bliss

Willa Cather
Miracles seem to rest, not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from far off, but upon our perceptions being made finer so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear that which is about us always.

from my perspective, there is a process to this recovery walk. i feel so very different today than i did, say 2 years ago. i feel as if i am gregor samsa but in sepia or black & white, shifting from cockroach to human and from sepia to digital color. the movements in this are so extreme- from a snail's pace all the way to tornado-like.

i go to a meeting on sunday mornings that i have been attending for over 3 1/2 years. during one of the first meetings, i shared that i was bi-polar and a meth addict who had hiv. i certainly felt i would be judged. but this guy came up to me after group and said to me "with all those issues, you are going to have so much help to offer others". this totally blew me away. i had never even considered viewing any of my issues as a source of strength.

i am thankful to so many. too many to name. there are a few along my journey who have given me truth or kindness when i seemed to need them. i can only hope i can do the same for others. certainly, though, almost every blogger listed on my warriors list is responsible for giving me their experience, strength, and their hope in this particular aspect of my life. i started this blog a year and a half ago, and these wonderful personalities, all just as varied as individual notes in a lullabye, have given also given me comfort and direction as life's clouds have rolled by.

bliss and kisses....this is what recovery means to me today, on the 4 year anniversary of a shift in my perception.

my friend richard kearns sent me this poem. thank you richard. i hope you figured out what an orgasm is...:)

the sun jumped up

the sun jumped up
ran through the city
ashine betwixt scrapers
beamquick
clouds on fire
flamefluffed
glowed
three sixty
vaporizing
lowderlong
tied bandannalike
and sweated
by a musclebig
bald gay piledriver
yellow helmet-hat
not quite covering the true
arch’d blue blue blue
ache’d even bluer
surmountable by
dreamcrafted upsteps
as the city spreads
stalkingly past me
neither of us
rests
who dies first
come sunout?
will we know
night’s candles?
i shall. i will. i did.
they’re you
in darknesse
weep
while you
have tears
then laugh
then jump up and
run through the city
ashine
awake
faster than light