Sought and Found

I found him! I win!
Clever, how hidden
he was, out in the open
where I thought I’d looked
but like those puzzles
when words are secluded
in random letters in
plain sight but darned near
impossible to spot!
You told me I wasn’t looking
for the God of my childhood
or that of the TV preacher
but could make up my own
and sure enough
when I knew what
I wanted to find
there he was,
waiting for me,
rooting for me.

Don't Let Go of Me

I hurt, I ache,
I'm alone no matter
who may crowd around.
It's been so these long years —
I know you understand,
feel it in your hug,
see it in your eyes.
We stand, hold hands,
ready to leave.
Don't  make me go.
We stand, talk, you share
of power that holds you,
comforts. I feel it,
tremble with the jolt.
The power's hug as warm,
as real. I want to shout
loud, strong, "Don't ever let  go!"

Finding a Larger Mirror

Denigrated by mother,
pummeled by life and love,
full of self-loathing
that converts camera
and mirror to weapons
crushing her spirit,
a question, unexpected,
dredges abuse, looses tears.
Healing begins, courage
to open to probing, to words.
Daring to acknowledge
personal worth, to concede
inner value, she braves
a larger mirror, a tad more
introspection. A possibility
of worthiness.

Reliance, Not Defiance

No man, we saw, could believe in God and defy him, too. Belief meant reliance, not defiance. (Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 31)

Defiance – bold, brash
disobedience. The stuff
of damnation, of bitter,
angry god. But I don't believe
in that kind of God.
Defiant, though, you don't care.
You don't believe, don't
know.

Reliance – faith, trust,
dependence. The stuff
of servitude, of bondage,
of subjection to God's power.
Who wants bondage,
dependence, weakness?
Helplessly craving God
beats other addictions
I've known.

Paying Tribute

I was powerless over food
when I came to these rooms.
No longer, though.
I guess you can say
I bought my way out.
I pay tribute to a power
way greater than I,
and every day I invest
that way, food fails
to pull me away.

Shadows

Gossamer wraiths
of ancient wrongs hover,
sometimes distant,
others riding
my shoulders,
no real weight,
just that of the woes
of the world. They drive
away serenity, rouse self-pity,
entwine my thoughts,
build fear to bonfires.
They shudder, though,
when inventory and a sponsor's
perspective bring out the light
and make them disappear.

Invitation or Obligation?

I need to go to church,
have failed to time after time —
"next week" which becomes
seldom, almost never.
I need to go to church,
it's the right thing to do.
I was raised in church,
have lived in church, forever
until now. The rules say,
"It's Sunday. Go to church."

What if church were not
an obligation? What if the need
was to be with my God,
with his people, with my kind?
What if obligation
became invitation? 

I'm Possible

Nothing is impossible. The word itself says ‘I’m possible!’ ~ Audrey Hepburn

Hopeless, impossible lives
led us to these rooms.
Here we found acceptance,
understanding, friendly faces,
kind eyes. Taking proffered hands,
we inched out of the pit, a handhold,
a solid rock to climb on. Stories
of sordid lives garnering respect,
of miracles among us spurned
taking action, sensible or not,
doing as others, acting as if.
Actions, oh-so-minimal,
spurred courage, weakened fear,
until hopeless had become hope
and impossible, I’m possible.

act as if

I don’t know what I trust in precisely, but it doesn’t matter; I have faith that it works. (Voices of Recovery, Kindle Locations 240-241)

Deist, theist,
baptist, buddhist,
puritan, zen,
zoroastrian.
Catholic, heretic,
pegan, shaman.
hindu, voodoo.
We believe, in fits
and starts,
passionate or
recalcitrant.
Credence comes hard
for some, like trust
for most. All’s well.
Belief is fine —
when it comes.
Meanwhile just know
you’re not god,
and playact
you’re not
our only hope.

Chain Latch on the Door

Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me. (Revelation 3:20 NASB)

"I offer myself to Thee."
Sure, I took the Third Step.
Go ahead, build with me.
Do with me as you want.
Get rid of my bondage
to me, my bondage to food.
I'm here to do your will,
though surely you know
I'm busy, have so many
of your children who rely
on me. I'm already doing
your work. I know
you're using me, showing
my victories over addiction
to others as inspiration.
Just remove the rest
of these difficulties,
and we'll have it made,
you and me. What?
Take off the chain?
Open the door wide?
You'd put me in bondage
to you to set me free?
Surely you jest!

Willpower

Willpower is God asking, "Will you give up your power?" - Josh C.

We gathered, some eagerly,
some going through the motions,
doing the work despite emotions
pulling elsewhere.

We assembled, reading words
familiar, comforting, habitual
sliding over the words, yet hearing
pointed phrases.

We recalled love-deprived cribs,
house-to-house grazing,
angry sons, serial drive-throughs,
one story shared.

We spoke of powerlessness, insanity,
debacles of willing normality.
We lamented teeth-gritted willpower
crashing, shattered again.

We delighted in solutions realized
looking up from deep pits
to a presence always part of us,
who will when we can't.

Laughter

Humor is a prelude to faith and Laughter is the beginning of prayer. (Reinhold Niebuhr)

Don't take yourself
so dog-gone seriously!
Who are you to think you
can change anything,
anybody, even you?
Jesus says you can't
change a hair's color.
Chemicals aside.
The Psalms say God laughs.
People laughed at Jesus.
We can go along with feeling
the laughingstock,
but so naming
others so we won't be.
Or we can find the joy
and laugh with no object,
no derision, just giddyness.
And giddy, giggling, rollicking,
finding God comes more naturally.
Could that be because
God is laughter, joy?

Out of Control

Why am I looking for the middle ground? Because I don’t have control on the other two that are available to me. If accept spiritual help, I’m out of control. If I'm going on to the bitter end blotting out the intolerable condition I'm in, I’m out of control. (Clint H.) 

I’m in control,
hear me roar!
Stand aside and see me,
watch what I can do.
Step back,
I don’t need you.
Can’t you see
it’s a complex whole,
that ceding power causes seams?
It’s not arrogance
if you’re right!
You know I do it well!
I’m in control.

No. I need to know
I’m out of control
when God’s not really
the one who’s in control.

Procrastination

–Procrastination is not laziness. It is fear. ~ Julia Cameron

Fear lurks, a cur disciplined,
aware who's boss, but surly.
It's hard, you know, when years
on years he ruled, controlling me.
Retraining him, drilling me —
in some way we both savor same,
regret reeducation. But plowing through,
sneering at the mangy mutt,
it's worth the pain, the strain,
to growl, "Procrastination! Heel!"
and see him cave.

Frustration

Deadline looms.

"You are not connected

to the Internet."

Crisis. Disaster.

I've a dozen hours

to get it done,

don't have to sleep

but a few of them.

The world's not ending.

Power's all around.

Batteries and towers

not needed. Power's

out there, in here,

everywhere.

I can stay connected

to the universe.

The world's not ending.

Neither Earned Nor To Be Spurned

Free means worthless,
cheap means trash.
I'll pay my way
or go away. Charity
offends, degrades,
scorns me
despite good intent.

Sometimes, though,
I can't carry my own,
must own up to hopeless,
helpless, powerless.
Then the largesse itself
conveys respect,
equality, God's favor
neither earned
nor to be spurned,
the gift of grace. 

Numbered Days

 Teach us to number our days,
that we may gain a heart of wisdom. (Psalm 90:12, NIV)

All I have is today,
and should I falter,
I start again, here, now,
not waiting
for tomorrow,
or Monday,
or the year's first day.
Yet though I can begin
again – and again —
and yet again,
I lose if that's a crutch.
What's lost?
A history of sanity,
a sense of continuity,
a confidence in growth,
a pattern of peace.

Free Time

Time is free, but it's priceless. You can't own it, but you can use it. You can't keep it, but you can spend it. Once you've lost it, you can never get it back. ~ Harvey MacKay

Hours, minutes, seconds – limited,
just so many in a day,
yet free for taking, but act fast.
If you miss, it's gone, never to be reclaimed.
Free time, up for grabs,
nab some handfuls,
yet let it linger, ignored,
only to find it evaporated.
Use time wisely,
important commitments,
moving toward goals,
or holding a child's hand,
watching a cloud evolve,
or centering, internalizing
the joy of having
priceless time free. 

Trivial

In a weak moment he may take your dislike of his high-stepping friends as one of those insanely trivial excuses to drink. (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 120)

 Heck if I know,
and that's the truth.
It's not the big things
that throw me off,
not the boulders
seemingly blocking
super highways
but pebbles on
footpaths. It's not
high-stepping friends
nor social occasions
where etiquette requires,
not even tragedies...
Nope. It's plowing through
faux pas, forgetting
appointments, unshared
joy. It's not the excuse
but the weak moment,
the head not prepared
for dumb stray thoughts. 

Not Invited

I remember not being invited
because it seemed like my life.
You'd leave as a group as I stayed,
longing to be one of you.
I remember when I learned
nobody invited you, either,
and I was welcome.
You thought I was content,
didn't need you,
didn't want my company,
that you weren't invited
to stay. 

Spherically

You have to live Spherically, in many directions and never loose your childish enthusiasm and then things will come your way. (Under the Tuscan Sun)

How do you live spherically?
I can certainly go around 
getting nowhere. That goes
to the edge of the circle 
of insanity, though,
not beyond boundaries of the sphere.
Spherically is all over the place,
but not cluttered, not hodgepodge.
Broad, comprehensive, sweeping. 
Living spherically is believing
the unfathomable, trusting 
divine providence, expecting
phenomenal. Living spherically
is promises fulfilled
beyond my wildest dreams. 

Life as it Really Is

When life as it really is becomes a fact that I accept as naturally as I breathe, events lose their power… (For Today, page 6)

We see through glass darkly —
murky or naively pink-tinged
pigments impede vision equally.
Paul said, though, maturity happens.
Glass clears. Life as life is?
Don’t do for others because
you feel sorry for them,
don’t expect acclaim unearned,
don’t assume control when God
seems distracted. Accept limitations,
recognize glass ceilings break,
Know power isn’t in what happens
but in the power in charge.

Powerless

I've tried, really tried,

yet to sooth the savage beast

eludes me. Why? Tell me why!

Others can! So why should 

this craving mock me, shame me,

crush my soul? Others stroll

from the beast, a whimpering kitten

in their lives though they've indulged

with the rest of us, partied just as hard. 

Am I so weak, so deficient? 

Where's my will-power? 

I'm sick to death of this addiction,

ready to give up. 

You say there's hope just because

I give up? That I'm sick but it need not be

to death? So tell me. I'm ready to hear you.

Easy Doesn't Do It

Just because its hard doesn’t mean I’ve done anything wrong. ~ David S. 

When I’m naughty,
refusing to follow rules,
then fair’s fair, and easy
feels wrong, feels undeserved,
frightens me.

When I’m nice,
walking the steps
doing the work,
submitting to leadership,
then easy’s easy to take,
for I deserve it.

I don’t get what I deserve.
Thank God, for I deserve
three days in the electric chair.
When I feel easy’s due
and get hard, I feel cheated,
misunderstood. But those times
perhaps the hard is there
to break through to a new good
to knock down barriers.
It doesn’t mean I’ve misunderstood,
that I really haven’t been aligned.
It can mean good is just around the bend.
Or not. It’s not about rewards.
Not about what’s due.
It’s about life, love, being.

Hope Is the Risk

Hope is the risk that must be run. ~ George Bernanos

To run the risk – exposing self
to possibly unpleasantness.
Hope is the risk;
the risk is hope.
Risk, a word sprung
from danger.
So is danger ancestor
to hope? How deep the kinship?
Risk, hope - how deep the kinship! 

Twenty Seconds of Insane Courage

Sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally, twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery and I promise you, something great will come of it.  ~ We Bought a Zoo

Insane courage.
Embarrassing bravery.
Twenty seconds.
An old lawyer,
thirty-plus years ago
listening to facts
of a hopeless case,
shaking his head,
saying, "Sometimes
the best way out
is through."
A few months ago
another wise man
gave me advice.
I'm thinking about it.
Driving there's
a lot longer than
twenty seconds.
But the hard part...
yeah. Twenty seconds
would cover it.
But I'm scared.
And that's the point. 

To Save Himself

How he does cherish the thought that man, risen so majestically from a single cell in the primordial ooze, is the spearhead of evolution and therefore the only god that his universe knows! Must he renounce all this to save himself? (Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 25)

Primordial ooze never wriggled into
my cherished thoughts, but other,
less dramatic, less primeval goo —
like cookie dough, ice cream,
cream cheese frosting – sure has.
Sometimes stupid things play god,
demand respect as manifest destiny,
convince us we "deserve" them
when they're false gods, wanting only
to bring us down, make us less that planned,
less than possible with a real God
greater than goo, primordial or
confectionary. The universe knows
we can't save ourselves through ooze.

Hogmanay

I drink to the hope that the friends of youth may be companions in old age. ~ Robert Burns

Sixty-five years after Bob’s steady girl moved away,
he used the Internet to locate Claire. Today
I led them through their wedding vows.
We connect on social media with friends
and kin we’ve not seen in decades,
bind close to folk we’ve never seen.
Auld land syne, old long since,
we rejoice in friendship bonds,
in ties. Yet addicts, loners,
often hide in pixel-talk, in online chat.
Let us reach out not only with head
and hands, but find a way to claim
real hugs, physical touch, to bind
our open wounds and soothe aching scars.

The Gift

Our culture gifts solitude

not for meditation, yet

our purpose, we choose.

Emotions, resentment,

chaos flare, ensnare.

Retreat! Find sanctuary

to regroup, to connect,

to redirect. Nobody need

know if you flush as you leave.

Letter of Resignation

Just resign from the debating society and quit bothering yourself with such deep questions as to whether it was the hen or the egg that came first. Again I say, all you need is an open mind. (Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions [Alcoholics Anonymous], page 26)

I herein tender my resignation
from this most honorable and
prestigeous society. While I admit
I've drawn great pleasure,
bickering eloquently, propounding
postulates, reasoning  pros and cons,
picking apart others' hypotheses
to support my own theorems.
I know I'll miss it, but I've chosen
an easier, better path. Now I need not know
all the nuances. Now I need only
an open mind and the willingness
that a power greater than I
should fill it.

Every Day

 Every day is a day when we must carry the vision of God's will into all of our activities. (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 85)

Most days should be enough.
When is every single one needed?

hen is consensus insufficient?
Ninety-five is a darned good grade.
So why EVERY day?
How come into ALL activities?
Doesn't the Big Book say
progress, not perfection?
Good enough is good enough,
isn't it? After all, I only commit to today,
not forever and ever. Just one day.
Just today. Just this day. Tomorrow's
beyond my control. I can't tell you
what I'll do then. Today. One day,
not all of them. But the problem is,
I can't take today off. But just today.
Every day.

Who Wants Recovery?

Perhaps you are not acquainted with any drinkers who want to recover. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 89)

Who wouldn't want recovery?
How could anybody learn of the Steps
and turn away, give up the chance offered,
remain in insanity, in the sickness, addicted,
hopeless, powerless, lost?
How would they come into the rooms,
feel the love, sense the joy, know something's there
and turn away? Would anybody say no?
Most not vocally. They just walk with their feet,
speak with actions, turn away to rely on self,
to stay there stumbling, refusing to claim
grace dappling through the rooms. 

inadequate

One computer gasping,
hijacked by service provider wanting
to help but without functional links
or phone number. Another, brand new,
trying to go to the same page and freezing
the app. Poem due. I resort to telephone texting
through fears and confusion... Nobody said
service of daily poems was easy or all would go well. 
Ineptness on computers is not inadequacy as a person.
Commitments don't have to be easy. Even sharing
fears and misplaced convictions of inadequacy
serves a purpose and says something meant to be heard. 
I just show up and do what I can. 
Thank goodness I'm not in charge of results.

A Christmas Poem

Why write a Christmas poem?
After two thousand years
the subject’s saturated,
glorious songs by
Handel, Wesley, the bigs.
Besides, why me? I’ve
decked no tree these last few years.
Writing checks passes for giving
and keeps me out of malls.
It’s Christmas Eve – I sit
with my computer. But earlier
I went to church, sang carols,
felt “in.” And I care.
In a grinchy kind of way.
I’m thankful. For computer
peaceful nights, for people
I care enough to write
checks to. For an account
that doesn’t cringe.
For God’s love, as much tonight
as last night, last month, a week from
Tuesday. I’m glad earlier years
torn between competing parents
have passed, dissipated, ended.
I’m glad for hope for peace on
earth for me, for others, for
people who let go and let God
grant us glory. For the Word
that’s God who gives us words.
For Grace. Thanks, God.

Immanuel

Immanuel or Emmanuel or Imanu'el (Hebrew עִמָּנוּאֵל "God [is] with us" consists of two Hebrew words: אֵל (’El, meaning 'God') and עִמָּנוּ (ʻImmānū, meaning 'with us')

God with us,
the god of our understanding,
the god inside of us, all around us,
maker and creator and sustainer
of all things, God with us.

Hope with us,
hope when despair seems to point
the only direction, where  hopeless,
helpless, unable to — despite all efforts.
Hope for life beyond our wildest dreams,
for promises fulfilled, for life-filling hope.

Love with us,
love for us when we feel least lovable,
love in the eyes and words of folks just met,
love and acceptance without taking a step
toward the behavior that might, we hope,
justify the courage to express.

Peace with us,
peace on earth, good will to men,
deserving and rotten to the core,
people of all shapes and sizes, of all groups,
peace in hearts and lives
that knew none, that lurched
without god, without love, without peace
until every attribute of God chose to live among us.

Daddy

Sam R. Breedlove, June 22, 1915 - December 24, 2008

Honor, integrity, work ethic.
"Very good supper, Mrs. B."
Grace before every meal.
I cried that my younger sister
was about to marry and at 23
it seemed I never world.
Dumbfounded, at a loss for words,
hugs and comfort worked, treasured.
"Don't be sorry, don't do it."
"There's nothing new and improved." 

Lover letters from Africa, India,

"censored by Sam."
Sunday School Superintendent,
song leader, soloist, mayor,
draftsman, engineer,
traveling salesman.
"When I yell 'Suzy' everybody
better come." Did he ever yell Suzy?
"Skinamarink a dink-a-dink,
skinamarink ado."
Love for "Trumpeters' Holiday,"
bassos profundo. Ugly women
who sing best. If a pickup
on a country road pulls way right
they're turning left. A book with
an extra, always. I learned
a few months ago
the funeral home built a room
so "Sam" could sing for funerals
without washing off tinshop-grime.
Daddy's "Lord's Prayer"
(aka Hoffmeister's)
A life well lived, well loved.
When we all get to heaven,
what a day of rejoicing
that will be.
(the victo_ry)

Power

Being powerful is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren't. ~ Margaret Thatcher

Power I seek fails miserably,
makes me unhappy even if I should reach
the intended mark. Power bestowed on me
by others, which comes through a power
greater than me, can be a blessing to all.
Statesmen and politicians share little
other than titles. It's true, though,
at levels far short of international status.
When I'm in charge, pride ascends.
When I'm the tool, blessings mount.

What Kind of Example?

I can be a living example or a dying example of how the program works. (Voices of Recovery, page 16)

Sometimes I'm an eagle, others a grackle.
Sometimes my life is marvelous,
a magnet for others, a delight for me,
wondrous in richness and depth.
Other times, I go through the motions,
or don't, finding an excuse, an "emergency"
that wouldn't meet the Webster's definition,
just bad planning on my part. My willingness
gone, I find myself praying - if at all -
not for willingness but for willingness to be
willing.  Stinking thinking creeps in,
tricking me to self-reliance, to minimal effort,
too close to the riptide, daring destiny.
But when I come to meetings anyway,
especially when I'd rather not,
the tide turns, and I'm glad I came,
and grateful to each who shares
salvation and recovery
reminding me
what I want to choose. 

"Where Everybody Knows Your Name"

The esprit de corps we sought in addiction,
in all-you-can-eat buffets, in bars, in casinos,
claimed to be there, masqueraded as staying there,
but lied. It was a farce, a bait-and-switch, a mockery
laughing at us from the depths of our loneliness,
the desolation that echoed through the chambers
of out-of-control lives. False fronts, pretending at cheer,
acting as jovial, hid despair. Camaraderie, the real kind,
resides elsewhere. I looked among the right people,
but too early, before they escaped, before they gave up —
before they admitted powerlessness to find strength,
to find promises worth standing on, to find recovery
where everybody knows your name, where each one cares,
where they're always glad you came. 

A Total Liability

... self-confidence was no good whatever; in fact it was a total liability. (The Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions of Alcoholics Anonymous, page 23)

Easy response is, "I'm okay."
Funny. It's been my mantra
so many years, since "I'm fine"
from the oxygen tent,
my five-year-old confidence
speaking out. Was it really
self confidence? Or people
pleasing. I know the answer.
I know the importance.
Self-confidence takes
a back seat in me
to just about everything.
Good thing. God thing.
I'm not in charge. I don't need
confidence in me.
Just in the boss
and in me, willingness
to not be it. 

Bankrupt

No other kind of bankruptcy is like this one. Alcohol, now become the rapacious creditor, bleeds us of all self-sufficiency and  all will to resist its demands. Once this stark fact is accepted, our bankruptcy as going human concerns is complete. (Twelve Steps and Twleve Traditions of Alcoholics Anonymous, page 21)

Greedy creditor, the addiction,
coming at us like a bird of prey,
draining the life-blood, the will,
the give a care. Demanding —
even threatening —
like a bookie snubbed, scorned,
rebuffed. Tenacious, doggedly
snatching at self-respect,
at pretensions of sufficiency,
siphoning any shred of dignity.
Only in retrospect can extenuating
aspect sneak in, building footing
for bedrock despair. Powerless.
Life beyond control. 

Wildness of God

Sometimes it is the wildness of God, the untamable energies of the divine within creation, that the creatures alert us to. (Christ of the Celts, J. Philip Newell, p. 34)

I need a wild god!
I long to slough off
the formal, the trite,
the straitjacket tight
constraints. I want
a dancing god,
a rapscallion,
a co-conspirator,
a giggling god.
I need a life-loving
audacious god.
Joy to the world! 

Imitation

I’m no model lady. A model’s just an imitation of the real thing. ~ Mae West

Sincere flattery,
so they say.
She admires me,
wants what I have —
but not in the right way,
the recovery way.
She wants my life
and not like the folk who say
I wish I had his car
and he had something better.
Like a copy-cat game,
a mimic, an echo.
How do I stay on my street side
if she’s on it with me?
How do I evict her
from my life?
Am I selfish to think this,
she’s obsessing on me?
But my gut sees imitation.
Not purposeful, maybe,
but real. Give me back my life.
God’s telling me it’s not my job
to tell the world the truth.
It’s my job to be the truth.
Who wouldn’t want what I have?

What Is Forgiveness?

What does forgiveness mean?

Not forgetting – short answer, but more.
Forgiveness is understanding another
as flawed human. It's assessing
actions that addressed his needs,
even if meeting those needs stomped on mine
and my feelings, my financial security,
my self-esteem, my personal relations – on me.
Forgiveness is understanding our fellow folk
as human. If she's wronged me, I can see

she didn't act because of me, but her – her needs.

And forgiveness doesn't mean putting yourself
out there again, vulnerable, to open a way
to be wronged again by the same person
doing the same thing – or even other things.

Don't try to be a bosom buddy.

But let her go, drop the resentment,
the obsession, the anger.  Don't imprison
yourself by waiting for her contrition.

You need your wings, unclipped.

Who Knows?

But in their hearts they really do not know why they do it. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 23)

You’ve got a question?
Then I’ve got an answer.
Doesn’t matter if I know
the answer, just matters
that you don’t know
that I don’t know. I know
I’m lying, I know I’m fake,
I know I don’t know,
but you can’t know
that I don’t know.

You want an answer?
That’s a different matter.
I don’t know the answer,
and in those times
my head’s right, at the moment
I’m living in recovery,
I’ll even admit I don’t know
the answer, have no special
knowledge, that I’m along
for the ride. But then, maybe,
my mouth will keep talking,
speak wisdom not from me,
and we’ll know.

God Speaks

I know when God's telling me somethig because it pisses me off. (Anonymous)

God's voice to some comes solfly,
comfort personified - or so I'm told.
But then again,
when he's ready for me
to change a long-treasured part of me,
a habit lived past usefulness,
he can irritate like sand in a shoe,
like a hangnail, like chalk screeching.
Maybe a still small voice worked
for Elijah. But  me, I get a violin
in need of tuning. 

No Spectators!

Recovery doesn't happen
to people on the sidelines.
Arm-chair quarterbacks
must get up, work Steps,
participate. Halfway
trying won't even get
a grade of 50 but a big
flat zero. 

Smashed Delusions

We learned that we had to fully concede to our innermost selves that we were alcoholics. This is the first step in recovery. The delusion that we are like other people, or presently may be, has to be smashed. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 30)

It's really not that I'm not like other people.
That's the myth I lived with most my life,
until I figured out how many of us
have  the same fears, the same insecurities.
The idea everybody else knew what was going on,
had the secrets I wasn't in on —
that part was false. No, the delusion
I can't cling to isn't that. It's about the behaviors
with comfort, or where I thought comfort could be found.
There, I'm different. I can't eat what others can.
And I can't fool myself into thinking I can when...
whatever the when may be.
But I'm not deprived. Because had I not had the addiction,
I'd never have found the joy of letting it go.

Chargined

I said I would, I meant I would,
I remembered the wrong day,
I didn't. Disdain, self-loathing,
disgust, vexation, humiliation,
mortified. I'm so sorry.
An honest mistake, I'd forgive others.
How can I learn to forgive me? 

Hooray for Unhelpful Thoughts

We choose our thoughts. We choose to acquiesce to the feedback we receive from others, feedback that may not serve us well; we choose to remain stuck on past hurts; we choose to worry about the future. This is cause for rejoicing! If we can choose these unhelpful thoughts, we can also choose helpful ones. ~ Karen Casey, Change Your Mind and Your Life Will Follow, p. 103

Hooray for misery.
Hooray for the downs,
for the setbacks,
for the duh days.
Hooray for the steps
seemingly backward,
but we don't go back,
can't go back, thought
sometimes we go wrong,
but it's a new wrong.

Hooray for missteps
for they guide our steps,
our hearts, our will
to the next right step,
to realizing again
I'm powerless,
it's not my fault
I can't pull myself out.

Hooray for wrong decisions
illuminating the right road.

Limits

Limits
God is everything
or nothing.
Nothing? God
can’t be nothing.
Nothing can be
so complex,
so real
and come from
nothing.
God is everything
so he’s in charge.
Of everything.
What does that
leave for me?
Nothing.
Except
everything.

When It's a Planet

I’m learning to let go
when the need to judge
someone else looms large —
to let them be foolish or wise,
right or wrong.

It’s not as easy to let go
when I’m doing as told,
showing up, reporting for duty,
asking to know God’s will,
to have power to carry it out.
I still want to object,
to say that won’t work,
to say I’m not able.
Nope, I’m not. But I’m not
in charge. And I’m just the tool.
If the impossible happens,
it was supposed to.

The list of things which we absolutely know, is not a long one, and we have not the luck to add a fresh one to it often, but I recognized that I had added one to mine this day. I knew, now, that it isn’t safe to sit in judgment upon another person’s illusion when you are not on the inside. While you are thinking it is a dream, he may be knowing it is a planet. ~ Samuel Clemens, Three Thousand Years Among the Microbes

Madness

I know very well that, as a writer, you should *never* compare yourself to other writers, because that way lies madness. ~ Adrian Bedford

All my life I've surveyed the crowd
though seldom interacting. No,
I stood apart, in my place, assessing
where that was. Life felt like a ladder,
or maybe a series of narrow risers,
slender steps, suitable for one, where people
assembled in preassigned order. I thought
then we each inherently realized the proper rung,
our assigned level. Now I know I played the sorter.
Most remained on levels lower than mine —
those lesser souls, less smart, less educated,
less capable than me – or than my concept of me,
of what I wanted to be, wished to believe myself
to be. Others perched above me, unreachable,
gods to be admired, emulated. These beings
I longed to be, wished to befriend, but, humbled —
or so I would have thought but more probably
humiliated by my thoughts, by my perceived awfulness,
by remaining a lesser in my mind.
Now I live on a level stage, an actor among the cast,
no better, no less, just perhaps more obedient to a power
greater than I. Surely it's true. Writers – and cooks,
drivers, janitors, professors, best-selling authors,
and normal folk – merely need to release the fear,
to grasp the hand of the one, the only one,
on a higher rung, who pulls believers away from
madness.

Wander Me

I read this morning,
a simple sentence,
not nearly so devious
as my drifting mind created.
Who – or what – could, would
wander me? The printed text
spoke only of a straying mind.
Oh, mine has done that
all these years —
I could fly, was a princess, 
lived in turtle shells.
I'm no longer willing for mere thought
to gambol! I would be vagabond,
a voyager, traipsing to hither,
roving to yon. I would saunter toward fear,
vault out of comfort zones,
leapfrog toward ecstasy.

With Narcissus

Narcissus had his issues,

falling in love with himself,

unable to function, self-absorbed —

sad enough, a life wasted.

Sadder still, should Narcissus

bring his entourage - a wife,

mother, sister, children,

demanding they share adulation

of his greatness, entranced

by his reflection, absorbing 

glory, lemming-like, devoted.

Saddest when lemming-like

repetitions steal all independence,

when studying the reflection

of the egotistic narcissist

erases thought, creates

true lemmings.

Faster Horses

"If I had asked people what they wanted, they would have said faster horses." ~ Henry Ford

Okay, God, reporting for duty.
What's your will for me today?
I'd appreciate some help carrying out
my part. And it would sure help
if you'd keep reminding me, God,
just how limited that part is.
Keep me doing the next right thing.
Not piddling because I need to feel sorry
for me a while first, not playing games
because they won't hold them over
another day – if I don't play them,
they'll vanish into cyberspace.
I can't  duck, hide my head in a hole,
'cause the fears have revolted
and want to run rampant.
You've told me, just ask you to remove them,
to show me what you want me to be.
I'd claim it wouldn't work, but I know better.
So. It's the next right thing. Keep plodding along.
And don't plan the results, because then
I'd set the goal too low. Leave that to you,
and maybe you'll give me beyond my wildest dreams
when I'd have settled for a faster horse.