The Blame Game

I know you feel responsible, Joseph, that is your nature, but responsibility and blame are not the same thing. ~ R. J. Ellory, A Quiet Belief in Angels

Blame, shame, guilt, fault —
to claim it, own it, comes naturally,
maybe not to normal folk,
but who's normal?
But why? Because I deserve it,
at least that's what the committee —
the one in my head —
drums into my psyche.
And do you believe what you're told?Only the bad, the negative, the denigrating.
Rather selective, isn't that? 
You hear praise, commendation too.I don't believe that! It embarrasses me,
singles me out. And blame does not?No. Blame stays in my head.
Others don't see the blame, the shame.
Invisible, ephemeral, imaginary?
I wouldn't say that. But it's true, you know?
You know.I know.

Use Me

Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me;
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me.
Melt me, mold me, fill me, use me.
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me. (David Iverson)

Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me,
cascade on me, coat me.
Melt my ramparts, dissolve my walls,
evaporate my barricades.
Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me,
soften the crust, blend me.
Whittle off the dross, refine the ore ,
spin me to shape on your wheel.
Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me,
make me a cistern filled with grace.
Replenish my emptiness, brimful,
overflowing with your love.
Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me,
make me an instrument of your peace.
Let me be tool or material, esteemed or low
made priceless in your design,
Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me,
melt me, mold me, fill me, use me.
Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me.

Hardening of the Categories

“There is no graver threat to the process of discovery than that dread disease, ‘hardening of the categories.’” ~ Bob Miller

Just push back from the table,
use a little willpower.
If you cared about your family
you'd stop drinking.
You could learn to read
if you set your mind to it, you're not stupid.
He's a narcissist, he'll never learn
to care about anybody but himself.
She's hopeless, might as well be locked up;
don't waste your resources there.
Categories.
What of the folks who are different?
What might happen if the categories
were scratched and hope happened?

No Matter the Cost

Costs may be obvious,
probable or unlikely
yet acting without indecision
without what-ifs
without yielding to fear
following the greater good —
no matter the cost —
may bring tragedy or honor
glory or obscurity.
But a life lived for a great purpose,
a life lost serving a great cause
is worth the living
no matter the cost.

Little by Slow

I stepped on the cactus when? Two, three years ago?
I backed over it, my foot covering the whole plant
without even feeling it there. A weed to begin with,
tiny, insignificant, only of value for tenacity in springing up
it lay crushed, ruined.
But it stood up again, clung to its tiny footprint in gravel,
and fought. I saw it today, mid-calf to me, holding its own.
Little by slow it recovered, past what could be imagined
as a diminutive replica of a plant. Little by slow it claimed ground
saying, "This is my spot, where I belong. It is my home
where little by slow I am becoming something worthy, beautiful,
at home and at peace, serene, ready to thrive."

How Screwy...

... the knowledge I now have, it is hard for me to recall how screwy the whole thing sounded—the blind leading the blind, a union of drunks, all banded together in some kind of a spiritual belief! (Alcoholics Anonymous, Kindle Locations 3845-3847)

Decades earlier I walked into the rooms
one time, a single meeting.
I couldn't leave fast enough,
had no use for the childish, silly folk,
chanting gibberish, not an intelligent word
I heard. Sometimes I wonder why
I couldn't hear the hope, the path,
the recovery in the room —
what years of peace and joy I missed
when I ignored the circled roomful
holding hands emphasizing each word
of the incantation Keep coming back.
It works if you work it. 

Prisoner of Pride

Angry men are blind and foolish, for reason at such a time takes flight and, in her absence, wrath plunders all the riches of the intellect while the judgment remains the prisoner of its own pride. ~ Pietro Aretino (For Today, Kindle Locations 1418-1420)

Blind, foolish..."mad as Hell...
not going to take it anymore!"
Reason AWOL, sayonara, ta-ta.
Anger wins, unparalleled, supreme.
So there. I refuse to hide it, deny it,
quell it one twit. You tell me own my feelings,
don't bury them, let them out.
Now you're talking sense!
See what others have done, how they treat me,
how they trample on my needs, my plans?
They did this to me – on purpose, too!
I'm the victim here. Why don't they apologize?
They could do that, should do much more!
I'll get even. Just wait while I think,
while I sort it out.
But something's amiss. My thoughts stick here,
in this morass. Let me out, set me free!
I want to lock them up, toss away the key.
So why does it feel like I'm confined,
in a cage? I can keep the anger.
But the pride demanding it ensnares me.

Rationalization

I've been benefited from a dictionary definition I found that reads: "Rationalization is giving a social acceptable reason for socially unacceptable behavior, and socially unacceptable behavior is a form of insanity." ~ Alcoholics Anonymous, page 550 (4th edition)

So, I don't like a "suggestion"
in the Big Book —
those suggestions like
"don't put a plastic sack
on your face and nap under water..."
the only suggestions there are.
I can explain why it's not applicable,
why it doesn't work, how this situation —
my situation – is different.
I'm clever with words, adroit at reasoning,
I can argue with the best of them.
And in the process preserve and solidify
my rampant insanity.
What's the suggestion? To jump?
Okay, I'm jumping. On my way up,
could you let me know
how high I should jump? 

Now I See It

They're old patterns,
well worn, automatic,
my triggers. I know them.
Well. Through long years
I've felt them in my gut,
denied vociferously when accused,
seen them in hindsight,
felt normal with them
until I couldn't stand them,
loathed them, hated them,
swore they'd never reappear.
But they do. Even now.
Maybe I should feel hopeless,
but far from it. Recovery works,
even here. Yes, they're still triggers,
but the explosion's a popgun,
not a howitzer and it rarely fires.
And now, I feel them in situ,
watch them happen,
and at day's end review the day,
see the proof without remorse,
and consider a course correction.

 

Shame Kicks In

Swimmingly, swimmingly life ticks by
as recovery happens, days brightening.
Goals unreachable through massive drives
suddenly, smoothly fall into place.
Self-confidence builds, fear diminishes,
as humility and released outcomes
yield happiness, fulfillment, success.
Yet sometimes old tapes, forgotten,
long-hidden but well-worn find their voice.
How could I be content?
I don’t deserve happiness! I’m not worthy.
Nothing has changed except everything
when shame kicks in, guilt grabs control.
Who gave it that power?
Who made it the trump card?
Oh. Did I do that to me?

Point of Privilege

That parable. The one about a master,
his giving three people talents,
some more, one just one.
Of course talents weren't talents
but substantial pieces of currency
like a fortune, each one.
And the issue was investing set against hiding,
protecting, saving. I get the idea,
use what is given you, be a good steward,
but the other point, the distribution.
One guy got five to the third guy's one.
How did he feel about it?
Not at the end, not when the master's choice
seemed validated, vindicated...
How did he feel at first, getting so much more?
Was he arrogant, proud to be trusted with more?
Did he figure it his just due when it wasn't,
when the master owed them nothing.
Or was he embarrassed by the riches,
feeling guilty to have been trusted with more?
How did he justify it if self-esteem issues roiled
in his head? Did he think about the guy with one
and others left out completely?
God, I'm the man it seems like,
where talent is currency or talent.
God help me, I'm the man.
What's the point of privilege?

Something Beautiful

And I want women to get in there with the men in humility before God, not primping before a mirror or chasing the latest fashions but doing something beautiful for God and becoming beautiful doing it. (1 Timothy 2:9-10 - The Message)

Skin deep, huh? Heck, no!
If it’s just the skin it’s attractive,
stunning, handsome, alluring —
but not beautiful. Beauty grows,
swells, sprouts comes inside-out.
Beauty is a radiant hope,
an excitement about live,
a peace, contentment, commitment
way down deep but so grand,
so pervasive it can’t be hidden,
will not be ignored. Perhaps that word —
beauty – won’t come to mind,
but the face beaming it
will draw the whole world in,
embraced and loved.

Inspiration

In thinking about our day we may face indecision. We may not be able to determine which course to take. Here we ask God for inspiration, an intuitive thought or a decision. We relax and take it easy. We don't struggle. We are often surprised how the right answers come after we have tried this for a while. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 86)

"Inspiration, an intuitive thought or a decision."
Odd grouping. Are they equals, parts of the whole?
Is it a sequence from inspiration to gut feeling to choice?
Or is the optimum first, followed by sequentially lessers?
Inspiration can be the intake of breath, but breath —
breathe and soul are, well, soul mates.
Pneumatic may mean operated by gas,
but pneuma is the creative force of a person – or Power.
Breathe on me, Breath of God, blend my soul with yours
so your thought becomes my own and the required action
surprises and delights.

Greatest Fear

Our deepest fear is we are powerful beyond measure. ~ "Our Greatest Fear" by Marianne Williamson

I can deal with mediocrity
or beam with respect
and even accept failure
though I fault someone else.
But what if, instead of life
beyond my wildest dreams,
I find myself really able to change the world
my world, your world, even just a bit?
What if what I do – what I did – really mattered?
As long as things remain within a range of foreseeable,
okay, no big deal. I reason then I turned my life,
my will over to that big a power.
But what if I find out my god, as I understand,
as I defined and crafted, what if
what I know is too small,
understated, incomplete?
What if I made up an inadequate god?
Who do I blame if God failed to fail?

Words that Seal

"Words that seal us forever,"
she said then just moved right on,
completing a thought while I lingered.
Promises, vows, solemn oaths,
the superglue of life  —
sometimes they're lies,
occasionally boasts,
just braggadocia intended in jest —
but a source of admiration
from one we would wow or woo.
But once words  gain eternal life....
How can I come by discernment
to grasp the nature of my binding words
and courage sever bonds unwisely made?

My Tribe

I found my tribe, the social architecture that fulfills my every need for camaraderie and conviviality. ~ Alcoholics Anonymous, 4th Edition, page 333

An ugly duckling, I wandered alone
among others, different, strange
when they were all I'd known.
Certain of nothing, convinced something
could be done if only I knew what or how
I cowered, hiding, or brazenly took charge
but never belonged.
Chance brought me together with another,
an other like me. How did I know?
I don't know. I needed no rationale,
had no cause to act shy or bold.
I just knew all was well. I was home.

Too Secure

He that is too secure is not safe. ~ Thomas Fuller

Made in the shade.
I've got this down,
understand the program,
have worked the steps.
Let me tell you all the secrets,
teach you the shortcuts.
That first thing in the morning
and as you go to bed each night?
Don't get too hung up on that —
after all, you chose your higher power
and know what it takes for you two.
And meetings? After a while
you've heard it all, same story
seventy-second verse.
It's all the truth, told to me by Zoe and Ysa.
You never met them? Well Zoe —
she relapsed, died in the addiction.
And Ysa, she's around.
Come to think of it,
she's pretty much a ball.
or a blimp. Maybe
they were wrong...

If Food Would Help...

Gut-punched, I step in gingerly
feeling the extent of damage
like I inch into a swimming pool.
Plenty bad, embarrassing but manageable.
I sit, wanting to lash out, wanting vengeance
but for what? How could that help?
Established patterns remind me
of solace-seeking in the kitchen and beyond, 
friendly anonymous drive-throughs,
but why? If food would help, maybe,
but I've tested those waters long enough.
I know they compound, don't console.
Instead, I talk to trusted confidants,
allow time to sit here, to absorb and release.
Then I repair damage, remind myself
of facts I knew – know –  resolve to remember
and move on to life worth living,
friends worth trusting, to recovery.

No Matter What

I love you, period.
I wish you well no matter what.
I hurt with your disappointments,
swell with pride for your triumphs.
I see your growth and weaknesses
and don't always approve your choices
but love remains, unchanged. 

First Do No Harm

Be certain he will be welcomed by your family, and that he is not trying to impose upon you for money, connections, or shelter. Permit that and you only harm him. You will be making it possible for him to be insincere. You may be aiding in his destruction rather than his recovery. (Alcoholics Anonymous, pages 96-97)

Like the Lone Ranger
I gallop to the rescue, oblivious,
ignoring your desire to do it yourself.
Selfless, I throw my self into your business
to help, to mend, to soothe.
You really don’t do it that way,
let me do it better, cleaner, quicker,
allow me to show you how.
No, get out of the way, you don’t understand.
Just turn it over to me.
You know, though, I’m darned tired
of carrying the load for you.
Can’t you do ANYTHING?

A Beautiful Thistle

I just think thistles are beautiful! ~ Jo Helen Cox

Despicable weed covered with prickles,
barbed leaves, nectar served up
in a spiked cup — nature cum loathsome, 
designed to be repugnant to herbivores and humans,
so hated weevils brought to destroy them.
Symbol of nobility? Of birth, of chivalry, of Scotland?
Cherished food of butterfly and goldfinch?
The thistle? 

Acrid of tongue, passive-aggressive,
piercing sarcasm, consumed by consumption,
clinging to wrongs past, savoring payback.
I came to you hateful, vengeful, arrogant yet fearful.
What had I to bring? Industrious, talented,
a leader? A cherished member of the group?
Me, a thistle?
Me. A beautiful thistle.

Just Fine

As a newcomer, the first impression I had of what OA members thought of me was, “You’re fine just the way you are.” No one made me feel that my illness rendered me less worthy of respect than other people. Taking a cue from these loving, caring friends, I stopped being ashamed of myself. ~ Overeaters Anonymous, For Today (Kindle Locations 1281-1283). 

I've always been "Just fine" when asked,
even with high fever, through the oxygen mask
at the age of five. That, though, was the outward face,
the tougher mask, the charade. Inside? Nothing fine,
not a lovable part, no worth. Until it changed.
Until being loved, being accepted just as I was,
made my insides as fine as I claimed,
changed my outsides over time to just fine. 

To Be Slowly Born

To live is to be slowly born. ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery

As a rose begins as a green nub,
then hints at color, shimmying slowly
from the confines to glamorous, to glorious.
As mundane ingredients join
blending flavors, becoming far more
than the sum of the parts, augmenting,
lighter than air, defying logic.
As a child reaches for comprehension,
studying environs, mimicing elders,
trying on moves, vocalizations, manipulations.
Life awaits, out there, inside, all about
ready to astonish and enrich. 

Don't Worry, Be Happy

...but about the Nature of this Happiness, men dispute, and the multitude do not in their account of it agree with the wise. For some say it is some one of those things which are palpable and apparent, as pleasure or wealth or honour; in fact, some one thing, some another; nay, oftentimes the same man gives a different account of it; for when ill, he calls it health; when poor, wealth: and conscious of their own ignorance, men admire those who talk grandly and above their comprehension. Some again held it to be something by itself, other than and beside these many good things, which is in fact to all these the cause of their being good. ~ Aristotle, Ethics (Kindle Locations 380-384)

What is happiness?
It wears many faces...
contentment, jubilation,
gaiety, well-being, ecstasy,
so many hues, such variety.
Certainly we would mention
the need du jour, imagining – believing —
it descriptive of "happy"
despite a history of grasping targets
to find dross.
What is happiness
but welcoming life on life's terms,
accepting today as a thing of beauty?

Morning

Waking is a reset button
a new page on which to write
whether I'm inclined to walk
the same path, learn where it leads
or make a course adjustment.
Yesterday's past, good or bad.
Tomorrow's out there to prepare for
but not control. Today's what I have
and I can make it one I'd like to build on
tomorrow.

I Dare You

Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. ~ Alcoholics Anonymous, page 58

It's right there, the Big Book dare.
You doubt it? Fine! Prove it wrong.
Thoroughly follow our path!
How, you ask? Admit you're without power,
you can't manage life. Realize you're not
the end-all, the be-all, the top of the heap,
that some power, some force higher up the chain
might could make you sane, lucid, balanced...
normal. Decide that might not be a bad idea,
letting that force/power/higher-up try it.
Get honest. Look at what and who
you're angry about - how it threatens you
and what you did to cause or prod it.
Then introduce the you you met
to someone else and your force/power.
Look a bit at what you've learned
of who you are and what you are
and what whats make you less
than the who you want to be,
then ask your force/power to take away
those whats, not from a sense of entitlement
but asking a favor. List the people harmed,
and be willing to make things right with them.
Use good sense, borrowing that from someone else,
talking to a wise person, an experienced being,
a calm head, then in right ways at right times
make amends, redress each grievance
if you'll not be harming someone else.
Keep on doing this, day by day,
as you get closer to letting the power/force
have control. By then you've lost the bet —
have not failed — and with the freedom
found by now, dare other people
to walk the steps you've walked,
to find the way.

One Last Time

I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.
It's time to return to the rooms of recovery
much as I hate to do it. So when?
Should I set a date? It's one I'll be remembering
the rest of my life, I guess, since I've surely proven
I can't do it on my own. I should pick a jazzy one,
memorable, like New Years or 123456.
Then what? One last time, for old time's sake?
I'd promise myself to get back when that day came...
But could I keep the promise?
I still can't do it on my own.
So what's today? It's a good-enough date.

Vacuum

The  air's sucked out of me.
I've nothing left, no friends,
no hope, no love. But wait.
Is that the truth? Who are these
around me, nurturing me,
loving me? Life took my breath,
left a black hole, but these care,
they want to help, to hold me,
to remind me how
to breathe.

From Here to Where?

I didn't know despair was a destination,

but here I am at the end of the road —
nothing out there but water deeper, farther
than death. That's, of course, going on
the way I've walked, slowly losing all.
Not without options, though – at least one....
And others?

Why do I remember those zealots
talking about hopeless, powerless, not sane?
Frauds, they were, prattling like they'd lived my life,
like they'd known desperation, like they'd grasped air,
like a wretch like me could be decent, honorable.
Act as if, they said. Walk through some phantom arch,
give up and get it all.

Is delight a destination?

And Dance

Music of recovery swells,
fills the rooms, envelops beyond,
expands to the stratosphere.
We hear, marvel at harmonies
where dissonance reigned,
feel cadences as close as heartbeats,
wonder at refrains in differing tongues,
divergent styles, antithetical genres
yet real, earnest, reverberating, ratifying life.
We hear the music, see recovery around us.
We can immerse ourselves in sensations,
but the miracle for us fails to happen
until we dare to dance.

They Just Fade Away...

She came, set up chairs, greeted people, shared, led meetings.
She came, helped set chairs, greeted friends, read, left.
She slipped in late, pulled a chair from the stack, stayed a while, left.
She ran by as the meeting ended, to catch a friend, chatted a bit.
She didn't come for weeks, then once or twice.
She left...