Like Car Keys

A common mistake we make is that we look for God in places where we ourselves wish to find him, yet even in the physical reality this is a complete failure. For example, if you lost your car keys, you would not search where you want to search, you would search where you must in order to find them.” ~ Criss Jami

I can start to journal now. Surely that's how to find God.
I've journaled before, and it helps. Not that I ever found God.
Well, bits and pieces of him. Where he was when I caught a glimpse.
The end of his coattails. But, when I waited a few months...
sometimes, even, mere weeks...to search again, he wasn't there
where I'd left him, where I intended that he stay. He should be there...
I named my journal for the moniker I found for him. I invented him.
Why should he hide from me? I'm searching where I want to search.
Perhaps I might get better results searching where he chooses to be.
Where is it I must search? I know the when. God help me,
I know the when...

Number 1,600

This entry is the 1600th daily entry for Recovery Daily Dose. I decided to go through the four-plus years of poetry prompts (from literature and from people talking, from signage, from the radio, just...from) and just weave some of them together. And together, we get better.

Just be the love.
You don't get to stay and leave.
My credentials don't make self esteem.
One way I know god's voice is...
when he talks to me is it pisses me off.
I haven't lost it over an apple...yet.
If it's not one thing it's your mother's.
Sponsorship is a relationship
I have to work out, a way of learning to relate
to someone I'm not stuck with.
The big decisions in my life
look really small at the time.
God keeps me in the dark
because that's where I need to be.
You don't cosign bullshit.
I don't care what you ate.
I care about why you ate it.
You don't know until you know
and when you know you can't not know.

The Spiritual Foundation

 12. Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all these Traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities. ~ OA 12th Tradition

Refusing to be identified by surname or photography?
The spiritual foundation of the Traditions?
Is that what "anonymity" means? Not all of it.
An anonymous person in a crowd, one of a sea of faces,
a single voice blended with ten thousand,
the face so lacking in distinguishing characteristics
it could be a symbol of all faces, all beings, all types.
Impersonal. That's another definition for anonymous.
Large, featureless, lacking personality. That's closer,
at least that ties in with "principles before personalities."
One among many...a true democracy, the ancient Greek kind.
Lacking a structure, a leadership, an authority.
We come as neither Democrats or Republicans,
neither Jew nor Catholic, neither Pentecostal nor high church.
We can equally concoct our own higher power,
nobody dictates a diet or prohibited foods.
The spiritual foundation of all the Traditions,
the rock on which this structure stands.
And we stand on it, with equal footing,
defeated by unmanageable lives, powerless over life.
Dependent on the foundation that comes from blending in. 

 

The Non-Swingers

I watch those who were zapped abstinent
and have kept it for years. I look at them
askance, sometimes, expecting them
to have swing like a pendulum
back to old patterns, to the eating insanity
that I experience all too often, getting
through tough times then relaxing,
letting down the guard, and slipping down
to self-hatred, to insanity, to gorging,
to depravity. Does everyone have these swings?
No. They don't. They've figured out just what it means
to go to any lengths to finally have recovery
that lasts for years of surrender, of living it
one day at a time.

Patience and Diligence

Patience and diligence, like faith, remove mountains.~ William Penn

How do you decide to have faith?
Is it not a gift? How do you ask for it?
Well, that's not really the question,
is it? How do you decide to receive it...
maybe that's the issue. But is Penn right?
Do patience and diligence do the same thing?
Patience, ability to accept and tolerate delay,
trouble, suffering without becoming upset...
Tolerance...again, accept and endure.
Does setting aside time for meditation,
for communication, when it seems to lie stagnant
equate to patience and diligence? Do the words imply
any possible movement toward faith other than the demand,
God, give me faith and I want it right now!?
Maybe patience and diligence don't just act like faith
but define it...or at least provide a map?

Waiting

 Like a tidal pool time flows in waves,

too much to do, over the top, panic
at the waiting surge ready to desiccate
energy, stamina, willingness, ability
to tackle one of a swarm of tasks and do it
then turn to the next and next and next.
But as surely as high tide comes
the upsurge ends to be replaced by puddles
idle, quiet, the respite longed for
amid the maelstrom. One task awaits,
or two or three, ample time at hand.
But in the restfulness of the lull,
the pressing urgency a distant memory
those things be done no longer seem to pull.
When time lulls we fail to use it for the task
but turn to sleep, to sloth, to mañana.Why rush? There's time. Tomorrow is soon enough.
Hurry up. Or wait.

Stratospheric Recovery

And up in the front was this big long table, raised way up there and that was where the trustees sat... stratospheric recovery! ~ Vicki W

Importance. Prominence. Achievement.
Some people just have it made!
And others look up to them, see levels unattainable,
see superior...or is it superhuman...untouchable.
But people are there. Folks who put on pants
one leg at a time. Mortals who one looked up
and perceived immortals on the very spot
where now they stand. Our species, our people,
our friends...or they could be if the pedestal allowed.
But it does. The raised platform is just that...
a stage with entrances and exits. But we can't attain it...
if we don't believe it's possible.

A Free Cookie

I didn't order it. I carefully chose foods
on my plan, what I could eat,
what would best serve my needs.
And you — the corporate you — 
knew better. And you added a cookie...
just a little one, a marketing technique
to sell the larger siblings. Or you added peppermint
or a sucker or something sugary. Without permission.
I've stopped you before, said to take it back,
that I didn't want it, and I'm not alone.
Others have done that but you don't learn.
Would you give away a cigarette?
A plug of tobacco, a pinch of snuff? 
A jigger of whiskey? Why not? What's the difference?
You warn about peanuts, wheat, other matter
I could be allergic to. But you don't consider
those of us who can't handle sugar,
who are addicted to it as much as a junky to pills.
Look around. Don't you see those of us
who would prefer to be healthy, to shed the pounds?
Would you please cease and desist the mandatory sweets?

Like a Cricket Infestation

Welcome home. The annual cricket infestation
has hit the courthouse. They vacuumed my office...
three times...today. I know they scare people,
annoy others, cause a worry about health,
create paranoia about taking off shoes...
and putting them on. But they're just crickets.
Millions and billions of crickets, but just crickets.
Like problems. Irritations. People on your nerves,
tasks you hate to do. Like crickets. What can you do?
Systematically get rid of them. With a vacuum...
or meditation. Relax and know you can't control,
that you have no say, that they will be gone again
in a few weeks that can seem like ages.
But like a person who gets on your nerves
it's not your problem. See you your own street side. 
Make them an object lesson. Let each one
instead of causing disgust be a reason to name a joy,
a chance to realize those are always abundant,
not just periodically, not in only the fall but every day.
Be grateful for those people who lend a hand,
who walk the halls with vacuums, who cover holes,
who help the situation. Surrender. There will be crickets.
This year, next year. It's not your problem.
Stick to the things that are.

Worthless Birthplace

Once upon a time it mattered,

the parentage, the birth order,
the grandiosity of title, nobility.
Children knew their place
by looking at their parents
when even kings couldn't read
and occupational secrets
were handed from generation
to the next like heirlooms.
But now upon this age
of far-flung families,
serial polygamy, shattered lines
we are ourselves, our minds,
our hearts, our talents, our fears
and we have the chance to become
whoever we choose to be but only if
we accept ourselves as worthy
not because of who came into the world
around us but because of those
with whom we choose to be
and what we make of ourselves.

to my great great great great
great great great great great
great great great grandparents...

Solipsism

I posted LaVerne Rollins
wanted to know how much
it rained, that the Internet
wouldn't say. So I told of
the storm from my viewpoint,
how it impacted me,
but I didn't even listen to news
while in the car in severe weather.
Jo Helen Cox told me her total,
Josh Casey at the farm.
Pamela Haning Gaebler
has air fresheners she made,
wants to sell. Alyson Rhodes posts
"There's a fine line between
genius and crazy...I like
to use that line as a jump rope.
Kristalinda Rogers shows new things,
says it feels like Christmas.
Linda Vincent posts a grandson pic
while Chynna Laird has a selfie with kids.
You'd think it was all about me
whoever me may be but then again...
Renie Szilak Burghardt posts pretty
and says "It's Friday, Enjoy It Friends!"

Jean Prescott shows her "Little slice
of heaven on earth," says she loves
Texas in springtime. After the selfie
Chynna Laird posted five or six times
good advice, sharing blessings,
including "I think one of the greatest
feelings in the world is when someone
openly tells you how much you mean
to them. Stuff like that is so rare."
It may be that solipsism rules social media
but when you need it most,
kindness abounds.

Oops

Fifteen hundred eighty-nine days
I write a poem the night before,
post it usually before six the next day
but I went to bed early, didn't.
How could I have missed?
An evening at home, not on a ship,
not in a hotel, not traveling...
I messed up. Once upon a time
I'd have hurled recriminations inward,
agonized over the failure. But that was then.
Before recovery. Now I consider I was tired,
went to bed early, needed it, and the poem
written in the morning still makes this
fifteen hundred ninety days of serenity,
of growth, of acceptance.

Some Days

Some days it doesn't pay to chew through the restraint. ~ Miranda O

Good morning!
Top of the morning to you!
But some days.....
Your preferred greeting is, GRRR!Down days happen. Life gets rocky.
But how do you react? Sometimes
we want to grasp the substance of addiction,
the way out we learned long ago.
And there's one way that's acceptable.
That is, just in case, the habit you released,
the behavior you finally were freed of,
the insanity and unmanageability
that ruled your life
will in some way, somehow,
make a dismal day into a great one.

Wreckage from My Past

Wreckage from my past keeps me focused on others. This provides a distraction from my side of the street and my part of the story. Focusing outward means I am still driven by guilt, resentment, or shame. ~ Voices of Recovery (Kindle Locations 2791-2792).

It's not a natural reaction to see
focus on others as bad, as counter indicated,
as adverse to recovery.
Are we not our brothers' keepers?
Is not the whole idea, the result
of working these steps
we tried to carry this message
to compulsive overeaters
and to practice these principles
in all our affairs. Others are good,
are necessary for our own recovery...
or at least very beneficial.
But it's really not the "others"
creating the problem. That word wreckage.That's code...well, fact...for resentments
located in Step Four, for admissions
to ourselves, to God, and to another person
in Step Five, for character defects
released in Six and Seven, for amends
in Eight and Nine...or really for failure to work these.
Others are part of our lives. But our own wreckage
belongs in a wrecking yard.

  

  

Love Them

Annoying, critical, inane.
Love them.
Lying, cheating, scheming.
Love them.
Tedious, boring, irritating.
Love them.
Ubiquitous chatter, maddening.
Love them.
Critical, uncouth, dishonest.
Love them.
Pitiful, time-consuming, helpless.
Love them.
Bring them to your standards,
embrace them despite it all,
spread joy, understanding, patience, 
forgiveness, peace, happiness...
Love them all, all the time, all of them.

Real

Analytical minds demand real...
logical progression from point A
to points B, C, D, E, F...in order.
Scientific explanation, hypotheses
proven, rationale, arguments.
Real triumphs, thrives, flourishes...
until it doesn't. Sometimes real
can't bridge the chasm,
can't yield results. Sometimes...
you have to act as if until it's true
and then look back and see
how it happened, how miracles work.

Searching

I was miserable as I was still suffering. For years
I had to appear a success, to lose weight
not knowing abstinence and the perfect plan some
believed to be in OA. Hades remained open to me,
and it seemed eminently - profoundly - possible
I would tumble in and roll my morbidly obese body
to the utmost depths. Common sense says that we
all have a place, a right to decency, a way to find
purpose and worthiness, not just a way to  carry
the coats for others, not just to exist. And I began
to seek it, to explore to listen to whoever offered hope.
Finally, I looked again at the groups I reached for,
it appearing somebody thought it worthwhile.
And I found hope and help and a program
I’ve cherished ever since.

cliparts.co

Surrender

Years piled on years,
tears after tears,
self-help, self-loathing,
short-lived success
brings marathon failure
trial and error and error
and error and error
and hopelessness,
helplessness, despair
to the pit,
the bottomless abyss...
the criteria met
for surrender...
and recovery.

Your Meeting

I came, a newcomer,
scared, alone, wanting
desperately to leave.
I came in late and you stopped
what you were doing
to say I was welcome,
to tell me the ridiculous lie
that I was the most important
person there. What a crock!
You started the meeting,
reading things almost in monotone
like you're read them for years
without changing a single word.
You gave me a chip for being new,
said to put the plastic under my tongue
and when it melted I could eat anything.
Silly doesn't begin to describe it.
You read some things then talked,
started by saying your name
and chanting that you
were a compulsive overeater,
then you told stories that made me shake
because you'd been spying on me,
watching me. I wanted to run.
You got through, wanted to hug me,
told me to keep coming back.
You acted like a bunch of halfwits!
So why did I feel so much like I
was one of you?

I Am Not My Brother's Keeper

I knew how to run your life
though mine was out of control.
I learned a great lesson
when finally I admitted
I was powerless over addiction
and my life was unmanageable.
At that point I began, at long last,
to learn to be my own keeper
by surrendering my life daily
to a power greater than me
and by working only on my issues,
what I could change, what I should change,
and letting you run your own.
I thank you for taking back
responsibility for running the world.

Like a Shepherd

It would seem like sheep
would be stubborn creatures
though never having farmed
I don't know that stuff,
may have confused their nature
with goats or maybe ducks
or pigs or such. Still,
they have a will of their own.
But they have a shepherd
and I would guess they're content
more often under the herdsman's hand
than if they had to contend with wolves,
with finding food, with meeting their needs.
We are, too. Our shepherd
is a Power greater than we,
and when we decide each day
not to wander out on our own,
not to fend for ourselves,
not to waive protection and guidance...
when we surrender to the shepherd's care
we can bleat gratitude as we go about
our day's activities.

I Give Up

These are my expectations for myself, and I’ve had to let go of them for others. ~ Voices of Recovery (Kindle Location 2836).

I am the master of the universe, the dictator of all things,
responsible to see that the world and all its minions behave.
Not. But I thought so. I believed I could "help" others
by pointing out what they should do, by guidance,
by advice. Most often the recipients were those who irked me...
for, you see, I've found the irritation came from like souls,
that what I saw and wanted to change in them...I shared.
I wanted to exorcize the demon from them
when I'm the one it mocked, it claimed, it owned.
I can't run the world. Have tried – hard – and failed.
I give up, I surrender. I relinquish the power to the Power
and in doing so find it possible to banish the bad behavior
from me...and only me...and that's who I can change,
that's how I can become...That's how I win
by giving up.

Significance

 I want to serve. Not just because...

well, not even because I'm co-dependent.
That's not wanting to serve,
it's manipulating to endear...
anyway, as I was saying, I want to serve.
But three hundred six times today I've pushed "scan"
and waited for the machine to sigh and sign again
as though it's as tedious for it as it is for me.
But it is service and I agreed to do it
fourteen hundred days ago. Oh, I've worked on it...
a time or two. And I've promised it far more than that.
But it's so tedious. I want to do something grand,
be something magnificent, not copy and copy and copy.
But it is service, and I said I'd do it. And when it's complete
I'll be proud. Because twice before I've agreed to archive
and I've done some and quit. And you know what?
This time I will complete it and it is service.
But the significance will be I've completed a task,
I've been honest with me and the people who trust me,
and I'll know it is a service to the organization
but more than that it is one to me.

Jealous of Destitutes

The ability to maintain abstinence through the struggle of homelessness, the pain of emotional relapse, and the fear of financial insecurity are evidence to me of a power greater than myself.~ Voices of Recovery (Kindle Locations 2822-2823).

What a powerful testament! Would that I could say
I've persevered through all of this, that I survived turmoil,
deprivation, living on the edge of sanity. But why?
Why is there a hint of jealousy for those who can say
they've overcome such odds? Is it that my life seems to be
the plot of a boring novel? That I've missed out on life?
How could that be? I've lived. I've done, I've been, I've thrived.
Could it be I want you to pity me, that I can accept that
more easily than I can your respect, your envy,
your admiration? I'm powerless. Over food but over other things
like relationships, remembering names, addiction to stupid games,
procrastination, dishonesty... My life is unmanageable
not like the homeless, not like the impoverished,
not like the ordinary definition of insanity, but insane I am.
And insane I remain until I admit all this and realize there's a Power
who can make me sane so instead of a touch of jealousy
for the underprivileged, I can use the assets I've received
in service to that Power.

Uninhabitable

I admitted I was powerless over food,
that my life had become uninhabitable.
Sure, there are folks who speak of lives
unmanageable, but my life was always that!
It took more to push me to the admission.
I had a Hell Year when I turned 50
and it took me another ten to reach the crevice,
to fall off the edge, to give up and go
where a counselor had directed me for years,
to the rooms of recovery. I knew she was right
but I wasn't broken enough to go. Unmanageable,
I could life in. Uninhabitable I couldn't.
I fought it for nigh on sixty years
but when I finally couldn't keep on pretending,
continue making do, I found what I needed,
what I could finally accept, and soar out of there
to recovery.

Shaming Myself

Shaming myself for falling back into old behaviors is an old behavior in itself, and it helps keep me in all my character defects longer. ~  Voices of Recovery (Kindle Locations 2101-2102).

Old habits die hard. And the mental habits worst of all.
I blame myself for procrastination, worry about it...
then play games before I start on the day's work
and when I get tired of doing what I should,
and when just a short time remains and I couldn't do much.
Of course I could pick up ten out-of-place things and put them up
or list what I will do when I get back to the computer.
I let people walk all over me and mutter as I do their bidding
then talk about them to others in the oh-me-poor-me game.
I commit to change a pattern then fall back into the mold,
"intend" to clean the house, to mend the blouse,
to mow the lawn, to call the boys but don't and don't and don't.
I look at the Sixth Step and dismiss as done the idea
I'm to become willing for defects of character to wilt away,
pray the Seventh Step Prayer and recite by rote
that My Creator should remove all defects that stand in the way
of my usefulness to God and my fellows. But it's that willing word.
Yes, God, you can take away my shortcomings but not right now.
I'm using them today. Couldn't you take them tomorrow?
I can't believe I act like that. I know better. I do.
But it's that willing word.

Maximum Usefulness

Your job now is to be at the place where you may be of maximum helpfulness to others, so never hesitate to go anywhere if you can be helpful. You should not hesitate to visit the most sordid spot on earth on such an errand. ~ Alcoholics Anonymous (Kindle Locations 1369-1370).

Where can I be of service?
Where am I of maximum usefulness?
What defects of character
should my Higher Power remove
that I may be useful to HP or others?
What about what makes me happy,
what feels like I'm supposed to do it
but when I give God free rein
to take this path (the one I chose)
of that path (the one I don't need for me)
it seems to be at odds with comfort.
I can name the ways it would help
close to home but those it would complicate as well.
But I did give The Power my power, my proxy in this,
and I'll stand by the decision and go where perhaps
it's really true...I can be of maximum service
to others.

What I Am

I am a sugar addict
and compulsive overeater,
recovering. I say "recovering"

with compulsive overeater
but not with sugar addict.
Why? Because like an alcoholic
who takes that first drink
I fall back into the pit
with a dab of sugar.
Oh, I can mask it for a day or two
but it's there. And absent
the daily maintenance
of a proper spiritual condition
I'm off and running,
under its control.
So, why recovering?
Because I've got some days
since that last compulsive bite,
that last sugar, and I am.
Recovering, that is.
I would like to say
like those alcoholics in 1939
that I am of "more than
one hundred men and women
who have recovered
from a seemingly hopeless state
of mind and body.
To show other alcoholics
precisely how we have recovered

is the main purpose of this book."
Maybe I'll get there someday,
but today I can only say,
but I can say,
"I am a recovering compulsive overeater."

Noticing Chains

Those who do not move, do not notice their chains. ~ Rosa Luxemburg

[Is a quotation less a poetry prompt
when you Google her and disagree on every aspect of life?
Is truth truth or is it limited to the truth meant
when first the words were joined?]

I wore chains most of my life...not the gold and silver
I sometimes hung around my neck. No, my chains were crafted
of sugar and flour and buttery goo, patted on year after year
to enlarge the entity and embed the chains. And if I sat still
it didn't hurt. But time came when the chains chafed
when I wore skirts and shredded pants right there alone.
My knees gave way, I couldn't walk without falling
or at least being paralyzed by fear of a tumble. So I sat still
and entertained myself by crafting larger chains,
a chair seeming smaller than it had the year before.
Knees together? That was something for a svelte mother to say,
not my life's reality. Crossed legs? Something to long to do...
When the day came when to continue was worse than death
and death felt like a welcome friend, I began to move.
I still walked stiffly, waddling, falling sometimes, but walked
into the rooms of recovery, and the movement made me see
the immensity of the chains I wore. And in seeing,
in moving through twelve simple steps, I noticed the chains...
were disappearing.

This I Know

I know I'm a compulsive overeater,
that diets don't work...for me.
They work fine as a plan of eating
but the diet idea, the willpower,
the weigh-in-front-of-people-for-maximum-humiliation,
the attagirls, the rewards you can add back in
that for me start the spiral all over again...
I know they don't work.

 

I know my life is totally unmanageable

and that has nothing to do with weight or food,
that it's how I look at things, how I react,
how I think of myself, how I view myself
in relationship to everybody else,
that stops me from being able to manage it.

I know that there is something out there,

some power greater than I am great,
some power with real power that can.
Can manage my life, can stop the compulsive eating,
can make things make sense, can teach me
what the problems are by simply writing down
who I think screwed me around and then figuring out
that I had at least as much to do with it, by admitting it
to that higher power and to a, gulp, human being
preferably who understands the language in which I speak...

I know that trying to manage my life by myself
is a mound of excrement from a male bovine.
I know that I belong in Overeaters Anonymous
and by the grace of that Power one day at a time
I'll stay.

I Do Believe It

...I had to get into the risky world of the unknown, the spiritual realm, where there are no guarantees. Scary? You’d better believe it. Rewarding? I do believe it. ~ Voices of Recovery (Kindle Locations 2785-2786)

I'm the kind who would hold onto my old clothes
until the new were broken in...for a few years.
If unsure of a place I will prop a door open
until I find another door open, maybe checking
all the way through to make sure I can get out.
Looking for another house? I won't sell the first
until we've closed on the second. Caution is me.
But caution won't let me get to recovery,
to the promises, to the life I want to live.
I have to give up. Realize I'm powerless.
Relinquish control to some Power I can't see.
If I pray by reminding myself I'm not running the show
and humbly silently say often each day “Thy will be done”
the only certainty is uncertainty. But still, it works.
Scary? You’d better believe it. Rewarding? I do believe it.

Tried and True