Blue Crows

March 31

BLUE CROWS

Blue crows streak across my dreaming mind’s sky; they take up their post in a line of trees. I stand at the edge of a burning field. I feel nauseous at the thought of glorifying an ‘active’ life. Everything is burned, scarred and crumpled; the flashy crows call from the hedgerow. I know it’s time to fly. The fire is out and I have work to do to keep the sparks and dormant embers from ruining another harvest. I must travel with these strange birds and live an odd but regimented life. I needn’t scorch my feet on this ground again but, like my companions, must spend some time in survey. If I do not fully assess this damage, I might not fully embrace this dawn.

Bury your dead issues.

*

Why is it so hard to be me?

I have everything I could wish for.

I have love and friendship,

I have talent and ability.

What more could I want?

I don’t want more,

I want to learn how to overcome fear

and live with disappointment.

Abundance is ever at the door,

but I have no room for plenty.

Reassurance is the thing I chase after,

yearn for, pine about, but it is an illusive thing

like taking hold of smoke.

Allusion is the gift-wrap of reality

the unwrapping often puts me off the contents;

regaining my composure and reestablishing willingness

is a difficult job requiring dedication and fortitude.

The barrier before the carefree me

is thought, the strongest of all substance.

I must heal the calcifications of my mind and resist rigidity.

My thinking is what makes being me problematic

without it I am nothing at all.

Crazy

March 30

CRAZY

I try on crazy, the way I sometimes get out the jump rope, and see if all those muscles still work. The unemployed, unexploited, fallow nature of my once fertile insanity saddens me in an odd way. Today is a place I stand in stiff comfort, though it has taken concerted effort to get here. There are days I slip from reality, the way I can slip off a chair. I no longer allow myself to lounge on the floor. Pride is not so much the issue as hygiene. Crazy is bad for my health. I gave it up like cigarettes or romance novels; I don’t have enough time or insurance for these dalliances, though I do remember them all with fondness.

Allow yourself a favorite spoon.

*

Face and Ass

“It is hard to save your face

and save your ass at the same time.”

What I haven’t tried

in an attempt to live my life as a showman

spotlight front and center.

What I wouldn’t sacrifice to keep

peace and image intact,

but in the end it was just that,

my end, that saved me from

a life chasing prevention of defacement.

I can’t live with the posture of an ostrich

it leaves so much at risk.

Hiding my face won’t protect it

no matter how much I wish it would.

I have to put my butt in a seat,

a seat up front where folks get to know my face.

I have to try my best yet still make mistakes

and let people know my ass as well.

Being a part of AA saves my behind,

once that is cosseted

my face might just get its day in the sun.

Future Tents

March 29

FUTURE TENTS

The future seeps in through the windows, like the dawn stealing across the sky. Once I inhale it, I am out of doors, only the lightest of canvas covering me. The opening flaps in the breeze. The wind of unbidden things echoes off the walls of people shut out from this adventure. I brace myself for the cutting current but am greeted by the softest of zephyrs. I duck out. I stand unfettered. Lonely whispers call but I am isolated. The scene is empty, serene and beautiful. There are other tents, other seekers standing on other hills but they see their own futures from the vantage of their own tents and thankfully I am left to see mine.

Tape a coin to the place you sleep.

*

Catalog of Growth

The right seed in the right season

grows a garden of miracles for me.

I get the food for my table

or the stores for winter.

Sometimes when I’m in a Jack like predicament,

right planted seeds can provide a bean stalk

of escape from my restricted life.

I have a role to play with these wonders.

I must sort the seeds from the pebbles.

I must let the kernels out of my pocket

and into the ground.

I water when I can

and harvest what comes to fruition.

Though the best by far

is the part when I get to share the seeds.

Feelings

March 28

FEELINGS

Getting my feelings back was like a package delivered---not a letter bomb, more like live squid or bait of some kind. It was something to catch me out there. I think overcoming the shock was more or less the small part, though it seemed to loom at the time. The squirming, the writhing of my soul was like a pregnancy following a bad dream. I wondered how this became a part of me. I squandered my days hoping it would leave quietly some night soon. Like all difficult relationships, I attempted to hold my breath through it. Failing this, I tried to offer my feelings a guest wing in my heart and a never-ending supply of tea and cookies. When the reality of life with feelings planted itself firmly in me, I let out my breath, stopped the hostess act and endeavored to roll with it. This worked well. I have since invested in a wet- suit and fins. The squid are much easier to live with when I meet them on their turf.

Sponge off what life flings at you.

*

Yes, Virginia there is a solution

Suspended in the colloid of sobriety

the overly large molecule, which is me,

finds a fix I couldn’t imagine.

I can get better, I do get better,

I have a set of values to substitute into the old equations.

I now live in a mixture where there is one thing in common

and all the rest are variants which ordinarily don’t mix.

The scientific method is entry to homogenous living;

a concept that never made it to the table

in my days as a rogue element.

And with all this on board,

the thing I love the best is that it grows;

what I can do and how I can do it

is an ever widening frame of reference,

Even things which were once outside of my view

are now possible.

I am grateful that there is a solution

I am amazed that it is the solution to everything.

Calibrate Coincidence

March 27

CALIBRATE COINCIDENCE

Do good. Do right. Line up with the next correct movement. Get the universe locked into the sprockets of my desires and make the miracles flow in my direction. Ah, the boy scout merit badge of sobriety. I force spiritual alchemy through the pasta maker of my small life expecting gold. And where is God? Where is the realness of reality? Where is my place in this hairy mess? Well, who knows? Am I the wizard? The Chemist? The mechanic of the galaxy? Though I wish and hope, in truth, I am not the one who calibrates coincidence. I am the receiver of.

Date your recovery.

*

Feelings/Facts

Delay is when I don’t deal with the tack,

don’t deal with the finish nail,

land up with a 12 penny in my heel

and think about waiting for the railroad spike.

Rebellion is when I run through the razor-wire fence

expecting to make a clean get away.

If I don’t socialize my problems when they are puppies

all hope is lost when faced with the big dogs.

Exiting out the fifth story window is suicide in fact,

but in my thinking I am merely rebelling.

Willingness and cooperation make a dynamic duo;

powerful combatants of delay, rebellion,

and many other joy killing, life stealing foes.

A life led with cooperation and willingness

is not necessarily perfection,

but it often feels that way.

The Orphanage of my Heart

March 26

THE ORPHANAGE OF MY HEART

The orphanage of my heart holds many children, children of my past. They gaze at me, fixed in an attempt to draw me near their needs. I scurry, often my head down, eyes averted, not knowing how to offer comfort or consideration to these hapless souls. Fearing the largesse of the poverty, I decline to open my small purse. What could I tender other than a tease? Nearly barren in my heart-broken, disconsolate, inconsolable state, I rarely even obligate myself to extending my hand. This is the pit of my idiocy. These wee ones have the world of hope and strength to give. I am their offertory. I am the place where their gold resides. They live inside me to fill me and bind me to life and light. I flee them in the height of misunderstanding. Disconnected from these inner spirits, I am impoverished and far too weak to grasp their help. Too fogged to see the world within, I starve in the world without.

Incubate an idea.

*

New Borne

What happens when you finally get what you want,

what you barely dared to dream?

What happens when you can hardly do more

than drip tears down from smiling eyes?

Where do you go with a future filled with proposed joy?

Heaven is an option if only you believed,

but hell has been such a perennial destination

it’s hard to realize there will be no return trip this year

or possibly ever again.

The work required to change

from an attitude of longing to one of satisfaction

is as real as all the work needed thus far.

Tending love is a host of disciplines

I want to step to, like I have done it all my life,

like I was born to do it

and I was,

Still growth is accompanied

by its own pain and awkwardness

and who am I to deny this treat.

Any new life worth living

is worth the pain to bear it.

The Order

March 25

THE ORDER

I can’t expect delivery if I haven’t placed the order. I never seem to know what I want until after I have accepted something else. I can remember thinking order meant procedure not procurement---set the table, not end my hunger. I focused on rational intent and turned my face from desire. Assailing outcomes leads to disappointments. Asking for a hole to be filled may cause dumping not management or conservation. It’s good to have a plan before signing the requisition. Please help me know who I am, so I will know what I want, so I can make a request and stop accepting orders of attack. Don’t let me order the end while I am still at the beginning.

Self-respect is the gift you bring to everyone.

*

Whirly Gigs

Pivot points and reference points

subtlety disguised as harmless bric-a-brac

escape my comprehension until I either stumble

or land on one or the other and ponder the affect.

Realization that much of my life’s contentment

hinges like a door shocks me,

though I don’t know why it should.

Isn’t it the way of things that it all turns on a whim

or at the very least hangs on fine gauged calculation?

I am not the capricious vixen I accuse myself of;

I am however human

and given to a certain amount of fickle fussy frenzy

which all reckons out given enough perspective and wit.

Paradox of Paradise

March 24

PARADOX OF PARADISE

Paradise is created when I collect paradox and live with it. Paradise is the set of acceptance and suspended disbelief. If anything is possible, accepting what comes is less heart-wrenching. If I arrest my misgivings, gratification in the voluptuousness of now is velvet. Vague consent is a Hell of incapacity. Fighting fiercely for both sides keeps the heart pumping and the mind at bliss. I must work to embrace contradiction and happiness. There is more than one path to take and I must take that one.

When you give time also take time.

*

Two X’s

I play sport at the three X folks

and their still sometimes skewed thinking.

Yet, I attack myself for feeling like a babe in the woods.

Old and wise should be my stock and trade by now though

I find vastness at my door regularly

and confidence struggles to peek in the window.

What in the world will I do if I can’t perfect this stuff soon?

Hopefully nothing as foolish as fretting

or anything as mean spirited as accusation.

Possibly I could try reception.

Truly this only comes in gift wrap and after twenty years

I would hope I had learned to live in the present.

Missing

March 23

MISSING

The good times we never had but should have, the pleasantries I endured waiting for the pleasure. I remembered your potential with fondness. The days, weeks and years I waited for you to grow to me have passed, and yet--- time is what I have, not you. Hope is a wonderful thing until it turns on me and bites. Images I built have tumbled and colors wash from your portrait. I carefully remind myself it’s the idea of you I miss, not you.

Practice your manners on yourself.

*

Water Buddha

The longer on the river I am

the less I fear the river.

I still don’t know what lay ahead,

anything may wait for me

just around the next bend,

but I fear this less and less.

Experience is a great foundation

no matter what you are building

or in which direction.

I’ve gotten my sea-legs,

a sure sign of the mind cooperating

with the realities the body is experiencing.

I have learned to avoid some forms of trouble

and anticipate fortune more often.

Further on could be a waterfall, ocean or dam;

I will contend with any or all, come what may,

for when it comes to riding the river

I have learned the most important thing: I

don’t need to push.

Math

March 22

MATH

“If this is the solution, why aren’t I happy?" I ask my sponsor in a piteous whine.

“You’ve run the equation and the solution equals happiness?" She queries, “That’s the whole and total answer? How many times did you go through the computation?”

“What’s your point? Are you saying happiness isn’t the answer? What about joy, and freedom? I heard someone say that was the goal. I know that’s what I heard.”

“Let’s think about it for a hot second. What would you think if I worked the steps as hard as I do and, as a result, walked around in a perpetual grin?”

“I’d think you had lost your mind.”

“So, you’re telling me you believe the product of recovery is idiocy? The thing we all are aspiring to is bliss and nothing but?”

“No, I guess not. Then what is the solution for you?" I ask.

“A tally which fits the day I’m having. Joy sometimes fits that bill but other days it’s sadness or concern. There have been days when disbelief and dismay were part of the appropriate response. For me, the solution is having an equation that helps me respond to life instead of reacting to it. That’s better than unending happiness; that’s wholeness,” she said with a grin.

Harmony is at contrast with permission.

*

Suddenly

Creeping realization has never been my experience

with God’s handy work in my kitchen.

I start out making a mess

and I find in short order that G-d has made a meal;

fit food for apt hunger.

I could throw myself into the kneading and shaping,

but without the yeast

which is so freely given I have no bread;

only a lump that will choke me in the end.

Even my very own abilities are gifts

I was incapable of offering to myself

and are only found here in my possession

through sheer grace.

I have woken up with my face

saliva glued to the table top far too often

only to discover my Higher Power doing

and I am grateful for without that action

I would be un-done.

20 Cart Pileup

March 21

20 CART PILEUP

“What’s the problem here?” asks my sponsor, as she approaches my apparent impasse.

“Well, I’ve been trying to get these carts lined up. What do you think of my progress?”

“How many carts do you have here?”

“A few, quite a few. Why?”

“And how many horses?” She asks.

“Just the one. The same as everyone else,” I answer.

“And where is this poor animal?”

“Back there, behind the carts.”

“Okay. We have a two-fold problem here. First, one horse can handle only one cart. So, pick one. Second, that sad creature needs to be in his proper position to do any good at all. You had best figure out a way to get him in front or you will remain stuck even after you whittle down your burden.”

I was stunned. She went to her cart, climbed to the seat and took up the reins.

“How long did it take you to get yours like that?” I asked.

“Honey, it takes every day. Don’t kid yourself. I wake up every morning with the same train wreck you're standing in now. Learn to sort faster and you’ll have the rest of today. You can start over with the rest of us tomorrow.”

Sip the bitter, drink the sweet.

*

Clever Me

I am clever, I am so clever,

everyone knows it and I know it, too.

So, why do I get slam stuck

on the very simple things

required to keep my life running smoothly?

I know what needs to be done,

yet have no clue as to how to accomplish

these threads of minutia.

I stall; panic, plod, pout.

When I do force myself to do it

I end up creating either a new pile

of impossible incidentals

or some anticlimactic end,

but secret solutions are as of yet undiscovered.

The whip, the lash and the club avail nothing

though sweet enticements do no better.

I pray, “Dear God please help me!”

but this has no point, I don’t want the help,

I am afraid of the help.

I am afraid of the change

and of course who wouldn’t be?

Beyond here lay someone I don’t know,

someone I only fear,

beyond here lay the fearless me

and I am clever enough to be afraid of her.

Jag

March 20

JAG

I have the most interesting lawn ornament. It is long and sleek, low to the ground, resting on rubber rolls, steep of side and languid front and back. It has glass, glass that slants and glass that slips into its sides. Its paint shines when I buff it and shows dust when I don’t. Inside there are seats and many artistic accessories. I sit on the steps and admire the thing; then I sit in the thing and admire the porch. That’s all there was until I was handed the key.

Live at home.

*

When is enough, enough?

What is the difference between full and all?

Don’t know? Well, let me tell you,”

said my sponsor with a wink.

“Full is when the broccoli that went perfectly

with the entrée leaves a pleasant smile on your face,

full is when the arrow on the gas gauge points to F,

these are little indicators of full.

Indications that you have reached all:

the wet scary feeling in your mouth

after your second piece of pie,

all is the gas pouring down the side of your car

because you have to try to squeeze more in.”

“Yes, yes,” I reply, “I know when I’ve overdone it;

I resent everyone or at least I am cranky about everything.

I know when I’m under doing it, too;

I get either a lost feeling

or the sense that I should be in charge,

but how do I really know that I am doing enough?”

“If your sponsor has a good idea of where you are

mentally, physically and spiritually;

if the people in your home group can count on you

to contribute service regularly.

If most people in most meetings know not just your face,

but also your name.

If your sponsees freely admit that you are their sponsor,

those are sure signs.

Though the biggest signal for me is how constant my contact is.

If I’m reluctant to pray

I’m usually not doing enough of something.”

Wet Blanket

March 19

WET BLANKET

I have carried this sodden thing with me all my life, its weight a burden for numerous years. I have never been able to explain my continuing drag of this pitiful thing. Though it has been commented on by many, my fidelity is boundless. In spite of inner questions and doubts, now that the fire is here, I am glad to have it. I pull it over me and step into the fray. Thick and moist, I somehow struggle under its influence and am able to do what others, bare of my encumbrance, cannot. I don’t believe I can quench all the flames, but I hope to help some to safety and bat down the encroaching inferno a bit.

Acknowledge the upswings in your value.

*

Bent, Spindled, Mutilated

Injury changes memory,

not just the memory of the individual trauma,

but the very nature of the mind.

The hooks and loops distort

and I can’t hold on as I once did.

The misses and disconnects become more frequent,

then they become expected.

Emotional fluff-ups do not suffice,

the hardware is damaged

and a positive attitude is advisable

but the pliers are a necessity.

Some things are easier to break than to repair,

in fact most things are easier to break, no skill required,

though some take it on as skill,

Most destruction is ignorant or accidental,

nothing personal just a part of a pain filled landscape.

Direct intervention is not the same as hands-free degradation,

though both have their cost.

Redemption, restoration, is sought from all comers.

Possibilities and probabilities stack;

action is a relief, whether or not it is a fix.

I take a breath to face the final blow,

for when the cost adds up

and I look for recompense

all I hear is the check is in the mail

Old Bears

March 18

OLD BEARS

Cold and despondent, nothing comforts me like the bear of early sobriety. Bought on a day I thought I would shake apart, this fuzzy old guy has been a display item for many years now, tucked to the corner with the lace edged pillows and folded shawls. Jittery and sleepless, it’s so easy to panic. I turn and see the amber eyes waiting for my embrace. His body is clothed in a hand knit child’s sweater made by a friend; the warmth of this snuggle is more than comfort. It is also the acceptance of loss. Quelling the dramatic highs and lows of the beginning costs many things and the depth of this is not lost in the moment. Alone in my bed, I see the passageway to the future appearing before me. I must rest and then walk on. I can not stall or simper. Plain work is before me and simple old bear’s a consolation.

Journal your optimism.

*

If I Name it do I Know it?

Does emotional proximity necessitate a nearer name?

Far off I would be called earthling possibly human.

On this plain, female maybe woman;

In this country Mrs. Theriault;

In my home call me Sherrie,

but in my bed hy calls me Baby.

Do these names offer the requisite information,

no further inquiries required, is it personal enough?

Is the limited nature a stunted interest

from without or a privacy fence from within?

Does the boundary shift dependent upon the participants

or is it an almost universal standard

of metered advance and reveal?

And do I get more when I give more

or does that end in less info and a change of direction?

Also who determines what I really need to know?

Wanting curiosity; my hungry mind and lonely heart

do not direct all the world, yet ceaselessly they strive,

shutter and ask again: Who are you?

Unnecessary Words

March 17

UNNECESSARY WORDS

I’ve spent years trying to put names on the streets in my twelfth step map, post clear signs with monikers easy to remember, themed and progressive. But I have been wasting my time. The map is there, no doubt, and I have seen people follow it to varying degrees. The names are unnecessary. Like ants, we trail each other’s scent. We track closely so as not to lose visual contact; we don’t play with our survival. Or we are bees standing in front of the meeting, doing the dance, which describes the path to sobriety with meaningful jokes and well earned tears. As I stand at the foot of a few twenty-fours and see the evolution of my recovery, I realize the names in the placards are ever changing. Meaning and value pour through the kaleidoscope of time and come out as indescribable gifts, which I can only give through action. I will no longer fritter away my time looking for tags and titles.

Rename your problems.

*

Malaria

Flailing, reaching, screaming;

hiding, avoiding, misdirecting,

theses are subsets in a list of extremes

whose commonality is lacking, lacking humility.

I fall to pieces just thinking of standing exposed,

imperfect and unprotected.

I’m not sure what I think will happen to me

in this posture; instantaneous death?

Couldn’t be, I’m not that lucky,

nor am I foolish enough to think that I am that lucky.

Possibly, I fear rancorous humiliation,

but really who is powerful enough to do that to me?

I know and like myself well enough

to deflect obvious flying nonsense,

so what is it that I do flee?

I think it is the endless grinding inelegance of life,

the stinging nettled nature of things,

my inability to weave my way around

my weakness and slip into the open unpoisoned.

I fear exchanging peace for failure.

Humility is when I know I cannot fail.

Angle of Return

March16

ANGLE OF RETURN

As in a hall of mirrors, it is sometimes hard to tell if I am moving forward in my recovery. Likewise, as promises are fulfilled, their obtuse arrival is a quandary. The juxtaposition of acute homecoming of former faculties is also startling. How the light finds and reflects itself from sober face to sober face, from open heart to open mind, is the spectral of hope to me. My soul seeks me day after day though I left it so far behind. It brings to me the person of God’s intent and my new acquaintance. Patience, never my virtue, finds me stacked with packages delivered in piles so high I can’t keep up with opening them. Never in my life have I known less about my future or felt more assured.

Earn your own respect.

*

Suit up, Show up

I stand naked, paralyzed,

unable to reach my intended destination

or any destination at all.

Goose flesh is no real motivation

and I am reluctant to use the prod

having only produced resistance

and reversals with past applications of this weapon.

Entreatment might work

if only I could find the right one;

then again anything might work if it were a fit.

Covering my all-together is an action;

taken judiciously it sometimes is all the arrival I can manage,

taken disingenuously it precludes the chance

for any further forward motion

and may create set back or retreat.

I should not attempt to hide fear with wardrobe

though I can try to warm it.

Façade building is best done with a bottle in tow

reality is best faced with a sponsor by my side.

Pretty Feet

March 15

PRETTY FEET

I look at the line on my heel where I must stay vigilant with the pumice and the moisturizer. My toes are clean and straight but nothing more. I see my feet as passable; it’s hard for me to see them as beautiful. Well cared for is the best I can do, but there is a beauty in that. I think of myself; I am an alcoholic. There is nothing beautiful about alcoholism either. The care I take in tending my sobriety, the nurturing I see others use in their own lives, there is a certain loveliness to that. Crusted-over hearts, scraped and oiled, are fit and ready to beat anew. Polluted minds, drained and reformed, turn lives upright. Step work and making meetings are just functionary things but gorgeous in their own way. Efficacy is a pearl not to be disregarded.

Congratulate the part of you that survived.

*

My Experiences with Tennis

I have held the racket, I have hit the ball,

but I have never played with a partner.

I have slammed the fuzzy orb against the wall

for long years now, but I have never had a mate.

There were times when I had opponents;

yes I’ve had a couple of those,

a collaborator though, that I have never had.

I have learned to overcome opposition

either through wile or guile.

Slugged my way toward some inevitable outcome,

I never expected you on my court.

The game we play is for keeps

and the muscles required I have never used,

I ache from the pain of ending an atrophy

imposed on me by isolation and misunderstanding.

Often I don’t know how to stand,

don’t know how to act;

don’t know how to be the equal to your serve.

I play chase, running after the thing I didn’t see

and only faintly felt.

I have come to the place where

I know, you and I are a team;

You will not be leaving looking for someone

better equipped or with greater experience.

It is time for me to layout in front of you

my host of tendencies and inclinations.

I’m in the habit of overwhelming with my strength

to hide my weakness;

I must expose this all to you,

the strength and the weakness,

and work together for the resolution.

I will no longer pretend that I know

what is right and wrong in this un-played game.

I fear that I will lose the old game by making this change

All that is familiar put up for grabs

to the uncertain outcome of paired sports.

All I truly know is

that with you by my side I can never lose

and I will learn to do whatever it takes to be your partner

The First Father

March 14

THE FIRST FATHER

The rest of what I have to say I will slip under your gravestone if I have time after I buy that red dress. To say I hate you is an overstatement; I only detest what I know of you, the rest I leave to other people who might have the misfortune to cross your path. Your unavailability can protect you from anything I could ever do to you. Your hurt and arrogance is far worse a punishment than I could ever inflict on you if I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt. Having to be you every day must make it hard to leave the bed in the morning; I know I couldn’t do it if I had to drag your baggage around all day. The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage. You might think it’s armor, but your misnaming of everything is just another of the things I never miss about you. That is why, although I pray everyday for your well being for the sake of mine, if I never see you again, it might just be long enough.

Live up to your height.

*

Bad Acting

Because there never seems to be enough love

in the world to fill the wound,

my wounded self riots.

At times the debauchery seems good natured enough,

flamboyant yet without harm,

at other times the disturbance is apparently violent

and the issuing tumult a crime.

All for want of wholeness and sanity

I pursue shattered fractured activity

just to keep from dwelling where I cannot live,

where there is no air.

I want land beneath my feet

and full, full lungs

on my own I find neither of these

and little else of use.

Isolation even in a crowd is the tell tale sign

that I am in the, me, myself and I mode

of drowning in a teacup and require rescue.

Little more than raising my hand above the surface

and asking for help is needed

though this is a Herculean effort as we all know.

Rowing up stream is a bigger battle then it ever looks

and I know the river runs through me.

Friends

March 13

FRIENDS

My sweet, dear, funny friend, steeped in Beat, whose hand I can no longer hold. I yearn for the wildly flying words, like feathers in a snow. The shock of hair and glinting eyes I see so clearly in my shivering mind. I must let go. I miss all the friends who for reason or no have traveled down the yellow brick spiral to who knows where. My arms feel open and starved but there is no way for me to retain myself and follow them. Some are lost all together; some are lost only to me but my arms remain empty nonetheless. My ruined heart is sore and sad but chasing this friend or that will not heal it. The lonely path before me is the answer for me, possibly only for me among our former group. And will the paths cross later in this day or the next? I don’t know and am better not knowing. My path requires me to release outcomes as well as kindred. I must travel with my arms open; some fall out of them and others find their way in.

Organize a loophole and escape through it.

*

Three Card Monty

When I learn to excel at the good games

and learn to leave the bad ones alone

I think I will be alright.

Simple enough to do when I can take off this blindfold

and see the long term consequences of my pursuits.

Engage this pastime and have no future;

abandon that play and squander hope.

Eyes open wide, I see what there is to see,

but around the corner I am lost for anticipatory sight

and must guess at destinations, let alone intention.

Tricky, tricky, is this life which toys with me. I

I think I have the bow in hand,

though as life rubs me wrong then right,

I see I am played upon as much and as often as I play.

I take up the reins, but must also be led,

I can lay out the deal,

but sometimes I just have to roll the dice.

Spirituality

March 12

SPIRITUALITY

The bedpan of spirituality was shoved under my ass in early sobriety. It kept me from increasing the mess with which I surround myself. The cold smack of enamel got my attention. The old timers showed me there is a place for my shit; it was not any of the places I had been using. Discretion is the better part of everything. I needn’t show my backside everywhere I go. My side, your side, all sides were strewn with my waste. Fragments, tatters and fearful reminders were all there for me to clean up. Amends as the shovel and willingness as its handle are what I use to clear my past. Sweat is refreshing when progress is being made. I’ve made inroads; paths of travel help me move easily from the past to the present without regret.

Write directions to your heart.

*

Wax On

“Sometimes a dish is just a dish,” I said to my sponsor.

“Yes and sometimes it is the world away,

which you hold in your hand,” her reply.

I stand at the sink and try to wash the dishes

when I am washing the dishes.

I try to drive the car when I drive the car.

These simple acts of concentration

focus and sooth the jagged mental sutures

where I am supposed to be coming together,

but ultimately come apart.

Anything to break my frenetic gyrations is a blessing,

anything to cut away to a closer view

and a clearer understanding of where I really am;

Anything to derail the speeding blur

of a life of my creation, is good.

What I do and who I am are secrets and mysteries

when I don’t know how to pay attention

and ironies when I do.

And if you doubt me, just go ask Arnold.

The Wall of Pleasant

March 11

THE WALL OF PLEASANT

How quickly I am protected by a sweet smile. A disarming countenance and a gentle phrase save my skin and psyche. No longer do I defend my reputation as a wit or critic. I let it all flow by. The simpler I appear the more effective the facade. The energy I conserve not fighting losing battles is well spent in the company of like-minded sober friends in the pursuit of sober lives. I stay out of the fray and behind this partition. Its insides are posted with announcements proclaiming my opinion and the lunacy of the person on the other side. The reading of these notices does not persuade me to dismantle the enclosure but encourages me to keep it sound. Many years of shelter behind this now vine covered fortification allow restraint of my words, spoken and written, to safeguard my sanity. When I am gifted with comment, I am spared the desire for credit. Boundaries are a blessing and living within them a saving grace.

Reconnect to hope.

*

Creed

We have a long standing family tradition

of viewing miracles as tragedy;

this custom has afforded us many

a fine escape from the unknown.

Most things in life are bad; people, places, things,

this belief is protective though useless.

Ultimately I feel this belief is not what colors

the dynastic impression of the miraculous,

but the apprehension is due to the limited nature of the thing.

I come from a line of dissatisfaction;

miracles are provided when what is desired is panacea.

If everything is not imperially resolved

then it is all for naught

Because the same psyche

which cannot begin a process

without a guaranteed outcome

can’t pickup the slack after a triumphant start.

Give it all to me tied with a bow,

I will begin the critique from there

though I will accept, offer me a beginning

fraught with uncertainty and I will decline.

A secure entrenchment is preferred to inexact risk.

I will die with my boots on,

but I mustn’t leave the house.

Voluntary Mute

March 10

VOLUNTARY MUTE

I have learned I don’t have to answer just because someone asks. I have learned to change subjects. I have learned it is better to say nothing. Repeating the phrase, ‘it’s just my opinion,’ followed with, ‘I could be wrong,’ has proven insufficient. Somehow things frequently turn out worse than I expected but, as of yet, none have turned out better; this upsets. People become angry when I am correct; they are less angry when I’m silent. I tell the truth and trouble follows. I didn’t get sober to lie. So, I keep my mouth shut. There is no reason to distress folks, and reality has a way of doing that. Silence is my new defense. I hide inside of it and find my new freedom. Unless it concerns my sponsor, my sponsee, or my cherished friend, battening down the hatches saves me from a tempest and spares others their outbursts.

Persuade yourself to breathe.

*

Conception 2

My active voice is the elixir of fire

my addiction would have me snuff

in order to keep us hidden from each other,

me hidden from you, you hidden from me

and no one noticing you or I pouring the drinks.

Minus my active voice

I slip easily into unconsciousness,

my effectiveness doused.

My active voice is the light in my room

the candle in my window,

the glow within me,

which illuminates my days as well as my nights.

Moving ever forward the gyroscopic precision

of this voice never fails me

if I keep my “listening ears” turned on and tuned in.

My active voice is and will always be

the live wire connection of my Higher Power

uniting with me through people, places and things.

My effective conscience

is everything that results from this bond.

I run at an unfathomable rate of efficiency

when my active voice is on,

my feet fail to touch the ground as I fly to right action,

The nature of my effective conscience

is just that, nature,

as natural as if I were not carrying a fatal malady,

but instead possessed the secret to serenity,

which in fact I do: sobriety.

Pictures and Frames

March 9

PICTURES AND FRAMES

I paint my way into the corners of the frame. Each picture I fill diligently, color, texture, all the tricks I use. I work hard to get the desired effect. I hold nothing back; I put heart and hopes forward. I load my brush with pigment; I propel my tongue out of my mouth. I use it for balance like a kangaroo uses its tail. Stroke after stroke, I layer the image. My depiction is fresh to me. I bring the green, the red, the blue, blue, blues; all of those flow from me. The canvas fills; my soul soars through the tinctures. Then the disappointment begins, the complaint and lamentations. The perspective is off. I can’t seem to contain this scene within the confines of this gilded prison. I re-adjust. I tilt my head; I paint from the bottom up, then the top down. No, no. I must pick up a new canvas, the frame oak, burnished and honeyed brown. I cast to the side the gilt and sculptured casing; I lay it along the wall with the others, the many discards of life. As yet, the obvious has escaped me; the tint, the hue, angle, size may diverge but that is all. I have recreated the same scene in all the frames. In all my attempts, I have painted only one picture.

Learn your process.

*

Résistance

Resisting tough love

is approaching long run action

with short run thinking.

I hate to set the toddling babe down lest he fall,

but in the end if I do not put him down

he and I will both be the worse for it.

Whether I see a forest or I see trees

depends so very much on my perspective,

also on my willingness to delay

the prevention of minor scrapes

to eliminate the need for permanent scaring.

The theme is greater personal responsibility

and less irrational fear.

Guarding tomorrow’s possibilities

by not hamstringing them today

through the resistance of tough love

saves lives, it saves mine.