with undamaged goods." Says my sponsor
I don't know how to do anything with undamaged goods
Except damage them or give them to others.
"Saddest thing I've ever heard." she counters
I can make a quilt from discarded clothes, mosaics from shattered dishes
A collage from junk mail and rescue every stray on the block,
See the potential in every person in a crowded hall
And hold your hand and cheer you on.
"What have you done for you lately?" my sponsor taunts
She is making my point, what can I do for me?
Search and destroy?
Live outside myself?
I have to be sober to be me, I can't go around making a mess
Just so I have something familiar to wallow in.
What if I can't do anything fresh?
"Learn to market the retreads.' she says

Lathe

January 8

Lathe

Turning into a spin, the edge cuts into my misconceptions, the point sharp and accurate to a fault digs into the excess I carry around, keeping me from my useful purpose.  A good eye and steady hand are needed lest breakthrough ruin me.  Not that all is ever lost for a spoon with a hole in the bowl will stir a soup smooth.  Relinquishing my burdens and trusting the carvers tools and methods takes great commitment.  I am carved commitment or no, but things turn out better when I don’t flinch.

If you can’t make hay then mow the lawn

*

IN A BACKWATER

There is a place so removed, uninspired, ignorance flourishes
I hate to go there.
I avoid it when I can
Today I could not avoid it.
Today I saw the gable end of a small barn
Half hidden in the scrub trees.
On the face of the gable end are two plywood cutouts
They are large, taking up the major portion of the space.
The first is a budgie, a bright blue parakeet, 7 or 8 feet tall.
It is tilted to it's side, it looks dyslexic but intriguing
Above it is a cutout of a black guitar, similar in length.
Hanging long ways across the top, almost from eve to eve.
I don't know what it means.
Why they are there.
Who could have put them there.
A story is there,
Just sticking it's tongue out at me.
I can hardly bear it.
I think of God and laugh.
If my God has nothing better to do then tease me,
I need a better God.
I think of my Higher Power and wonder if the power is curious too.
Am I overlapping a layer of consciousness I have no part in?
Is this subliminal previews of my future?
Am I too nosey for my own good?
I just don't know
It could be something all together different
I have only time.
Time will tell in the end it always does.
I hate to wait

Dion

January 7

Dion

Everything in the world happened before I was born and the cinders sift through my fingers.  Accomplishing cohesion of the ashes is a goal I have not yet achieved.  Cremains precious but meager are a difficult building material, shifting due to emotions and wind, I find they stick too well to my lungs and not well enough to anything else.  Tears help, but I will not cry forever.  I must draw from a fresh water source and wet the powdery scratch I have inherited and form the world anew.

Use caution when interacting with the crème de la crème this may trigger intolerance

*

OLD GOLDFISH

I got them when my sobriety was new.
They were tiny little guys, ten cent feeders.
I wanted my stepson to sleep soundly
In our strange jumble of a home, fresh from purchase.

The tank sat on a dresser under his elevated bed
Space to fit my hand to feed them
No space for baby boy to climb in
I loved my goldfish.

There is never a NO with goldfish
Feed them as often as you want
Let the water get cold
Put them in a big space, small place, plants, no plants.

NO was so hard, I hate and fear No.
I am hard, fish are easy.
Tears and mesmerizing aquarium
Meetings and steps.

I could not keep myself alive
I don't know how I kept the fish fed.
The program kept me going,
Kept hope flowing and the fish swam.

In this century when we are finally outliving wild goldfish
We are sober together,
By the grace of Higher Power, in this century.
It's been a wonderful time.

I am grateful to be here with the goldfish.
I am grateful the goldfish are here for me.
Expecting so little
Maybe I could return the favor

Hand Me Down Pain

January 6

Hand Me Down Pain

You have sent a cold thing into my heart it causes my feet to move me away from you.  It need not be spoken of this is a thing of ice and lead.  Words are no help here action is the only cure.  Eternity can be spent with a soul bisected by slivers.  Stepping the willing way to joy and freedom seems so unlikely from this frosty local.  Make my mind up I must.  Close my eyes and move forward.  I will leave your pain behind me I hope not to have to leave you.

Kiss tiny pebbles and roll them away

~

HELP FROM STRANGE SOURCES

I cannot get my mind wrapped around the places I find help.
I struggle with believing I have been helped.
I struggle with disbelief at my own resistance.
I am helped daily by many tiny things seen and unseen.
I realize now I was injured by the same tiny things.
When I was misaligned with my Higher Power
The sun rising, the tiny star I circle in this great nothingness
It makes my whole day.
The air hanging around just in case I need it,
Which I often do.
The people who live with me, a mean feat.
The people who work with me.
Those who exist here with me keep my ship on course,
How sweet of them to do mostly right everyday of their lives,
What a help that is.
The whole ecosystem and all the weather
What would I do without it?
But this is on a good day,
On a bad day, the sun is in my eyes and scorching my skin,
The air is too still, or well, the wind is always a problem.
And people, people are an endless plight,
People do things to hurt, annoy and irritate me,
Full intent, targeted to me, my life, my wants destroyed.
Bugs seek me and I am followed by the darkest cloud,
Everyday, all day, lurking.

I AM SO THANKFUL FOR A SPONSOR AND A TENTH STEP

Time's Temperment

January 5

Time’s Temperament

Bubbling tides of white water, time roils past me and my protests go unheard.  Psychic feedback loops revisit raw moments to me with inopportune exactitude.  The beautiful droplets of dawn rain down then evaporate leaving another day’s timeline to fan out before me. The alternating fury and jubilation of passing intervals leaves a challenge, first a question of bend or break, second a call to forecast.   Can I flex or will I live in pieces?  Shall I look at patterns and strive for harmonious waltz or turn my face from the calendar dreading each trice?  Bully or benefactor time rolls.  I can go with it or be under it that choice is mine.

Orbit order

~

THE FLOCK

Today I came to a place in the road covered with birds
The nearby field - covered in birds - the trees covered.
As I approached the birds took wing
The flock responded to my presence
Each bird flew - the sky darkened with their flight.

Wave upon wave, boundaries intact
Taking action in the face of obstacle.
The gift of instinct displayed for me as I fly to my meeting
My instinct rehab, I am learning my intuition
My sponsor spoons it to me from the steps.

I suck it down never knowing what it is about the process
That makes me better
Anymore then I know how grain and bugs make birds fly.
I have theories, things I roll in my fingers when I'm nervous.
I get glimmers.

Things my Higher Power sparkles in my eyes for a treat.
In truth, I don't know how, I don't need to know
Anymore than birds need to know lift to weight ratios.
When I respond to life events
When I spend less time self-concerned I am closer to self.

"Aren't we spiritually centered?" Quips my sponsor
"Yes" I reply "One day in a row."
"I'm going for the record."
"That's all the birds have."
"You're doing as well as they." she smiles and pats my back

One Singular Crowd

January 4

One Singular Crowd

Isolation among the isolators is replete with metaphor and theme.  Expectation blithers loudly but is drown by the palpable inevitability of the outcome. I pirouette in a room filled with dancers but we do not touch, we just spin near one another full view but little contact.  Yet I hear my heart beating in my ear and know that I am alive.  The flush of neighboring cheeks attests to duplicate conditions there.  We are moving together sometimes in harmony but other times in antipathy, dependant all the same.  We are the army of independent meanings.  Individual cases sharing one slender goal but that’s all that we need.

If you can’t find the grape try some jelly.

~

THE BOAT

On my ride home from work there's a boat stuck between two trees
In the middle of a horse pasture
Next to a riverbed so dry it's filled with grass.
I think the boat is me.

I feel for the boat every time I see it.
Turned on edge, waiting for a river which doesn't exist anymore
And may never exist again
Placed on edge for protection, not comfort.

Although having my bottom rot out
Well, let's just say, might be more uncomfortable
What good will I be even if the river runs again
Since I'm fenced in?

If my Higher Power has a plan
If it includes a river and a fence
If I'm in this plan, me, the row boat
I just don't see it.

Not seeing my purpose in life is a theme in my life
Truth is, I don't want to face the fact, I might float away
Even though I'm supported by two big trees
Even though there is a tall fence around me.

Completely in spite of the fact
THERE IS NO WATER
My Higher Power loves me.
I AM THE BOAT

Manics on Pogo Sticks

January 3

Maniacs on Pogo Sticks

I fear maniacs on pogo sticks peeping through my rural second story windows as the smoke of paranoia curls between my ears.  Overestimating my interest to others causes me as much harm as the underestimation. Attributing super powers to onlookers is a parlor trick my ego plays to keep me occupied while my life passes by.  I sacrifice all my possibilities for fear of what could be stolen through my keyhole.  I cut off my face to spite my poor lonely nose.  I must move forward in spite of my disquietude for the future lay ahead, yet I do console myself that it is harder to hit a moving target.

Use honey to get the peas to stick to your knife

~

DIDN'T KNOW I WAS GOING TO THE CIRCUS

I show up at a meeting
I didn't know the circus was in town
I expected calm, demure, sober behavior
My expectations were dashed, my bubble burst.

There were people streaming back and forth in front of the speaker
There were kids playing among the chairs
Smokers worked the meeting in shifts
Hustling out the back door and smoldering back in.

The side conversations rivaled the main attraction
People dressed for the street not the meeting, the bibby shirt, tights and no skirt
Was more of a high-wire act then I had ever seen before
Shock cannot even begin to describe the state of my mind.

"But for the grace of God" said my sponsor
"No" I said "It's a choice, they're sober now."
"Oh yes" she remarked "Weren't you sober when you took on
Every man with time, looking for a fight with each of them?"

"I was cutting my chops. They understood."
"Some of them didn't." said she
"Weren't you sober when you dyed your hair red - but only half?"
" I was afraid I'd dye my scalp, so I started lower."

"Yes, but aren't you the one who says sudden hair color change
Is a sign of instability in sobriety?"
"Yes, I do." I replied
"I think you would have fit in well with the circus.
You and your two tone hair but you didn't hear it from me."
"You're mean."
"And what are you being?"
"Judgmental."

"That's my girl, what are we going to do about it?"
"Be grateful, grateful I got in quick enough
Grateful people let me work things out in these rooms.
Grateful I still have something to learn from everyone. GRATEFUL."