Terrible

Prompt #96: Write about the most terrible thing you've ever done. ~ Karen

Terrible as in distressingly bad or serious
or extremely unpleasant or disagreeable?
Shocking? Illegal, measured by Class C
up to capital? Most leaves no room for vacillation,
up or down, this or that. What about time?
Does youth mitigate? How about the time Mother
found me and the boy who lived in that house
with a quarter stuck irretrievably in brick mortar
on the front porch, found us exploring in the back seat
of the Studebaker? In an Amsterdam coffee shop
trying a first with another marijuana novice?
We tried but never figured out how to inhale...
Hating myself enough to pack on three hundred pounds?
Wasting hours, weeks, months, years on stupid games?
Getting caught letting Dumpy copy my spelling homework?
Lying so often, so well I'm darned good at it?
Skipping church for months at a time? Telling hurtful secrets
about someone major in my life? All of these.
None of these. They belong to times past, not now. 

Selfishness—self-centeredness! 
That, we think, is the root of our troubles.* The worst thing I do now is remaining in self
when I've been shown the best, the brightest way. 

Alcoholics Anonymous, page  62

Good Stewardship

Why would I give you more abilities if you're not willing to use the ones you've got? (God, through David S.)

What ability am I supposed to be using, then?
I thought I was to accept help, to not be stubborn
but let people assist. Evidently not, at least as to the door
I stand and knock on. I'm to "man" up, play strong,
believe I'm tough when tears come easier.
I want to scream I can't do it, but what do I know?
I'm new here in vulnerable, in pity-party, in scared —
well, this kind of scared. Okay. I'm not in charge.
It's not just new, creative abilities we're talking about.
It's faith, trust, knowing what I have will last long enough,
It's depending onProvidence to be prudent, a good steward.

Winning

Thank you, thank you...
I feel special, more than willing
to praise others.

Darn it, darn it,
how shallow can they get,
excluding me, looking elsewhere.

Happy me, grateful me,
knowing this day I walked the walk,
listened, seeking HP's will for me,
willing to dare past fear,
accepting victory or face-falling,
knowing I remained in tune
with the cosmos, in place
as promises blossomed
to wondrous.

Nolo Contendere

I've learned that for every condition in our lives, there’s a need for it. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have it... Guilt always seeks punishment and leads to pain. ~ Louise L. Hay, Heal Your Body (Kindle Locations 138-139, 146)

Guilt lingers heavy from the past,
not particularly deserved, but claimed,
adopted, possessed to the hilt. I know years
of judgment imposed weren't fair,
but I owned them by default.
Then guilt came from playing the wimp,
accepting blame falsely.
Blame became shame
for gutlessly being imposed upon.
For sticking on when sanity demanded
claiming self-respect.
Loneliness sought addictive comfort
in food, in games, in research, in busy-ness
as insanity beat me down for seeking solace
in false gods. Am I guilty? Only of feeling guilt,
of welcoming punishment, of needing
assurance of clemency.
"Not guilty" I claim on needing pain.
An accomplice, though, in
justice miscarried.

Peace

Peace I ask of thee, oh river
Peace, peace, peace
When I learn to live serenely
Cares will cease. 

From the hills I gather courage
Visions of the days to be
Strength to lead and faith to follow
All are given unto me. (Traditional)

Those aren't the words I grew up with.
Men learn to live together, wars cease?
This may be harder, me living serenity.
Bettsy sits here, watching eagles in Iowa.
My idea of back-to-nature is a blacktop trail
around a park. But snapdragons
at  the country club, clouds piled above a road,
gentle rain and blustering wind, the river and hills
nudge in. I lie in bed, seek God's healing peace
to swirl around and feel the power. And it comes.
Thank God, nature finds me.

Let It Go

[G]ive yourself five minutes three times a day to sit quietly and just breathe deeply and say, “I release and let go. I let forgiveness flow. I am free. It feels so good to let go.” ~ Louise Hay

I've clung to control,
wresting at life's wheel
to force my will, to win,
to prove my worth.
I've gripped people,
tasks, situations,
strangling others,
committing my hands
to this no matter what
that may be. I claim
to have decided to turn
my life and will over
to the universe, creation,
creator. Then I lock
the wheel as surely
as a clamp.

Why Bother?

I'm tired, uninspired,
have nothing to say.
Why should I laboriously type
some message of hope I have to force
just because I promised 294 days ago
to do it each day?
My hand is throbbing. Oops.
Not enough pain pills means
too few antibiotics.
It's all perspective.
I'm loved, cared for, worried about.
I'm love enough to be prodded
toward right action my family,
my friends, by HP.
Had I not started this
I'd have ended the day
more pills behind.
I need to meditate again,
welcome healing to my body.
I needed to do a Tenth Step,
to review the day,
find perspective,
recover. I'm glad I bothered,
glad I've bothered 295 days
day by day.

Beginning

“Love yourself.”
Easy advice?
An infant does.
How natural, how right.
“Love yourself as you are.”
Damaged goods.
Ugly surface.
Gruesome inside.
“If you don’t love yourself fat
you won’t love yourself thin.”
How about pride? Will haughty do?
“Love yourself.”
Others love me. Others hold me high.
“Love yourself.”
I love what I’ve done, what I’ve given, what I am.
“Love yourself as you are.”
The Master said to
become as a little child.
I love myself.
Lord, let it be true.
I am young.
I am new.
I can learn.

Universal

What is most personal is most universal. ~ Carl Rogers

I sit here, pour out my soul,
and you think I peeked into yours.
Truth be told what feels most wholly mine
is the essence of the whole cloth
from which we each are cut.

Trying and Trying

When we’re tried all the tries we can try
and just false hope and ego survive
when throne-sitter and toady mirror disdain
and existence for each is a bane
when to keep on augers more of the same
then is the time for radical…DIFFERENCE!

Best Way Out

Sometimes the best way out is through. ~ Bryan Bradbury, 1912-1988

Surrendered. No longer in control.
I show up, work hard, do the next right thing.
Fear’s still there, sometimes nabbing me
so I still intend to take big bold steps
but tomorrow will do, I didn’t today, I will…
Surrendered. No longer in control.
I’m okay if that comes through closing doors,
through diminished capacities to keep on
with my chosen next right things.
If his will for me plows through the fear —
let’s see what’s on the other side.

Strange...

When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranged from others too. ~ Anne Morrow Lindberg

The oracle at Delphi said know thyself.Could a seer now know if Delphi

understood that as impossible

in a vacuum?

Peace

It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace. ~ Chuck Palahniuk, Diary

God is good.
Friendship is a warm blanket.
People offer kindness,
nascent community.
Pain fades as the good
in people overwhelms it.
Thanks be to my warm blanket.

Fully Alive

The twelfth step invites us to continue the journey one day at a time for the rest of our lives. We need to keep moving forward in recovery, keep developing our spiritual consciousness, if we are to remain spiritually awake and fully alive. (The Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions of Overeaters Anonymous, Kindle Locations 1153-1155)

Fully alive. Funny this should be the draft
I would have worked from last night.
Instead of writing poetry I was recovering
from surgery, morphine dripping to ward off life.
Or at least pain, agony. But alive I am, in spades.
My first ambulance ride, my first real crisis
living alone, an awareness I was counseled
Monday to meditate more. And now,
hours past the morphine I find myself aware,
alive, ready to crash through metaphysical doors
and leave the physical ones alone. And grateful
for good neighbors, kind friends, and skilled
caregivers.

Mature Love

Infantile love follows the principle: I love because I am loved.
Mature love follows the principle: I am loved because I love.  (Erich Fromm)

 Jesus said it, if you reciprocate love,
so what? Who wouldn't do that?
But love enemies, rivals, perpetrators?
How special is that? How unexpected?
And how can it happen? It's not my nature.
But that's the point. My nature, my will,
my impulses made me insane, unable to cope,
hopeless. But a power greater than that,
greater than I, managed to love me,
the repugnant, at my worst.
And when my will's laid aside,
when I manage to say, to mean,
not my will, but his, his kind of love
lives in me. And all the love I give
radiates right back
to me.

Food that Soothes Souls

Those who are prone to stuff themselves with food that makes their bodies unsightly are refusing the food that satisfies and soothes the unhappy soul within. [Overeaters Anonymous, Voices of Recovery (Kindle Locations 543-544). Kindle Edition.]

Jesus talked of food that spoils
and food enduring for eternity,
for life, the Bread of Life.
We have abundance, like Israel
gathering manna, vexed, bitter.
We cling to the cookies that soothed
toddler tears, knowing long ago
they turned on us, don't work,
won't sooth – unless  stupefied counts.
Like the crowd by the lake
quizzing Jesus, we conclude,
“Sir, always give us this bread.”

[John 6:25-59]

Redirection

I run

to get things done

tripping over feelings

getting nothing done until I

slow down

Pervasive Fear

...he was scared most of the time, but he’d entered a place where the concept of fear had ceased to have any meaning because fear was always present, either as a whisper or a scream. ~ Michael Connolly, The Whisperer

Omnipresent fear.
The Big Book calls it
a short word touching
most every aspect
of my life. Oh, yes. Fear.
Terror, procrastination,
dread, panic, anxiety,
disease – a constant diet
of fear. A whisper usually.
A scream, too often.
Still, I’ve choices.
I can dwell in it
or allow it to camp out,
ignored, overlooked,
in me. It walks out front,
I trip over it. I walk boldly,
leaving fear to trail behind,
my dust chokes it off.

Worldly Sorrow

Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death. (II Corinthians 7:8-10, NIV)

Worldly sorrow looks at me,
my hurts, my embarrassment,
my regrets. Worldly sorrow
totes recriminations, jealousies,
comparisons where I project
my place elevated, superior —
while I feel like coffee dregs.

Godly sorrow sees my part
as is, no larger, no smaller,
honest. Godly sorrow mends,
heals, unites. Sometimes I shine,
but unity radiates other lights,
leaves no regret.

A Tad Out of Reach

He’s eight months old today,
pulling chest up, sometimes
toes on floor, sometimes knees,
most often chest. He wants to crawl,
wants to move forward, gives up,
settles for rolling sideways.
She’s Mom, sitting on the floor,
encouraging, talking, loving.
She places a toy or pacifier
an inch away from tiny arm’s length
cheering him on, rooting for him,
supporting every move.
Nature’s rule, he will crawl.
Parent’s nurturing, he’ll reach goal
sooner, feeling better about himself,
wrapped in love.

God knows I’ll grow, develop,
move forward, that I desire it,
try for it. He helps me do it myself
by loving me forward,
inch by inch, increment on increment,
sooner with his presence, his guidance,
wrapped in his love.

Scoff or Pray

I earnestly advise every alcoholic to read this book through, and though perhaps he came to scoff, he may remain to pray. (Alcoholics Anonymous, The Doctor’s Opinion) 

Come on in. welcome!
We’re glad you’re here.
Yes, I understand how that word
“God” stuck in the steps
can be off-putting, a damper.
Stick around, though,
for a while, a few meetings —
long enough to get the feel.
Maybe you’re right.
We won’t argue. Prove us wrong
if you wish. Many of us felt
just like that when we came.
Heck, I did myself. But somehow,
over time, it quit mattering.
I didn’t mind the folk,
for they were kind, accepting,
made me feel like I belonged.
Somehow, and not too long
from when I came,
it felt so good to be here,
I’d forgotten what it was
that seemed so wrong.

Considering Recovery

They start by praying for serenity

then talk of unmanageable lives, of surrender
to a power greater than me, of no grand plans, but day
by day being honest with myself and facing my fear.
They say it's not religious but it is spiritual,
this plan of recovery step by step.

You know, easy as it sounds, it's a big step
to walk into these rooms when serenity

is some distant pipe dream and "spiritual"

makes me want to run away, not surrender,
and I'd like to say I don't need this, have no fear,

but truth be told, I battle many fears each day.

They don't ask for commitments -- just this day

take a chance, want to lose obsession, a baby step

at a time. And while even that is enough to cause fear

it's not as though if I didn't face this monster serenity

would be my lot. I've tried that, tried by surrender

to the easy path, relying on me, denying anything spiritual.

Why should I be so scared of that word "spiritual?"

They say the scary part of my memories back in the days

I had to go to church, I can set aside, don't have to surrender

to the God the preacher talked about, hellfire, vengeance - just step

toward being willing to think one greater could give serenity

to me, could give me peace to replace these constant fears.

Can there possibly be peace from the ever-present fear?

I've known people who seem to have none, spiritual

folks whose lives at least from the outside seem all serenity

and peace, who actually wake up ready to greet each day,

who walk around the whole day through, a bounce in their step.

Now that's a picture of life that could lead me to surrender.

So, the fears I'm more than willing to surrender --

I'd go to 'most any length to get rid of the constant fear,

and as to unmanageable, yep, that's me, it seems I step

into the muck even when I try my best. And a spiritual

being? I can take the fact good people believe, at least today,

and I'm willing to do that if it really can lead to serenity.

So I guess I'll try their Steps and find a god to whom I can surrender

and act as if until their serenity really takes over, managing my fear,

and I might just find I feel spiritual, accepting it all, for today.

Self-Seeker

 Is he not really a self-seeker even when try­ ing to be kind? (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 61)

I bend over backwards for you —
can't you see I am the best thing
that ever happened to you?
I rewrite your manuscript
to make is shine, to make it
like mine. To make it mine
at least in my mind.
Look at me, how much I give,
how humble I am, how piously
I live. Look at me. I model this life.
Don't I deserve the happiness
they all talk about?

Like Life

If you can, try to like life. Be good humored about your mortality. (William J. Bennett)

A theoretical pessimist, he says he is,
recommending we exercise practical optimism.
Is that doctor-of-philosophy talk for act as if?
Try to like life. Look on the sunny side.
Say with Paul, "I've learned to be content
no matter where I am." I guess theoretical
pessimism says the world will end, sooner, later;
I'll die, one day, maybe today, maybe not;
stuff – sometimes called excrement – happens.
Worry's a rocking chair, keeping you busy,
getting you nowhere. It gives small stuff
immense shadows. I can expect good results
as easy – easier – than bad. I can turn the pessimism,
the worry, over to God. He's going to be up
all night, anyway. What, me worry?
Not today. I'll like life.

Post-it® Notes

Inspirational quotes such as, “Leap and the net will appear,” were scribbled on Post-Its and stuck everywhere. (manuscript I’m reading for evaluation purposes.) 

Life, stuffed full of Post-it® notes
that motivate, mystify, obfuscate,
inspiration in a comment, a dictum,
a scribbled note I’ve saved for eternity
or the next blog post, whichever comes
first. Better yet if I could read them.
I’m accustomed to handwriting
illegible even to me. But the smart phone
misbehaves as well, yielding notes like
“sing to the whales bring up oh well.”
Then again, a jewel pops up,
a scrap of paper meant for now.
“Solitude, the anthesis of seclusion,”
or “Just because its hard doesn’t mean
I’ve done anything wrong,” or
“Worry is a rocking chair.
It keeps you busy but gets you
nowhere.” “Willpower means
‘Will you give up your power?’”
It’s like little notes from a loved one
exactly what you need at the time,
knowing you left them for yourself.

Where We Stood Up

Stand up or stand-up in a military sense, is United States military terminology or jargon which means to formally activate and commission a unit, formation or command structure. The inverse would be to "stand down" the unit, which means to deactivate or decommission it. (Wikipedia)

Where we stood up,
accepted responsibility,
became who we were destined
to become. Where we admitted
our personal weaknesses,
acknowledged the strength
of the whole, drew a line
in sands of history.
Individually we stand up,

proudly carrying on torches
passed down by founders,
carried through decades
by weak addicts made powerful
because years ago, someone
stood up, then someone else,
until as a community of addicts
we became and continue
as the community that stood up.

Completely

Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 58)

Utterly, absolutely, without reserve —
completely...completely give myself.
Like marriage? Like becoming a nun?
Like volunteering for the military, at least
wholly for the term of enlistment.
Completely give myself to this simple...
Simple. Uncomplicated, straightforward,
elementary, easy as ABC, piece of cake?
Oops. A piece of cake isn't simple.
Not in the making, not in the consuming,
at least for folks with a compulsion
about sugar, an allergy to it, an addiction.
But isn't that simple, too? An addiction.
If you're allergic to peaches, don't eat them.
If you're allergic to bee stings, don't go there.
Allergy equals no. Simple, unadorned no.
Completely give oneself to this simple program
means an absolute "No, keep out of my life,
I don't do that!" to the allergen.
Honest to goodness, honest to God,
honest to ME, "get thee behind me!"

I'm Alive

I’m alive. And I will live...until I die.
I could have a terminal disease
or feel on top of the world, in control,
and it just  doesn't matter. I am alive now,
here, this moment. Maybe the wolves
stand howling at the door or perhaps
it's a red cow – how did that become
a symbol of hope? It's not that I want
to experience the song, hoping some day
each person could live like he's dying.
It's not that I need to plan and complete
a bucket list. I just need to know, at soul-level,
I'm alive now, here, today. I will live today,
just for today, with a consciousness that
today is all I have, but I have today.
I'm alive. And I will live...until I die. 

Sing to the Well

Then Israel sang this song:
“Spring up, O well!
Sing about it,
about the well that the princes dug,
that the nobles of the people sank —
the nobles with scepters and staffs.” (Numbers 20:17-18, NIV)

Israel gritched and griped,
grumbling of bad water,
slow flowing water,
lack of water, dried-up wells.
Israel rebelled, revolted,
kicked against, defied God.
But when they ceased to quarrel,
when they sang to the dry well,
water flowed.

I’ve gritched and griped,
grumbled of bad luck,
of miracles falling short,
lacking glory. I’ve rebelled,
kicked against God,
tried to do it myself,
believed I could do better.
When I sang of joy, feeling none,
when I accepted good,
blessings flowed.