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Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

Category Archives: Alcoholics Anonymous

Letter to Someone Considering Suicide

10 Thursday Mar 2022

Posted by Bill Watkins in Addiction, Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Depression, Health, Men's Health, Mental Health, Poetic Blog, Recovery, Suicide, Women's Health

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Addiction, Bipolar, Depression, Health, Joy, Love, Manic Depression, Men's Health, Mental Health, Peace, Recovery, Sobriety, Suicidal, Suicidal Depression, Suicide, Truth, Women's Health

Suicidal2

by Bill Watkins, formerly suicidal
3/10/2022

Dedicated to the memory of Robin Williams

***

I would have told Robin just to sleep.  Stop trying to breathe.  Stop doing stuff and thinking you have to do stuff.

What suicidal people sometimes forget is the glory of the “mini-deaths” cleverly built into this life: sleep.  The complete cessation of activity.  The suicidal want to stop, want all thinking to stop, so… STOP!

Complications arise with drug and alcohol addiction.  Next to that, or maybe the same thing, is a bedevilment of negative thinking, insane thoughts—which any human being is capable of thinking from time to time.

There is a snowball forming, and suicidal people might start to believe the lies they are telling themselves that all would be better, if they were dead.  If they took an action to stop the heart and stop breathing… for good.

I was a victim of a suicidal depression that lasted about three or four years.  Parts of it are cloudy still, but I can now sum it all up as:  Alcoholism.

I started drinking Dad’s last sip of bourbon when I was five.  I started drinking the flammable, volatile, toxic liquid on my own with friends by the age of twelve.  I was blacking out on the substance by thirteen.

The above facts were not of interest to the multiple doctors I saw for depression at the end of the last millennium.  They saw and heard some symptoms, started to prescribe me drugs.  One of those doctors is now a recovering alcoholic, but because they missed my obvious alcoholism I sometimes think all of them were either alcoholic, drug addicted or just plain incompetent in the field of mental health.

I forgive them.  Alcoholism is “cunning, baffling and powerful,” to quote Alcoholics Anonymous—a powerful, tough, formidable foe.  I don’t blame anyone for my alcoholism and subsequent suicidal depression, but have come out of it to celebrate twenty years of consecutive sober days to distrust Western medicine in some areas.

They and all of us are fallible!

To the person who is at the time of reading this letter considering suicide, I say: “I love you. Thinking of suicide is a normal response to pain, when the pain builds and builds and sustains over a long time.  Love and accept yourself in this moment, but if you have a place to sleep that is warm and sheltered, be grateful for it and ‘die’ the mini-death that is sleep.  Stop trying so hard to breathe.  Slow down.  Do nothing.

“Do nothing for as long as it takes, with no time limit.  Based on my experience, the good rest and permission to stop will after time become a meditation or dream that makes you want to ‘go’ again.  You might get a vision that is positive.

“As far as managing life through a suicidal depression, stop doing that. Get out a piece of paper after your rest, and write down one or two things you want to do.  Eventually a bucket list (since you’ve been craving death anyway) of passions and activities.  Today, of course, you can only manage one or two of those things.

“Do them.  Love yourself for this one day.  That’s the only day that matters and exists.  If something makes you smile (that is not harmful to anyone, drugs or alcohol), note that and do it.   Repeat it, and follow that bliss throughout your day.  Your day is now your life!

“Note stuff in life we can’t control, like results or the future.  Let them go.  Maybe even consider prayer to a power greater than yourself.  Call it whatever you want to call it.  Just know you’re not in control of everything, and if you let yourself go… if you stop trying so hard and just rest… you’ll find the world continues to spin, and I do believe based on my own experience that positive thoughts and dreams are within us all…

If we wait for them.”

It’s Not the Virus That Kills

31 Friday Jul 2020

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, God, Government, Health, Poetic Blog, Political, Politics, Spirituality

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Addiction, Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Covid, Covid-19, Cure, Doctors, Eternal Life, FDR, God, Health, Joy, Love, Mexico, Panic, Peace, Political, Politics, San Miguel, San Miguel de Allende, Spanish, Spirituality, Stephen King, Truth, Volaris, Western Medicine

Virus1

-by Bill Watkins 7/31/2020

Death stats are reported by folks who believe deeply in death.  Physical death.  That’s it, we’re done, the physical is all…  But isn’t there another way to live and see life, death and health?  The spiritual way, one under-represented right now in governments world-wide?

Back when I still believed in the invalid United States of America, I wrote an article entitled “What is Health?” which included Twitter poll results from users, who shared their definitions:

1. Bill Watkins:  “Health is a Peace of Mind, Knowing I did the best I could to be the best person I was capable of becoming in all my affairs.”

2. “Duck,” Anti-Circumcision Activist:  “Health is discovering yourself and feeding your truth.”

3. Online T-shirt Salesman:  “Health means your state of being and ability to function naturally.”

4. Aaron V. from Lake Tahoe:  “Health is natural whole foods, clean water, clean air, a nature soundscape with wildlife, good social relationships, the freedom to explore and then see self-improvement or progress, and having a shelter or sanctuary where one can retreat to and be certain to have all of those things despite what else is going on in the world.”

5 Sonya on Twitter:  “I believe saying ‘I am healthy’ is relative to your own circumstances. For me, I feel health is a state of physical wellness as well as mental wellness. I believe it’s hard to say I am healthy if either one is compromised to a degree where we are not enjoying living our lives. If we are feeling the best we can for our age and capacity – in that everything is functioning as well as can be expected – and we are getting through each and every day with quality of life in tact, even if it has to be aided by medication, then to me that is healthy. If body and mind are still functioning well enough for me to enjoy life, then I am healthy.”

6. College Newspaper Staff:  “I’d say health is a state of being. I think it’s a perceived value of physical, emotional, and mental stability and regularity for each individual person. The achievement of ‘healthy’ will differ from person to person based on lifestyle, availability of nourishment and space, and personality.”

7. Dan R., Twitter:  “Being good in mind body and soul.”

8. Yvonne on Twitter:  “Health is a balance of spiritual, mental and physical well-being”

9. Anastacia on Twitter:  “Health to me means that I’m happy, I am not sick, I can laugh with out being in pain.”

10. Poetry Group on Twitter:  “Health is the harmony of our body.”

11. Carlos M. on Twitter:  “Wellness is a holistic approach to life that includes diet and exercise first with traditional medical care second. ”

12. Ariel B. on Twitter:  “Health is Peace of Mind.”

13. Marion W. on Twitter:  “Time set aside in solitude and/or quietness to grow, reflect, write and decompress.”

And… how about Google?

14. Google:  “Health is the state of being free from illness or injury.”

***

A lot of different perspectives, so why do governments think they can represent us all on this issue?  They stay away from mixing the state with religion, but aren’t they coming across many of our personal, even religious beliefs by putting their hands into such a controversial bowl of heaven keys?

“Peace of mind” is a short version of my definition for health, as it was for one of my Twitter poll participants—something that has little to do with Western medicine’s extracting blood, focusing on the physical, administering drugs.  Core to the Western medical business is core to religion: giving folks peace of mind, that they will heal from hardship.  Religion goes on to speak of heaven, doctors stop at peace…  Maybe those two words and concepts are in some ways interchangeable.

But in neither heaven nor earth will it ever be right to decide someone else’s health path, if that someone is an adult of sound mind.  Who should decide mental soundness?  I’d say, based on my Twitter poll and personal conviction, more people should be involved in health decisions, from different fields of study, and different beliefs.  There is more to heaven, earth, and health than is cooked up in Western medicine’s cake, and it’s time governments recognize that, call out doctors for the fallible people they are.  They have fancy degrees, I concede the hard work that goes into them, but who can say something divine or perfect grants them?

To me health is a peace of mind, knowing I did my best to be the best person I’m capable of becoming—a spiritual concept, borrowed shamelessly from the late, great John Wooden.  “Death” to this humble citizen of Mexico, the invalid United States and someday England: doesn’t exist, if with faith in God you lived a good life.  “No good thing ever dies,” mused Stephen King once upon a time, and I agree.  So why all the talk of “Covid deaths?”  Did those souls not live?  Why not talk about their life?  Where is the gratitude for the air we breathe, for the lives we get to live, for our amazing immune systems?  If this was our last day to live on earth, what would you do with it?  Panic?  Complain about death?  Whine about a virus?

Not me.  The above set of questions reminds me of my old life, one in which I was spiritually dead, playing sports and drinking alcohol instead of loving my parents, life, a woman, and being an honest, honorable person.  There are worse things than physical death…  Among them, a life in fear, and as such out of love—if you adhere to St. Paul’s ideal.  So love life!  Live today!!  Say thanks to what you say thanks to, because tomorrow is a big question mark, salvation for me in peace of mind, something I’ll never get wearing a mask or fearing my fellow man for any reason whatsoever.

Fear is the killer, folks, FDR echoed here…  Fear is the virus.  Inoculate yourself against it by living great days in faith, in love and free of alcohol or drugs…  Thanks for your attention, an open mind following truth as a key to serenity, willingness putting us on the road, proper relations with our fellows and the earth a guarantee for eternal life.  Never death

The Disease

26 Friday Oct 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Living with an Alcoholic, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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Joy, Love, Peace, Recovery

We miss the pitch, seeing what
Dad or others did, so shiny and
apparently fun, a thought is brewed
and we didn’t know anything else
to do.

So drank the liquid.

***

It burned as it was supposed to
burn, hell’s fire tickling up from
below, the devil agrin with hopes
of diverting another soul from the
focus of heaven’s righteous run.

I think I may have been a Fred
Astaire, a triple-threat, whatever
God wanted me to be… hit that piano,
dance and sing

I’m Free, Mom, look at me!

***

All those things I do now, jokes to
tell, from rooms of Alcoholics
Anonymous and Al-Anon, twelve
step beats a native son to meditate
on things gone wrong—

strike the gong, shhhh, be the truth
when we speak it in the safety net
of change.

Serenity is a’coming, Al-Anon like
a spring dress, all a mess like the
duck beneath the water.

On top we quack and splash for
fun, knowing we can quit drinking
the flammable liquid now.

Alcoholism is quite a disease; listen
to me.

Stop and think.  Do not place anything
into your mouth without first
study.

The crux of malady is the confused
insanity of doing hurtful things;

Bill and Bob wrote another chapter
of the Sacred book, you’re reading
it today—men and women both
equal partners in language we
must improve,

Love to soothe,
and peace that rainbow after the rain
coming to the admitted sick
alcoholic like a beat its groove.

USA Lol

25 Friday Aug 2017

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, America, Corruption, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Political, USA

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

CIA, Joy, Love, Native American, Peace, Slavery, The CIA

Active as the sex instinct, the earth
moves, stars and sun—but compared
to what, my Uncle Les would remind,
relative to what.  Uncle Einstein.

As corrupt as any other “nation,” the
supposed United States of America was
founded on native blood, our original sin
blaring still: Racism.

We sized them up, the native race, compared
the size of our weapons, declared our
bible better than their Great Spirit, so…
justified murder and “removal.”

Andrew Jackson, a favorite of our low-
intellect president elect, he arrived through
shady means promising every hyperbole it
takes for fools to click the link on that email.

Our second sin of course was slavery, another
obvious racist endeavor, still killing national
unity with unenlightened forays into backwood
clan parties brought to light,

Ghosts of Civil Rights fights past coming to
life, brawls on the street, but that’s all
right.  After all, bringing us to Sin #3: the
CIA murdered Kennedy.

Amends and friends to make, we keep
ignoring truth on the wide path to Hell’s
Gate, assured by looking left and right that
Samuel’s request of God was still uptight.

“Give us a king to be like other nations,”
And that’s the USA, full of sin and problems
and beauty and blessings—just like every
other nation in the world.

Where we are funny is in our self-righteous
pity, we think we are so great, as Allen Dulles
is chosen to investigate and report on the
man who fired him, the Warren Commission

a ruse of far more don’ts than do’s.  A virtual
“who knows who” of what not to do, a total lie
supplying CIA a place to hide.  There it is.  No,
There!!  Hiding in your Twitter feed, trying

To recruit the next murder.

CIA Capture

Murder.  Cover-up.  Murder.  Cover-up,
The devil in a red, white and blue dress, what
a mess, the “nation” a joke since November 22,
1963, what a pity, Jackie’s PTSD, thank God

for sobriety, God help us admit our insanity.

“No matter how far down the wrong path you are
on… Turn around.”

There’s always a way to Peace of mind—
turn that national frown upside down, invite
God back to the throne Samuel took away,
give the natives back land, pay Africa-
descended people for past sins, and kick out

covert CIA.

USA… LOL, let’s together find more of the
narrow to heaven over the wide to Hell.

Find It!!

01 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcoholics Anonymous

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a.a., Simon

The valley’s peak is low,
stars shine greatest in darkness—
Newborn the sober alcoholic
shines when awake, the regret
of yesterday forming a wave
of curiosity, becoming in fact:

Sanity.

We want to take on the world at first
light; we shirk the Devil of last night,
the crutch and excuse of “oh,
I was drunk” doesn’t work anymore,
and you just don’t seem happy,
just getting by, and so turn around…

the education is good, high enough
to win a prize… you wipe the bhang
resin off your mind, regret is high,
but sober a day hasn’t seen much yet…

Keep rising, your brain supplying,
get back to reading, recall the quiet
of good times long but not too far
in the past…

We turn around, we turn around, we
find the solution we lost or never had found;
we accuse a friend of wrong,
wake up to our wrong, it’s our great
right; then we slow down, find God,
and go to day two, the second step…

Sanity. Find it!!

Non-Political Poem

19 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcoholics Anonymous, Anti-Political, Poetry

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Joy, Love, Peace

New Constitution

We haven’t any British to fight today.

The sun comes up on the land, moon
on the other, hours separate time an
illusion alluding to Einstein’s relativity
relative to Jesus’ definition of Family,
A.A.’s of insanity—

Those who do the will of God, repeating
the same thing over and over again—

Expecting different results.

Truth, justice challenged, JFK
trying to do good offering peace
but wait: the political process is
corrupted by greed and selfishness,
so perhaps it’s better to fly below
radar.

Stay out of the light, put on dollar-gloves
and pick up trash, your home
and neighborhood need you.

We do our best—be and stay true, and
if God is sought… Peace will be found;
politicians solicit your love and they have
it, our roads are paved—just not very well.

God is still in charge, a Higher Power beyond
our grasp or understanding. The closer
we get the farther we fall, but it’s fun!

I do not participate where they
age discriminate, I have started my own
government (let them learn). Come to
me with requests as you have done them,
and we’ll see who helps you first.

The only requirement for being in A.A.
is a desire to stop drinking alcoholic
beverages. To engage in politics and vote
there are a million hoops to hop.

I’d rather just help

Birthday Poem, 2014

19 Saturday Jul 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, America, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

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Joy, Love, Peace

“I am Born”

Love, sweet—soft from hard,
this life is life first, thought second.

Rene had it half-write, the songs I sing
I think you might, wanna…

Come closer to not be afraid, songs typed
before sung are not unlike

Ants to Raid, garbage disposals pumping
horses sunny shade, I am

Often when least-expected brave, a song
sung myself, Mom and Dad loved me

into Life.

I am born. Truth, justice and the American
lie is a golden hymn sung song-like by
hymners and dimmers, golden
Parachute-seekers, rain frolickers, the
Devil waiting in weeks of wings, months
of pain riled up in “rent-is-due” as you discard
on your shelves: all the things you “have to do.”

Turn around; there is no “have-to” worth doing
other than fighting for breath and being. I thought
therefore I was… nothing. I am, and so have
a duty to think—

There’s the rub; when I came out, I thought
poorly being left alone too much perhaps,
I picked up “alcohol,” a fiery substance—
And began to with it dance, ingest, why drink
pain when in pain, the explosion like rain
this is not the promised game, ads on TV
selling me this runaway train.

Get paid? Simple it is to cut-off
mid-sentence the dream we had when born:
instinct, no words, colors and shapes—
all of us all five senses, the sixth only
a wave on the horizon, the formulation
of purpose. Mine goes awry and actions
follow puke to toilette, the commercials
of mountain springs and chick-filled
parties another lie.

Alcohol begetting more alcohol, the
confusion grows into a large unfiltered,
estranged Booty-call.

She picks up; I don’t know what to say,
I’m never drunk enough to be who
I wanted to be—

I STOP. I am Reborn.

This time I come out screaming a different
scream, muffled by the age I’m more tame.
I experience the same set of feelings but
decide to make a change. I hire a Higher
Power to direct through prayer, the gift
is a weight-lifted, “I can see Clearly Now”

The rain, fallen, is with mist and sun a
sultry rainbow I cannot pretend away,
the songs of violence fading to colors’
irregular descent on barrels of fool’s gold.

The mist is real, there is always a grey
in silver lining, it is the wisdom of love
and experience that now says “look
twice before crossing” without being asked
or told to do so.

Our parents were right after all—not only in
traffic but in being loving enough to create
and try, and so the wisdom of ages says:

“Honor them.”

I am reborn again. My heavens it is four
o’clock a.m. Many operate on Roman
calendars but forget to double-check
the purpose in them—

I see the sharpness of Roman columns in the
blue of now; marching is the drum,
The follower another failure like me, but
isn’t it glorious to see the glory in
two walking with Thee?

The name is sacred, say it only in prayer
and High Song;

“Remember for it is the doom of men
that they forget.” Women too, look
at me looking at you. Whetted right, we
pull out our Bibles and fight, the Goliath
in us is tamed, the slingshot love,

David is alive—

I am born

Living with Alcohol

16 Friday May 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Living with an Alcoholic

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Joy, Love, Peace

Slave to Poison

I’m trapped in a weird
fantasy between two and one,
1.5 reasons why I can’t move
entertaining dreams I can’t wake,

The hope she’ll sober up goes down
in a fiery ball of flames over
the sea, horizon verizon wireless
just took off her dress better
undressed zip it up
potluck these things called dreams?

Interesting.

I’ve tried things—wake her up
myself with evidence I found
on a quest for first place.

She has denied me so many times
as I wait for ninth step amends
to pay off blessed inside a Beverly
Hills Cop sunshine.

Friendship, the past indefinite because
it changes with today’s acceptance
I give up, a slave to the dance,
I give up—a slave in a trance
this cannot be untrue I dip my feet
in the cold water that’s you.

Drunk, angry, belligerent your arrows
find me dreaming of your puking regret.

Sweating, shaking until the death
shake is near.
Death is real, but it’s not only that
we all unconsciously define as
fear—it is the rainbow after rain,

A hangover—

My favorite time of year.

A.A. Step 2 Poem:

16 Sunday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcoholics Anonymous

≈ Leave a comment

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Joy, Love, Peace

Step Two

To climb up without a ladder,
stepping into sweat. You are sorry
for your mistakes but wonder
is the climb back worth it…

We come to believe there is a path
back, a solution worth the work.
Open minds yield results, we sit still
and let the light enter—

The temptation is to go with people’s
flow, go here, go there, listen to
that man’s voice, another’s hot air,
before you get lost in expectation, stop
the game—

Slow it down, go home, read a book!

Sanity, a neighbor of gratitude, is restored
the moment you depend on God
not human power.

Put the money down, bet everything on
God and watch the peace roll in

A.A. Birthday Poem

07 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Birthday

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace

A.A. Birthday

Like the other, another spin ‘round the sun.

This one’s fun!
Not at first, mind you, it’s an almost
impossible uphill climb.

So instead of trudging it straight, against
the tide and everything great—

We adhere to and climb twelve steps.
The first is a false one, we fall down,
get hurt and admit we’re done, in us
stick a fork.

The second is a ray of sun, sing lullabies
to sad lives, we see God, or at least a
Power greater than us.

The third is easy and hard haven’t you heard,
we look up words like “decision” in the
dictionary and find other words like
“Victory” – the devil runs away abashed
at every defeat. This is pretty neat, God
is in charge now, let’s see what’s left to do:

4. Write and think, and write and think—be
fearless, this is our lives, write and think.
5. Tell God, you and another dude your
findings and feelings, the weight starts to really
lift…

Six, we became ready for a new life by preparing
to give up old traits that clouded vision and
possibilities like dusty old drapes, sour grapes,
run to the market for new ones it’s not too late!

Seven is a way to humbly ask: LORD remove my
faults, Please…

Now write down names, people you have harmed,
become willing then make amends to them all.

Some may run away from you, see some
weird side of you, think you’ve gone
too religious, maybe take a break from you.

Others will be grateful and inspired.

Keep checking yourself against your actions;
faults like San Andreas want to rise and give us
trouble from time to time.

Pray hard! Improve that line between you and
God as you understand God, pray for that power
to know what to do next. Know that God’s will
is what happens.

Take that glory, your awakening of spirit, give it
to other punk alcoholics, people who could use
a boost, do this well and find you’ve gone through
the last hoop, now back to one, excuse me the One,

For there is where the healing is.

Happy Birthday.

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