Scoff or Pray

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

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

Considering Recovery

They start by praying for serenity

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

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

is some distant pipe dream and "spiritual"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

toward being willing to think one greater could give serenity

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

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

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

folks whose lives at least from the outside seem all serenity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Self-Seeker

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

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

Like Life

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

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

Post-it® Notes

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

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

Where We Stood Up

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

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

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

Completely

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

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

I'm Alive

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

Sing to the Well

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

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

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

One-On-One

God with me,

one-on-one

coming back home

where I've never been before.

God with me,

one-on-one.

Who would have thought

he'd single me out,

talk to me,

be with me

one-on-one.

What peace, what love,

what serenity, joy, glory.

What am I, who am I

that God could love me

one-on-one?

Intolerance

Intolerant, you say? Well, we were frightened. Naturally, we began to act like most everybody does when afraid. After all, isn't fear the true basis of intolerance? Yes, we were intolerant. (The Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 140)

Bigotry from fear.
Ku Klux Klan trembling
from inherent suspicion
of quality, of merit, of worth.
Holocaust emblematic
of bravado, of hatred
fearing merit, industriousness,
chutzpah. Bullies, homophobes,
chauvinists, panphobics
quiver in terror that others
may discern insecurity
disguised as dominance.

I know fear, know the instinct
to cringe, to bluster, to pretend
to know, fake confidence.
I know fear and have learned
to act anyway, to examine
the sensation, ask removal
and knowledge of who
I am to be. I will not tolerate
being imprisoned by fear.

Courage and Prudence

Boldness to barge ahead,
wisdom to discern course,
gutsy enough to dare,
sagaciousness sufficient to pause.
Fearless? Unlikely.
Plowing past panic, 
the essence of recovery,
the beginning of heaven.

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.