Let's not louse this up. Let's keep it simple.

The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak. - Hans Hoffman.

I am feeling lost.  In some ways, I know what I need to be doing.  At the same time, I am unsure, uncertain, and overwhelmed.  It seems insurmountable to heal my body, my mind, my spirit.  I have teeny bits of progress and yet I still feel like I'm drowning.  Time goes by and it is as if I watch the clouds.

Today's reading is about simplicity.  It says:

One of the most profound utterances in the history of Alcoholics Anonymous is Dr. Bob's parting plea to Bill W, "Let's not louse this thing up.  Let's keep it simple," 

Overeaters Anonymous has its share of compulsive complicators.  They lard the program with mandatory procedures and other distractions.  If newcomers succeed in finding out what the program is about in this welter of the unnecessary, it may well be because they have an innate ability to simplify. 

For today, I pray to be reminded of the simple principles of this program, especially when I am tempted to present personal interpretations as the only way.

I was at Intergroup over the weekend.  What I saw were a lot of people simply showing up to report that their meeting has 6 to 8 people, one or two newcomers, and things are going well.  The vacant leadership positions -- literature coordinator, assistant treasurer, 12th Step Within coordinator, etc -- all went unanswered for the third month in a row that I've been there.  Do we need these positions?  Clearly we are functioning without them.  Why won't these people who show up each month take on a little bit extra?  I don't know.  They are not moved by the entreaty to service. 

This morning I am contemplating what I do for others versus what I do for myself.  I think I have a complicated relationship with being useful.  It reminds me, however, of the Marge Piercy poem.  I think it is true and pure, untainted by selfishness or ego.

To be of use
By Marge Piercy          

The people I love the best

jump into work head first

without dallying in the shallows

and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.

They seem to become natives of that element,

the black sleek heads of seals

bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,

who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,

who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,

who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge

in the task, who go into the fields to harvest

and work in a row and pass the bags along,

who are not parlor generals and field deserters

but move in a common rhythm

when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.

Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.

But the thing worth doing well done

has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.

Greek amphoras for wine or oil,

Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums

but you know they were made to be used.

The pitcher cries for water to carry

and a person for work that is real.

Blessed be.