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?

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.

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…

Shared by itsgreg: http://www.flickr.com/photos/itsgreg/

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?

I just think thistles are beautiful! ~ Jo Helen Cox

Despicable weed covered with prickles,
barbed leaves, nectar served up
in a spiked cup — nature cum loathsome,
designed to be repugnant to herbivores and humans,
so hated weevils brought to destroy them.
Symbol of nobility? Of birth, of chivalry, of Scotland?
Cherished food of butterfly and goldfinch?
The thistle?

Acrid of tongue, passive-aggressive,
piercing sarcasm, consumed by consumption,
clinging to wrongs past, savoring payback.
I came to you hateful, vengeful, arrogant yet fearful.
What had I to bring? Industrious, talented,
a leader? A cherished member of the group?
Me, a thistle?
Me. A beautiful thistle.

As a newcomer, the first impression I had of what OA members thought of me was, “You’re fine just the way you are.” No one made me feel that my illness rendered me less worthy of respect than other people. Taking a cue from these loving, caring friends, I stopped being ashamed of myself. ~ Overeaters Anonymous, For Today (Kindle Locations 1281-1283).

I’ve always been “Just fine” when asked,
even with high fever, through the oxygen mask
at the age of five. That, though, was the outward face,
the tougher mask, the charade. Inside? Nothing fine,
not a lovable part, no worth. Until it changed.
Until being loved, being accepted just as I was,
made my insides as fine as I claimed,
changed my outsides over time to just fine.

To live is to be slowly born. ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery

As a rose begins as a green nub,
then hints at color, shimmying slowly
from the confines to glamorous, to glorious.
As mundane ingredients join
blending flavors, becoming far more
than the sum of the parts, augmenting,
lighter than air, defying logic.
As a child reaches for comprehension,
studying environs, mimicing elders,
trying on moves, vocalizations, manipulations.
Life awaits, out there, inside, all about
ready to astonish and enrich.