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.”

… 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. 

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.

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?

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.

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.

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?