The Blame Game

I know you feel responsible, Joseph, that is your nature, but responsibility and blame are not the same thing. ~ R. J. Ellory, A Quiet Belief in Angels

Blame, shame, guilt, fault —
to claim it, own it, comes naturally,
maybe not to normal folk,
but who's normal?
But why? Because I deserve it,
at least that's what the committee —
the one in my head —
drums into my psyche.
And do you believe what you're told?Only the bad, the negative, the denigrating.
Rather selective, isn't that? 
You hear praise, commendation too.I don't believe that! It embarrasses me,
singles me out. And blame does not?No. Blame stays in my head.
Others don't see the blame, the shame.
Invisible, ephemeral, imaginary?
I wouldn't say that. But it's true, you know?
You know.I know.

Use Me

Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me;
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me.
Melt me, mold me, fill me, use me.
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me. (David Iverson)

Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me,
cascade on me, coat me.
Melt my ramparts, dissolve my walls,
evaporate my barricades.
Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me,
soften the crust, blend me.
Whittle off the dross, refine the ore ,
spin me to shape on your wheel.
Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me,
make me a cistern filled with grace.
Replenish my emptiness, brimful,
overflowing with your love.
Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me,
make me an instrument of your peace.
Let me be tool or material, esteemed or low
made priceless in your design,
Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me,
melt me, mold me, fill me, use me.
Come, Spirit, come, rain down on me.

Hardening of the Categories

“There is no graver threat to the process of discovery than that dread disease, ‘hardening of the categories.’” ~ Bob Miller

Just push back from the table,
use a little willpower.
If you cared about your family
you'd stop drinking.
You could learn to read
if you set your mind to it, you're not stupid.
He's a narcissist, he'll never learn
to care about anybody but himself.
She's hopeless, might as well be locked up;
don't waste your resources there.
Categories.
What of the folks who are different?
What might happen if the categories
were scratched and hope happened?

No Matter the Cost

Costs may be obvious,
probable or unlikely
yet acting without indecision
without what-ifs
without yielding to fear
following the greater good —
no matter the cost —
may bring tragedy or honor
glory or obscurity.
But a life lived for a great purpose,
a life lost serving a great cause
is worth the living
no matter the cost.

Little by Slow

I stepped on the cactus when? Two, three years ago?
I backed over it, my foot covering the whole plant
without even feeling it there. A weed to begin with,
tiny, insignificant, only of value for tenacity in springing up
it lay crushed, ruined.
But it stood up again, clung to its tiny footprint in gravel,
and fought. I saw it today, mid-calf to me, holding its own.
Little by slow it recovered, past what could be imagined
as a diminutive replica of a plant. Little by slow it claimed ground
saying, "This is my spot, where I belong. It is my home
where little by slow I am becoming something worthy, beautiful,
at home and at peace, serene, ready to thrive."

How Screwy...

... the knowledge I now have, it is hard for me to recall how screwy the whole thing sounded—the blind leading the blind, a union of drunks, all banded together in some kind of a spiritual belief! (Alcoholics Anonymous, Kindle Locations 3845-3847)

Decades earlier I walked into the rooms
one time, a single meeting.
I couldn't leave fast enough,
had no use for the childish, silly folk,
chanting gibberish, not an intelligent word
I heard. Sometimes I wonder why
I couldn't hear the hope, the path,
the recovery in the room —
what years of peace and joy I missed
when I ignored the circled roomful
holding hands emphasizing each word
of the incantation Keep coming back.
It works if you work it. 

Prisoner of Pride

Angry men are blind and foolish, for reason at such a time takes flight and, in her absence, wrath plunders all the riches of the intellect while the judgment remains the prisoner of its own pride. ~ Pietro Aretino (For Today, Kindle Locations 1418-1420)

Blind, foolish..."mad as Hell...
not going to take it anymore!"
Reason AWOL, sayonara, ta-ta.
Anger wins, unparalleled, supreme.
So there. I refuse to hide it, deny it,
quell it one twit. You tell me own my feelings,
don't bury them, let them out.
Now you're talking sense!
See what others have done, how they treat me,
how they trample on my needs, my plans?
They did this to me – on purpose, too!
I'm the victim here. Why don't they apologize?
They could do that, should do much more!
I'll get even. Just wait while I think,
while I sort it out.
But something's amiss. My thoughts stick here,
in this morass. Let me out, set me free!
I want to lock them up, toss away the key.
So why does it feel like I'm confined,
in a cage? I can keep the anger.
But the pride demanding it ensnares me.

Rationalization

I've been benefited from a dictionary definition I found that reads: "Rationalization is giving a social acceptable reason for socially unacceptable behavior, and socially unacceptable behavior is a form of insanity." ~ Alcoholics Anonymous, page 550 (4th edition)

So, I don't like a "suggestion"
in the Big Book —
those suggestions like
"don't put a plastic sack
on your face and nap under water..."
the only suggestions there are.
I can explain why it's not applicable,
why it doesn't work, how this situation —
my situation – is different.
I'm clever with words, adroit at reasoning,
I can argue with the best of them.
And in the process preserve and solidify
my rampant insanity.
What's the suggestion? To jump?
Okay, I'm jumping. On my way up,
could you let me know
how high I should jump? 

Now I See It

They're old patterns,
well worn, automatic,
my triggers. I know them.
Well. Through long years
I've felt them in my gut,
denied vociferously when accused,
seen them in hindsight,
felt normal with them
until I couldn't stand them,
loathed them, hated them,
swore they'd never reappear.
But they do. Even now.
Maybe I should feel hopeless,
but far from it. Recovery works,
even here. Yes, they're still triggers,
but the explosion's a popgun,
not a howitzer and it rarely fires.
And now, I feel them in situ,
watch them happen,
and at day's end review the day,
see the proof without remorse,
and consider a course correction.

 

Shame Kicks In

Swimmingly, swimmingly life ticks by
as recovery happens, days brightening.
Goals unreachable through massive drives
suddenly, smoothly fall into place.
Self-confidence builds, fear diminishes,
as humility and released outcomes
yield happiness, fulfillment, success.
Yet sometimes old tapes, forgotten,
long-hidden but well-worn find their voice.
How could I be content?
I don’t deserve happiness! I’m not worthy.
Nothing has changed except everything
when shame kicks in, guilt grabs control.
Who gave it that power?
Who made it the trump card?
Oh. Did I do that to me?

Point of Privilege

That parable. The one about a master,
his giving three people talents,
some more, one just one.
Of course talents weren't talents
but substantial pieces of currency
like a fortune, each one.
And the issue was investing set against hiding,
protecting, saving. I get the idea,
use what is given you, be a good steward,
but the other point, the distribution.
One guy got five to the third guy's one.
How did he feel about it?
Not at the end, not when the master's choice
seemed validated, vindicated...
How did he feel at first, getting so much more?
Was he arrogant, proud to be trusted with more?
Did he figure it his just due when it wasn't,
when the master owed them nothing.
Or was he embarrassed by the riches,
feeling guilty to have been trusted with more?
How did he justify it if self-esteem issues roiled
in his head? Did he think about the guy with one
and others left out completely?
God, I'm the man it seems like,
where talent is currency or talent.
God help me, I'm the man.
What's the point of privilege?

Something Beautiful

And I want women to get in there with the men in humility before God, not primping before a mirror or chasing the latest fashions but doing something beautiful for God and becoming beautiful doing it. (1 Timothy 2:9-10 - The Message)

Skin deep, huh? Heck, no!
If it’s just the skin it’s attractive,
stunning, handsome, alluring —
but not beautiful. Beauty grows,
swells, sprouts comes inside-out.
Beauty is a radiant hope,
an excitement about live,
a peace, contentment, commitment
way down deep but so grand,
so pervasive it can’t be hidden,
will not be ignored. Perhaps that word —
beauty – won’t come to mind,
but the face beaming it
will draw the whole world in,
embraced and loved.

Inspiration

In thinking about our day we may face indecision. We may not be able to determine which course to take. Here we ask God for inspiration, an intuitive thought or a decision. We relax and take it easy. We don't struggle. We are often surprised how the right answers come after we have tried this for a while. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 86)

"Inspiration, an intuitive thought or a decision."
Odd grouping. Are they equals, parts of the whole?
Is it a sequence from inspiration to gut feeling to choice?
Or is the optimum first, followed by sequentially lessers?
Inspiration can be the intake of breath, but breath —
breathe and soul are, well, soul mates.
Pneumatic may mean operated by gas,
but pneuma is the creative force of a person – or Power.
Breathe on me, Breath of God, blend my soul with yours
so your thought becomes my own and the required action
surprises and delights.

Greatest Fear

Our deepest fear is we are powerful beyond measure. ~ "Our Greatest Fear" by Marianne Williamson

I can deal with mediocrity
or beam with respect
and even accept failure
though I fault someone else.
But what if, instead of life
beyond my wildest dreams,
I find myself really able to change the world
my world, your world, even just a bit?
What if what I do – what I did – really mattered?
As long as things remain within a range of foreseeable,
okay, no big deal. I reason then I turned my life,
my will over to that big a power.
But what if I find out my god, as I understand,
as I defined and crafted, what if
what I know is too small,
understated, incomplete?
What if I made up an inadequate god?
Who do I blame if God failed to fail?

Words that Seal

"Words that seal us forever,"
she said then just moved right on,
completing a thought while I lingered.
Promises, vows, solemn oaths,
the superglue of life  —
sometimes they're lies,
occasionally boasts,
just braggadocia intended in jest —
but a source of admiration
from one we would wow or woo.
But once words  gain eternal life....
How can I come by discernment
to grasp the nature of my binding words
and courage sever bonds unwisely made?

My Tribe

I found my tribe, the social architecture that fulfills my every need for camaraderie and conviviality. ~ Alcoholics Anonymous, 4th Edition, page 333

An ugly duckling, I wandered alone
among others, different, strange
when they were all I'd known.
Certain of nothing, convinced something
could be done if only I knew what or how
I cowered, hiding, or brazenly took charge
but never belonged.
Chance brought me together with another,
an other like me. How did I know?
I don't know. I needed no rationale,
had no cause to act shy or bold.
I just knew all was well. I was home.

Too Secure

He that is too secure is not safe. ~ Thomas Fuller

Made in the shade.
I've got this down,
understand the program,
have worked the steps.
Let me tell you all the secrets,
teach you the shortcuts.
That first thing in the morning
and as you go to bed each night?
Don't get too hung up on that —
after all, you chose your higher power
and know what it takes for you two.
And meetings? After a while
you've heard it all, same story
seventy-second verse.
It's all the truth, told to me by Zoe and Ysa.
You never met them? Well Zoe —
she relapsed, died in the addiction.
And Ysa, she's around.
Come to think of it,
she's pretty much a ball.
or a blimp. Maybe
they were wrong...

If Food Would Help...

Gut-punched, I step in gingerly
feeling the extent of damage
like I inch into a swimming pool.
Plenty bad, embarrassing but manageable.
I sit, wanting to lash out, wanting vengeance
but for what? How could that help?
Established patterns remind me
of solace-seeking in the kitchen and beyond, 
friendly anonymous drive-throughs,
but why? If food would help, maybe,
but I've tested those waters long enough.
I know they compound, don't console.
Instead, I talk to trusted confidants,
allow time to sit here, to absorb and release.
Then I repair damage, remind myself
of facts I knew – know –  resolve to remember
and move on to life worth living,
friends worth trusting, to recovery.

No Matter What

I love you, period.
I wish you well no matter what.
I hurt with your disappointments,
swell with pride for your triumphs.
I see your growth and weaknesses
and don't always approve your choices
but love remains, unchanged. 

First Do No Harm

Be certain he will be welcomed by your family, and that he is not trying to impose upon you for money, connections, or shelter. Permit that and you only harm him. You will be making it possible for him to be insincere. You may be aiding in his destruction rather than his recovery. (Alcoholics Anonymous, pages 96-97)

Like the Lone Ranger
I gallop to the rescue, oblivious,
ignoring your desire to do it yourself.
Selfless, I throw my self into your business
to help, to mend, to soothe.
You really don’t do it that way,
let me do it better, cleaner, quicker,
allow me to show you how.
No, get out of the way, you don’t understand.
Just turn it over to me.
You know, though, I’m darned tired
of carrying the load for you.
Can’t you do ANYTHING?