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.