EQUILIBRIUM UPDATE by J Allyn Rosser

Look there, a man caught smack in the middle of his life
and almost aware of it; not quite yet resigned
but past most of the old impatiences, having
developed a consciously casual walk, not quite
the swagger of yore, nor the dignified limp
to come; rather like a man carrying a long heavy plank,
glad of his hard-won, admittedly modest momentum;
calmly dreading several varieties of misstep
such as tipping the future a little too far forward or
letting the past plunk down heedless behind; or merely
looking down; or turning so quickly to look back as to
whack the one just now bending to pick her own burden;
still staunchly bearing it onward in splinterless grip
across the rooftop lifescape — bicep, trapezius and
thigh muscles in play, also those of the spine, the upper lip,
he is at last in control, yes, in his element, in his heart
of hearts wondering how long he will bear it, where to
and, as ever, what for.

Quite a good choice in Ted's honor, MaryAnn!

MaryAnn:

EQUILIBRIUM UPDATE by J Allyn Rosser

Look there, a man caught smack in the middle of his life
and almost aware of it; not quite yet resigned
but past most of the old impatiences, having
developed a consciously casual walk, not quite
the swagger of yore, nor the dignified limp
to come; rather like a man carrying a long heavy plank,
glad of his hard-won, admittedly modest momentum;
calmly dreading several varieties of misstep
such as tipping the future a little too far forward or
letting the past plunk down heedless behind; or merely
looking down; or turning so quickly to look back as to
whack the one just now bending to pick her own burden;
still staunchly bearing it onward in splinterless grip
across the rooftop lifescape — bicep, trapezius and
thigh muscles in play, also those of the spine, the upper lip,
he is at last in control, yes, in his element, in his heart
of hearts wondering how long he will bear it, where to
and, as ever, what for.

Wow, at 49 (or as I like to say now, "7 in dog years") as of July 8, does this scenario sound familiar -- even (in my more discouraged moments) the "what for". It's quite a play on the concept of "bearing one's own cross".

Off-topic: have you seen my note regarding my availability for whatever upcoming Thursday OPP you may have? It's below in the thread addressing IT.

wr ()()

Hi Ted,

I second and third the fraternal goodwill and happy wishes.

Be blessed!

waltz

Thanks , MA. The Rosser poem gets it right, the slowing down, the amount of time it takes to get up to speed, the stride that speaks experience, joy, old wounds in struggles one has survived, major and inane. At fifty six I feel closer to nineteen in mature years; I do have the accumalated cyncism of someone in their mid fifties, and that is something I try to watch. Today, incidently , is my 21st sober anniversary, and I'll post here something I wrote last month for my blog. Thank you, my friend, for the kind saluation.-tb

------------------------------­------------------------------­---

I am under a month away from two special occasions, a birthday when I will be six years past the half century mark, and the day after that, on which I will have twenty one years sobriety. Thank you, thank you. The goal today is not to die or take a drink before the crucial days in July; in any event, I've already been to rehab, at the Betty Ford Center in fact, in Rancho Mirage, California, in the Palm Springs area. What I love the facts of my sobriety date is that I can honestly say that "I went to the desert to dry out in town called Rancho Mirage", amusing myself with the low irony of mashing the cliche of alkies "drying out", the desert being the driest clime one might choose to live in, and that the town name summarized what I felt July 16, 1987, the day after my thirty fifth birthday, the feeling that what was happening to me was unreal, unprecedented, consciousness expanding,in its own way. What I knew at the time was that I couldn't stop drinking nor stop the wreckage my worst habit created, and that the first night in treatment was also the first time in a decade that my head hit a pillow without having a pint of vodka to ease my into rough slumber. Anyway, all this musing over what it was like , what happened and what it's like now through the last week prompted this poem tonight; I've also been reading Berrigan, O'Hara and Padgett lately, some of each shows up here. At the near age of fifty six and with nearly twenty one years sober, I trust something of my own style seeps through the influence.

it means go, brother

as it goes
this year
this month

i am 3 sheets shy
of a coastline to
walk upon

just coasting
on old bed frames
anticipating Spring

and Summer
close behind
another year older

in every cents of the word

5 years past the half dollar mark
20 and change since
a drink or the handcuffs
that came with them

i go to work
i pay my bills
no one crosses the street
or leave their tables in diners
and cafes where
the gossip
is about celebrities
and not what i did
or didn't do
on last decade
this month

it's all money no one sees
axis that keeps the spheres on their paths
though one cannot
see a cog or gear
for all the lavish metaphors

sometimes it's enough
to lay on the mattress
and stare at the ceiling
after i tire of visiting my problems

you call me
you call me
the phone rings and it's you

talking the same old lines of how-do-you -do

and
did you read those
books i lent you?

it's 3 clean sheets
that hang on the line,
the same phone number
for 10 years since moving day

it rained last night
a mist wraps around the homes on the hill
beautiful traffic rushes forth
through the fog and green lights,

it means go, brother, go!

Hey, Ted,

Are we to read any significance in the fact that you share a birthdate with the atom bomb? (See MaryAnn's '1945' post.)

Happy birthday and happy 21 years of sobriety. You know, if you haven't already written it, I think there's a poem in your drying out story. Start it with this:

I can honestly say that I went to the desert to dry out.

IT makes a worthy suggestion Ted. Please post the poem when it happens.

as for it means go, brother, you posted it maybe a week or more ago. i liked it then. i like it now. sans a few of the specific numbers: yeah, me, too.

i imagine your evening of candles and token and fellowship affected you deeply. gratitude-- tangible, encompassing gratuitude transforms a fellow.

here's a poem for you. I didn't write it:

Promises, Promises

If we are painstaking
about this phase of our development, we will be amazed
before we are
half
way
through.

We are going to know
a new freedom and a new happiness.
We will

not regret
the past nor wish to

shut the door on it.
We will comprehend the word
serenity and

we will know peace.

No matter how far
down the scale we have gone,

we will see

how our experience can
benefit

others.

That feeling of
uselessness and self-pity will
disappear.
We will

lose
interest in selfish things and

gain
interest in our fellows.

Self-seeking will slip away.

Our whole attitude and outlook upon
life will change.

Fear

of people and of
economic insecurity
will leave us.
We will intuitively

know

how to handle situations
which used to baffle us.

We will suddenly
realize that

God

is doing
for us

what we could not do for ourselves.

Are these extravagant promises?

No.

snippet for you:

"To measure life, learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains."

From Sonnet XXI