Terrible

Prompt #96: Write about the most terrible thing you've ever done. ~ Karen

Terrible as in distressingly bad or serious
or extremely unpleasant or disagreeable?
Shocking? Illegal, measured by Class C
up to capital? Most leaves no room for vacillation,
up or down, this or that. What about time?
Does youth mitigate? How about the time Mother
found me and the boy who lived in that house
with a quarter stuck irretrievably in brick mortar
on the front porch, found us exploring in the back seat
of the Studebaker? In an Amsterdam coffee shop
trying a first with another marijuana novice?
We tried but never figured out how to inhale...
Hating myself enough to pack on three hundred pounds?
Wasting hours, weeks, months, years on stupid games?
Getting caught letting Dumpy copy my spelling homework?
Lying so often, so well I'm darned good at it?
Skipping church for months at a time? Telling hurtful secrets
about someone major in my life? All of these.
None of these. They belong to times past, not now. 

Selfishness—self-centeredness! 
That, we think, is the root of our troubles.* The worst thing I do now is remaining in self
when I've been shown the best, the brightest way. 

Alcoholics Anonymous, page  62

Good Stewardship

Why would I give you more abilities if you're not willing to use the ones you've got? (God, through David S.)

What ability am I supposed to be using, then?
I thought I was to accept help, to not be stubborn
but let people assist. Evidently not, at least as to the door
I stand and knock on. I'm to "man" up, play strong,
believe I'm tough when tears come easier.
I want to scream I can't do it, but what do I know?
I'm new here in vulnerable, in pity-party, in scared —
well, this kind of scared. Okay. I'm not in charge.
It's not just new, creative abilities we're talking about.
It's faith, trust, knowing what I have will last long enough,
It's depending onProvidence to be prudent, a good steward.

Winning

Thank you, thank you...
I feel special, more than willing
to praise others.

Darn it, darn it,
how shallow can they get,
excluding me, looking elsewhere.

Happy me, grateful me,
knowing this day I walked the walk,
listened, seeking HP's will for me,
willing to dare past fear,
accepting victory or face-falling,
knowing I remained in tune
with the cosmos, in place
as promises blossomed
to wondrous.

Nolo Contendere

I've learned that for every condition in our lives, there’s a need for it. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have it... Guilt always seeks punishment and leads to pain. ~ Louise L. Hay, Heal Your Body (Kindle Locations 138-139, 146)

Guilt lingers heavy from the past,
not particularly deserved, but claimed,
adopted, possessed to the hilt. I know years
of judgment imposed weren't fair,
but I owned them by default.
Then guilt came from playing the wimp,
accepting blame falsely.
Blame became shame
for gutlessly being imposed upon.
For sticking on when sanity demanded
claiming self-respect.
Loneliness sought addictive comfort
in food, in games, in research, in busy-ness
as insanity beat me down for seeking solace
in false gods. Am I guilty? Only of feeling guilt,
of welcoming punishment, of needing
assurance of clemency.
"Not guilty" I claim on needing pain.
An accomplice, though, in
justice miscarried.

Peace

Peace I ask of thee, oh river
Peace, peace, peace
When I learn to live serenely
Cares will cease. 

From the hills I gather courage
Visions of the days to be
Strength to lead and faith to follow
All are given unto me. (Traditional)

Those aren't the words I grew up with.
Men learn to live together, wars cease?
This may be harder, me living serenity.
Bettsy sits here, watching eagles in Iowa.
My idea of back-to-nature is a blacktop trail
around a park. But snapdragons
at  the country club, clouds piled above a road,
gentle rain and blustering wind, the river and hills
nudge in. I lie in bed, seek God's healing peace
to swirl around and feel the power. And it comes.
Thank God, nature finds me.

Let It Go

[G]ive yourself five minutes three times a day to sit quietly and just breathe deeply and say, “I release and let go. I let forgiveness flow. I am free. It feels so good to let go.” ~ Louise Hay

I've clung to control,
wresting at life's wheel
to force my will, to win,
to prove my worth.
I've gripped people,
tasks, situations,
strangling others,
committing my hands
to this no matter what
that may be. I claim
to have decided to turn
my life and will over
to the universe, creation,
creator. Then I lock
the wheel as surely
as a clamp.

Why Bother?

I'm tired, uninspired,
have nothing to say.
Why should I laboriously type
some message of hope I have to force
just because I promised 294 days ago
to do it each day?
My hand is throbbing. Oops.
Not enough pain pills means
too few antibiotics.
It's all perspective.
I'm loved, cared for, worried about.
I'm love enough to be prodded
toward right action my family,
my friends, by HP.
Had I not started this
I'd have ended the day
more pills behind.
I need to meditate again,
welcome healing to my body.
I needed to do a Tenth Step,
to review the day,
find perspective,
recover. I'm glad I bothered,
glad I've bothered 295 days
day by day.

Beginning

“Love yourself.”
Easy advice?
An infant does.
How natural, how right.
“Love yourself as you are.”
Damaged goods.
Ugly surface.
Gruesome inside.
“If you don’t love yourself fat
you won’t love yourself thin.”
How about pride? Will haughty do?
“Love yourself.”
Others love me. Others hold me high.
“Love yourself.”
I love what I’ve done, what I’ve given, what I am.
“Love yourself as you are.”
The Master said to
become as a little child.
I love myself.
Lord, let it be true.
I am young.
I am new.
I can learn.

Universal

What is most personal is most universal. ~ Carl Rogers

I sit here, pour out my soul,
and you think I peeked into yours.
Truth be told what feels most wholly mine
is the essence of the whole cloth
from which we each are cut.

Trying and Trying

When we’re tried all the tries we can try
and just false hope and ego survive
when throne-sitter and toady mirror disdain
and existence for each is a bane
when to keep on augers more of the same
then is the time for radical…DIFFERENCE!

Best Way Out

Sometimes the best way out is through. ~ Bryan Bradbury, 1912-1988

Surrendered. No longer in control.
I show up, work hard, do the next right thing.
Fear’s still there, sometimes nabbing me
so I still intend to take big bold steps
but tomorrow will do, I didn’t today, I will…
Surrendered. No longer in control.
I’m okay if that comes through closing doors,
through diminished capacities to keep on
with my chosen next right things.
If his will for me plows through the fear —
let’s see what’s on the other side.

Strange...

When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranged from others too. ~ Anne Morrow Lindberg

The oracle at Delphi said know thyself.Could a seer now know if Delphi

understood that as impossible

in a vacuum?

Peace

It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace. ~ Chuck Palahniuk, Diary

God is good.
Friendship is a warm blanket.
People offer kindness,
nascent community.
Pain fades as the good
in people overwhelms it.
Thanks be to my warm blanket.

Fully Alive

The twelfth step invites us to continue the journey one day at a time for the rest of our lives. We need to keep moving forward in recovery, keep developing our spiritual consciousness, if we are to remain spiritually awake and fully alive. (The Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions of Overeaters Anonymous, Kindle Locations 1153-1155)

Fully alive. Funny this should be the draft
I would have worked from last night.
Instead of writing poetry I was recovering
from surgery, morphine dripping to ward off life.
Or at least pain, agony. But alive I am, in spades.
My first ambulance ride, my first real crisis
living alone, an awareness I was counseled
Monday to meditate more. And now,
hours past the morphine I find myself aware,
alive, ready to crash through metaphysical doors
and leave the physical ones alone. And grateful
for good neighbors, kind friends, and skilled
caregivers.

Mature Love

Infantile love follows the principle: I love because I am loved.
Mature love follows the principle: I am loved because I love.  (Erich Fromm)

 Jesus said it, if you reciprocate love,
so what? Who wouldn't do that?
But love enemies, rivals, perpetrators?
How special is that? How unexpected?
And how can it happen? It's not my nature.
But that's the point. My nature, my will,
my impulses made me insane, unable to cope,
hopeless. But a power greater than that,
greater than I, managed to love me,
the repugnant, at my worst.
And when my will's laid aside,
when I manage to say, to mean,
not my will, but his, his kind of love
lives in me. And all the love I give
radiates right back
to me.

Food that Soothes Souls

Those who are prone to stuff themselves with food that makes their bodies unsightly are refusing the food that satisfies and soothes the unhappy soul within. [Overeaters Anonymous, Voices of Recovery (Kindle Locations 543-544). Kindle Edition.]

Jesus talked of food that spoils
and food enduring for eternity,
for life, the Bread of Life.
We have abundance, like Israel
gathering manna, vexed, bitter.
We cling to the cookies that soothed
toddler tears, knowing long ago
they turned on us, don't work,
won't sooth – unless  stupefied counts.
Like the crowd by the lake
quizzing Jesus, we conclude,
“Sir, always give us this bread.”

[John 6:25-59]

Redirection

I run

to get things done

tripping over feelings

getting nothing done until I

slow down

Pervasive Fear

...he was scared most of the time, but he’d entered a place where the concept of fear had ceased to have any meaning because fear was always present, either as a whisper or a scream. ~ Michael Connolly, The Whisperer

Omnipresent fear.
The Big Book calls it
a short word touching
most every aspect
of my life. Oh, yes. Fear.
Terror, procrastination,
dread, panic, anxiety,
disease – a constant diet
of fear. A whisper usually.
A scream, too often.
Still, I’ve choices.
I can dwell in it
or allow it to camp out,
ignored, overlooked,
in me. It walks out front,
I trip over it. I walk boldly,
leaving fear to trail behind,
my dust chokes it off.

Worldly Sorrow

Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death. (II Corinthians 7:8-10, NIV)

Worldly sorrow looks at me,
my hurts, my embarrassment,
my regrets. Worldly sorrow
totes recriminations, jealousies,
comparisons where I project
my place elevated, superior —
while I feel like coffee dregs.

Godly sorrow sees my part
as is, no larger, no smaller,
honest. Godly sorrow mends,
heals, unites. Sometimes I shine,
but unity radiates other lights,
leaves no regret.

A Tad Out of Reach

He’s eight months old today,
pulling chest up, sometimes
toes on floor, sometimes knees,
most often chest. He wants to crawl,
wants to move forward, gives up,
settles for rolling sideways.
She’s Mom, sitting on the floor,
encouraging, talking, loving.
She places a toy or pacifier
an inch away from tiny arm’s length
cheering him on, rooting for him,
supporting every move.
Nature’s rule, he will crawl.
Parent’s nurturing, he’ll reach goal
sooner, feeling better about himself,
wrapped in love.

God knows I’ll grow, develop,
move forward, that I desire it,
try for it. He helps me do it myself
by loving me forward,
inch by inch, increment on increment,
sooner with his presence, his guidance,
wrapped in his love.