Oceans

I no longer have energy for anything less than oceans,
Texting about lustful desires used to be exciting,
Seeking highs that such conversations would bring,
I’m not that same me,
If you can’t touch me without us touching skin,
If the depth of this is what I see,
Then you and I will never be.

I want to talk about mindfulness,
About how you watch your thoughts,
Describe the defects that make you real,
Talk to me about how your perceptions make you feel,
Who inspires you and why,
What about your strange beliefs?
Expand my mind,
Disclose what you use to numb and get relief,
What are your triggers that cause you to use them,
Fill me in on what makes you human.

I worked so hard to embrace emotions,
Superficial relationships, no thanks,
I want oceans.

Recovery

Peers at work ask me about my plans,
Anything fun?
Yard work, perhaps some homework,
No doubt my life from the outside probably sounds lame,
Perhaps if I told them the whole truth they’d still think the same,
I drive to a church where strangers meet,
To sit in a circle and reflect,
In this divided society,
We sit and connect,
What my peers don’t know,
Is that I’m in recovery.

It was Saturday, talking to a girl from the other coast,
What’d you do tonight she’d ask after coming home late from a party,
I went to a meeting…
The conversation would shift, eventually we drift,
Clearly her night was better?
That Saturday I listened to someone share about their bottom,
Bringing back memories of the things I did when I was blacked out on alcohol,
I went home feeling lighter,
What were my problems? … I don’t recall,
Just another night of rolling around raw in vulnerability with others,
What a blessing,
Truly humbled,
I’m in recovery.

What is it that you do for fun? I assume normal people wonder,
The answer is anything,
I’m no longer encumbered,
Fear does not hold me back,
My fun no longer requires me to numb,
Most days I am happy with a cup of coffee, two people, and simple talk,
I have peace today in this life I walk,
Early on it was, “why’d I have to be this?”
Now I’m ecstatic that I get to live a life of service,
Continued growth and self-discovery,
Each day I get the opportunity to be a better me,
I’m in recovery.

After the Fact

When she struggled with her painting I quit mine and we worked on hers together,

When she needed to go slow down the stairs I hung back and let her,

I didn’t ask for my slippers back even though my feet were cold,

I played those extra games of cards even after it had gotten old,

What an amazing person I wasn’t because these things didn’t happen,

I focused on my painting and she quit painting to play on her phone,

When we left the store I rushed to the car leaving her on her own,

The minute she took off the slippers I grabbed them and put them back on,

And when asked to play cards again I went to nap with a yawn.

I really wish I was capable of being the person I realized I could have been,

Instead of hours later, at the time I should have been,

The road to hell is paved with great intentions,

Pretty sure Im on my way with all these missed ascensions.

My heart constantly broken by my thoughts who betray,

Not sure how I got this way,

So flawed and incapable of the compassion, encouragement, kindness, and patience that I want to give,

This is not the life I want to live.

Your Place

Opening the laptop with a blank page to type,
Fingers skimming over the keys,
A warmth washes over,
Like sticky buns being pulled from the oven on Christmas,
A familiarity and a comfort,
Like settling deep in a worn oversized arm chair,
What will this visit bring?
The neurons of excitement firing on all cylinders,
Feeling like the first taste of coffee with french vanilla cream in the morning,
Heart and chest expanding into a smile,
Who knew body parts could smile?
A short visit before plunging into the world of business,
Where you are much like a child playing dress up,
Masquerading around among adults who seem so well suited to their work,
But here, here with 10 fingers flying across black and white keys,
Or here, gripping a pencil as it brings images to life,
Removes the concern of not having a place,
This place, this inner home, this free expression, it may not pay the bills,
It may never bring riches or fame,
But it is yours,
It is a place that does not require an application or credentials,
It does not care if you can network or if you are extroverted,
Looks or material things make no difference,
There is no performance review outside of the one you may decide to give yourself,
Therefore, go into the world,
Do as you must to survive,
But never doubt your worth or your place,
Your place is here, waiting,
It is the white space beneath the last sentence you wrote.

Morning Meditation

The dog barks from somewhere outside,
High pitched shrill barks,
A small dog for certain, Perhaps a Maltese…
Clearly unhappy for being left,
Is this an irritation? Or an opportunity to become present?
The cooler which contains the 5-gallon jug of water,
Buzzes and rattles as it seeks to cool the water,
Smacking it will only cause it to reside briefly,
Is this an irritation? Or a reminder to return to the present moment?
The dog stops barking, the cooler ceases running,
Quiet. Lack of noise. Silence seems so profound,
Gratitude for the noise, causing the absence of it to bring great peace.

Sensing the body, how is it today?
Appreciating all the areas that don’t ache,
No tension headache,
The lower back is tolerable, the left knee feels great.
Enjoying a full breath.
The air is refreshing and cool as it flows through the nose,
Expanding the lungs in a fulfilling stretch,
Sitting deep inside this body.

Observing the mind as it tries to find problems,
After all, that is the job it has been given,
To find and fix problems.
The dog begins barking, bringing back the present.
Breathe. Set intentions for the day. Begin.

The Poetic Giant

The gangrel giant sat perched on the side of the mountain. He had short brown hair which appeared in tufts framing his black brooding eyes. He had a massive jaw that jutted out when he was thinking. He was young for his kind and slightly smaller than his forebearers. He was still a formidable creature standing nearly 100 feet tall. From his position, he blotted out the sun causing the towns below to be cast in shadows. He lived in solitude because he believed that the pen is mightier than the sword. He had a poetic heart with no desire to reign terror on the tiny humans who he envied. His avocation was writing long strings of poetry on the side of the mountain using chunks of graphite stone. He showed fortitude despite the peer pressure he faced to engage in the activities of his people. He was different than them, he could write eloquent Haikus and Sonnets. He could even quote Shakespear. “I am one who loved not wisely but too well,” he’d rebut at his friends when they made their appeals. Who were they to judge him? The best they could devise was, “fe-fi-fo-fum” he thought smugly.

Words of the day:

Fortitude: Strength of mind
Avocation: something a person does in addition to a principal occupation. Hobby.
Formidable: Inspiring fear or respect through being impressively powerful, large, or capable
Gangrel: a vagrant or a drifter. A tall, thin, long-limbed person.

Saying of the day:

The pen is mightier than the sword: This proverb suggests that written material like books or poetry has more influence than fighting or war. We may also understand from it that ideas (as often set down in writing) are more effective than violence.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Winter was quick off the mark this year. Cold gusts had begun to blow through causing the leaves outside to pucker and drop more quickly. Winter coats were dug up from the back of storage closets. She had a hankering for a white Christmas but messed up by wishing for it too soon. Great oaks from little acorns grow, she thought with trepidation about what kind of winter her wish would bestow. November was much too soon for snow. As she buttoned her long tan parka she thought about her other wishes that had come true in the past. One time she wished for it to rain to match her depressed mood and two days later the town lost all its crops due to flooding. Her family although aware of her gift never took it seriously. To them, her wishes were recondite and they did not understand them at all. For this reason, she kept them to herself. She zipped up her black suede boots, slid her backpack over her shoulder, and stepped out her front door, bracing against the barrage of winter air. The crunch of the dying fall sounded under her boots as she made her way to her car. Not all her wishes came true. She had never quite understood the science behind which were granted and which were not. She had learned to be very concise with her thinking, although like her wish for a white Christmas, sometimes she failed. It was hard to be disciplined all the time.

Words of the day:
Recondite – difficult or impossible for one of ordinary understanding or knowledge to comprehend. Deep.
Trepidation – A feeling of fear or agitation about something that may not actually happen.
Hanker – desire strongly or persistently
Mess up – to make a mistake

Saying of the day:
Great oaks from little acorns grow – sometimes small and modest things become large and impressive things over time.

Idiom of the day:
quick off the mark – quick to react to an event or opportunity