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. 

With Kindness

So he's an irrational, ungrateful #@(%^. Is that judgmental? ;-) I decided that I would kill him. Or kill him with kindness. I chose the latter :-) (Unattributed on purpose)

Oh, that kindness thing. Sigh.

Why should I be kind? I've tried that,

been that, a dishrag of a person,

always in hot water, or all gunky

and needing hot water, wanting it

to have something to let me move

off dead center. I've wiped up messes

others made, no objection, my job,

no reason for thanks,

no expectation of acknowledgement,

doing it while expecting to be ignored,
doing it so I'd be ignored and could smirk
at their helplessness. Ratcheting myself up
by making someone lower, at least
in my eyes. Killing with kindness,

I guess. But the killing tended to be

in the nature of

suicide. 

Concerning Their Success

Life is not a teeter-totter.
When you go up, an equal,
opposite reaction doesn’t happen,
never shoves me down. When we work
together, we can’t feel resentment,
don’t  have to yield stature so another
can shine. Like bedsprings not connected,
my high, your high, both reign supreme,
independent – though together we reach out,
lend the hand of encouragement, banish fear
for love.

Fear develops from our incessant comparisons with others. We think everyone else is better than we are, “has it more together” than we do. And out of our feelings of inadequacy, we consciously or unconsciously wan to undermine them, their confidence, and their capabilities in any activity we share. We think judging them, and in the process hopefully reducing their success, elevates us, at least in our own minds for a few brief moments. (Change Your Mind and Your Life Will Follow, Karen Casey, pp. 55-56)

Dragon Odds

He’s not the dragon closest
to my boat, yet in the water, daring,
waiting, pulling me to gamble,
buy the ticket, play the odds.
He’s in my blood, breathing fire,
intoxicating, pulling, singing
siren songs. He’s who I am,
all or nothing, best or sitting out.
My doppelgänger, he hijacked
my life, bet it all on his – on my —
ability, superiority. Let it ride,
let it ride, sit it out until the crash.
Until, a drowning wreck,
I grasp the saving proffered arm
relieved and powerless.

When We Retire at Night

We constructively review our day.
How many times have I lain in bed
and trounced the ruins I’d made
of a day, wildly swinging blame
at all who’d chanced my way —
especially me.
Recriminations and guilt
consumed me like jackals
devouring a carcass.
We constructively review…
resentment, selfishness, dishonesty,
fears. Just examine them,
an interesting specimen, a species
to be tagged. Then, calmly,
consider positive, corrective,
loving choices – loving to others,
loving to me. Recenter, refocus,
consider others, life’s plan,
knowing tomorrow’s victories
over my difficulties help
those around me. Listen
for wisdom, for guidance,
for sought forgiveness.
Then sleep, rising to serve.

When we retire at night…we ask God’s forgiveness and inquire what corrective measures should be taken. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 86)

My Story

You want to know about how miserable I was
at 300 pounds, how I hated me?
You want to know how I returned to a fast-food place
until a cashier knew what I would order?
You want to know how I’d drive from one
to another to get the exact same thing
I’d finished on the way? Most of you are repulsed
by the questions, gag at the thought.
But if your heart sighs, recognizing kindred,
then I’m here for you, my story is for your ears.
Then you can know the hope, the salvation,
available by choking down the fear, by walking in
to Overeaters Anonymous, to the home
you’ve never known.

The Circuit Speakers

Sometimes I grin about my iPod,
how little music, how much recovery
populates that square inch of comfort
and fills my dreams. Joe and Charlie,
Chuck C, Patti O, Clancy, John A….
They drone on as I sleep, but just
when I rouse they say what I need
just then, just now. I know their stories
and cry each time Kip C shows how low
low is, grin at red-headed “sister”
humor of Angie, ache at deprivation
of “normal” in Artis G’s life.
The wisdom of Chuck C’s business
twelfth-step call, of Lawrie’s
grasp of Holocaust, of Jerry J’s
view of goldfish – these folks
and more come to dwell in my iPod
and shape my recovery.

The Old Days

Sometimes the “good” worms
into my thoughts – no, not thoughts.
My gut, my archival memories,
the illusive patterns perhaps once
a source of pleasure, later compulsion,
habit, obsession – bestowing pain
as a sadistic surrogate for comfort.
The Old Days have value in establishing
credentials, my bonafides.  Otherwise,
they’re useful only as a map
of forbidden territory, a land of horror.

Surfeit? No Longer

I’ve had too much —
food, drink, anger, hatred,
too many too much’s.
I’ve had scarcity —
not enough love, too few friends,
too few too little’s.
Now I have surfeit —
enough food, enough faith,
to make small portions fill.
Enough serenity,
enough recovery
to share with everyone around.