Charmed by Snow

July 31

Charmed by Snow

Warm weather snow falls in fat full flakes; I am living in a world of dreams and sweet peas.  Sudden dustings sparkle and surprise leaving as quickly as they came; yet the world is kinder now.  Beauty is an ambush of the heart.  My breath alters, accelerates, speeding me to a smile, an illustration of joy.  Crows walk the edge of the hedgerow, prattling on as they do; snow to their ankles and food on their minds.  I drive over the mountains discovering myself as the recipient, the receiver of all this great gift, this life.

Trek to the edge of your comfort zone and map it out

*

MORTIFICATION

Lime with envy I built a wall around.

Love and hate are enclosed, brick and stone.

Rigor of extremities, the discipline of ages falls so short.

I make no in-depth connections

I coat externals with glue

Stack reaction and let the bombs fly.

I mix and crush old habits and bad ideas, make a paste.

I am setting myself up again.

Abstinence becomes the pestle of bludgeoning and abasement.

I am hard and I am hollow

Wounded pride, I subjugate my soul

My life is reduced to a powder, I am mortified.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

The Acts of Hope

July 30

The Acts of Hope

I cover my head when I pray in hopes that G-d wants me sheltered.  I attend meetings to keep alive the hope that sobriety is the end of isolation.  I talk to the people in my network hoping I have something helpful to share.  I sit down to the blank page with hopes that HP still chooses to collaborate with me.  I pick up my paintbrush filled with hope that color is still my friend.  I inhale air along with hope that each breath is worth the effort and I am worthy of this life.

Take your inventory but don’t sell your stock

*

WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS DUCK

The duck looks fine sitting on the edge,

The rubber face frozen in a permanent grin

The appearance is flawless.

As long as it is not called to duty

No one will ever know.

Stay still---don’t jump.

When dropped into the water

This creature born for the tub

Lays on its side, one eye looking at the ceiling

The other straight at the bottom.

Floating is occurring but something is oh so wrong.

As indelicate as it may seem

This duck needs a big squeeze

No kid gloves and tender touches.

This duck has sucked in old bathwater

And misused ideas

Only a big push in the right direction

Will get this rancid stuff out.

Though the duck will get bend out of shape

There is no reason it can’t bounce back

That’s the wonderful thing about rubber

It is flexible and resilient

Even if it doesn’t always volunteer.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

The Regulator

July 29

The Regulator

Face to face the clock stares me down.  I nearly dare the mismatched hands to beat me at my part.  Their never-ending round-house drops me to the ground.  My foot work is no equal for eternity.  Fancy days and star lit nights distract me from the fight I’m losing, directing my thoughts to what I gain.  If I turn with the hours dwelling in the moments the clock and I are friends, no more mad-dogging, no time to lose.  Time is with me till the end, it is not the death of me; it’s the time of my life.  

Smuggle your sweetness out from under your cynicism

*

PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS

There is a penny in the bathtub.

I wonder who stood in there with loose change

Possibly confused it for a wishing well the penny was tossed in.

The stories I could tell, the hopes that tantalize my mind

Elves and leprechauns, dreamers and optimists,

All trundle through my thinking.

When I don’t know the answers

At least now I can look for the best,

The sweetest thoughts.

I don’t run to the dark and threatening disasters

I have lost the lease to my personal black cloud

The one which used to follow wherever I went.

I can smile now

And think of pennies from Heaven

The first drop landed in my tub.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Clap

July 28

Clap

I know how to put my hands together, but I am unable to clap.  It’s not that my palms can’t locate each other; it’s that I cannot find the beat.  I sing; lilting rhythms rolling from my tongue.  I keep time and drum the tattoo of jingle dress dance songs, but when my hand comes against its mate something is off.  Faltering nuance plays havoc with my exuberant desire.  I want to join the crowd in syncopated applause, yet my brain drops out.  Because the gap is too far to leap I must walk around to the other side and by then I’ve lost the moment, the world has moved on without me.  I used to think I needed to run my routine a little faster, but now I realize I need to learn to leap the gap and trust the beat to find me.

Engender your actions with optimism

*

PRESTO

Just because I own pointy boots

Doesn’t mean I can corral the cows.

I have in my possession many things

Of subtle intent but they can’t transform me.

The wings from Halloween don’t make me an angel.

The Big Book on the shelf won’t sober me up.

Nothing holds the magic to change me.

I can only change with help.

Action, action and more action

Is the magician’s slide of hand.

It slides my hand from glass to grace

I don’t need to pull a rabbit from my hat.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Un-imbedded

July 27

Un-imbedded

This week I have decided to be braver about where I invest my time, not all of it mind you but a portion of my diligent yet strangely unproductive time.  I have to say I am realizing that I hide in pretty much every area of my life and that is no way to live and a really bad example to offer.  The worst thing about hiding is it doesn't keep me safe; it just subjects me to different evils.  It reminds me of that poor reporter who was imbedded in a tank and he died from not moving and his blood pooling and dehydration, so the tank kept him from getting his head shot off, but killed him in a different way, so in the end he wasn't safe and neither am I.  I believe in prudence as a good policy, I do, but there is much that could make me stronger, happier, better, if I lift my head a bit and reach out my hand.

Defrost things which freeze you in place

*

ALICE

Because I even wore out my welcome

at the Mad Hatters house,

I can sit on my hands at my sponsors table

And listen, listen, listen.

If I had been able to make a place for myself

with the looking glass folk

I could never let myself loose my eccentricities

And join in the fellowship.

Going down further than a rabbit hole

I lost my need to chase or scramble after bunnies

For time or card tricks.

No more illusions for me.

I am awake and shaded

by the tree of AA branching over me

Sisters I didn’t know take my hand.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Keds

July 26

Keds

If I gave a child a pair of sneakers would I refuse to help them to tie them on?  Would I want this kid to wear them open, tongues hanging out, laces dangling and dangerous? Or worse would I want the child to have to lug the sneakers around; the kid feeling the need to treasure the gift and protect it from use or wear?  I hope that I would not be this sick, misguided or deranged.  I have to say that I have given up believing in a crazy G-d but this doesn’t mean that I can’t drive G-d crazy with my insane behavior.  I have to stick my feet inside my shoes and lift my foot for help and open my mouth to ask, then pay close attention so I can learn to do it on my own; all the while not beating myself up that I can’t do it already.

Treat adventure as a requirement for life

*

STUBBORN

When the donkey won’t move forward

It’s time to stop running

No need to make an ass of myself

Through force or coercion.

The dumb animal may be mute but its actions speak.

Reluctance is a warning.

If my animal nature is balking

Listening not shoving in the preferred course.

Super intelligence can’t best good horse sense.

I must stand with my intuition

That creature depends on my survival for life.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Dear G-d

July 25

Dear G-d

I need help.  I need help availing myself of the help you have provided me.  I am embarrassed to lack the ability to complete all the steps necessary for achieving the goals you have set before me.  I see now that it is always my turn with you and I can stop standing aside believing that I have had your attention and must now do without.  I do not want to ask for more; I don’t want to seem greedy.  I forget that you know my heart and that you trust me.  I am going to make that a two-way street, maybe a four-lane highway.  I need help, thank you for being help full.

Love,

Sherrie

The obvious is sometimes invisible

*

ACCESS

Writing to you my Sweet,

Allows me to give what I have available

At the moment it comes into my possession.

You reading lets you invite me in,

When you are ready or willing

Possibly both.

I can store succulent treasure for you

Without the least consideration of

Freezer burn or apathy.

You are here when I want you,

Yearning and prepared

I am yours for the taking

In the classroom, the bedroom

Or even in your bath

I can whisper or shout to you.

I can rant or tell jokes to you

You can embrace or ignore me

Introduce me to your friends

Or keep me your own personal province.

We are intimates

Because I bare my soul to you

And you take me into yours.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Speak!

July 24

Speak!

Are there songs a bird must not sing while communing with the flock?  Do fish learn to restrain their expressions while schooling?  Or are we the only animal versed in the language of taboo?  I wonder when I hear the cows lowing in the night are they giving whispered voice to things they longed to moo about all day.  I know what to keep inside, things too flamboyant for out of doors.  I understand to keep body and soul together I must keep down and hush, but when I complain to my pup does she comprehend or is it just blah, blah, blah; in her world of speak maybe it is like it is?

If your pallet is limited broaden your ideas

*

SHARING

Please take a bite of my PB&J,

I made it myself, it is fine as it is

I slathered the bread and cut it neatly

Still I can’t help but want to offer some to you.

I know to stand and smile next to you

Watch you lick the peanut butter from the roof of your mouth

Have you dab jelly from the corner of my lips

Will make this sandwich even better.

You bring so much to this meal

Something bright and clever --you bring you.

I can pull things together and set it all up

But somehow my creation is never quite complete

Until I share it with you.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Before Ophelia

July 23

Before Ophelia

Young women drown themselves before Shakespeare immortalized, memorialized Ophelia.  But having a poster child changes us.  Cautionary tale or rallying cry, Ophelia is a hand to hold on dark cold days when the light is hard to find and everything seems bent toward destruction.  Not that I think she solved anything with her despondent act just that she stands in the familiar frame I find myself in from time to time.  When I imagine I’ve invented the wheel it makes it harder to step down and walk.  Ophelia’s fate makes it easier to get off depression’s bus and find my way back home.

Press your excuses for truth

*

TOOTH FAIRY

I slide my hand under the pillow

And am disappointed not to find a quarter.

I feel I deserve one though I didn’t leave a tooth.

I did leave my bite,

I’ve toned down my bark a bit too.

It has not been easy.

I’ve spent much of my life snapping and growling

At the world around me.

I have shortened the leash on these reactive behaviors

Many I have put to bed all together.

Improved conduct is prize enough

But I surely would enjoy a winged visitor

If only just for fun.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

The Landscape of Words

July 22

The Landscape of Words

Paint takes time to dry; I work with words.  I say azure and you are there with me, even if I am far from this mortal coil, my pigments stay fresh as long as you know blue, as long as you can hear me, read me, see me.  I paint 6X8 cell and we are imprisoned together, trapped, til I tell you of the key I slipped into your shoe.  I love the flow of watercolor, adore the mushy paste of oil, but nothing beats the world we paint and repaint here on this page.

Explain why frogs don’t have wings

*

GAME PLAYING

My Higher Power doesn’t play me like a board game.

Doesn’t monopolize my time or put me in jeopardy.

My trouble is my own.

I pursue trivia at my discretion.

I take or reject risk at will.

I scrabble my thoughts and am sorry when I make mistakes

.

But don’t expect to live in a candy land.

When I stick my hand in a mouse trap

Or fall down shoots and need to climb up ladders.

I know the game may not be over

But it is far too late to play let’s make a deal.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Rules

July 21

Rules

There are rules about breaking rules.  You can do it this way, but must not that way.  Cross this line and you get dragons; cross that line you get a good natured slap on the wrist.  Beneath the reflective surface of law I have found many shoals and sandbars; rocks and outcroppings, layer upon layer of blue depth I can only partly chart.  I also find inquiries in this matter meet with the same reaction as asking about: yeti, crop circles, or what was kept in Uncle Author’s spare room.  Those willing to talk about it I often fear to hear from and the reluctant to speak I fear to pursue.  You see this investigation is just another thing from under that sea.

Look before you listen

*

MY BABIES

Too often I have abandoned the infants

Of my creativity to doorways and charities

Having little patience I did not raise them

To their intended station.

Joyful parentage need not stop

At the cutting of the cord.

Down playing the importance of each birth

I leave beauty and art to be foundlings

And the province of others.

I can share the guardianship of these precious gifts

And be more than a broodmare for cunning and craft.

I have neglected things

For the promise of each new conception.

Overpopulation weakens the body of work

And leaves my portfolio listless and immature.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Taking the Field

July 20

Taking the Field

Humor is an illustration; a joke, an explanation.  I learn far more from the smiles than the jeers.  Laughter carries me; an action, which tears can’t always accomplish.  It is hard to live with constant descent, but wit is a quick impassioned friend.  Thoughtless conformity is an evil companion I prefer the company of those who play.  Life is too hard from the sidelines; I would rather take the field.

Find a pit crew before you crash

*

DEFINITIONS

I am close to my Higher Power

But I have no words to describe It.

I have found it best to say nothing unless asked.

When I do speak it is always the path I took

Or the way I held my face.

I know the things, which changed

And the wind, which blew.

This is not the sketch most people seek.

My skin is brown and my smile broad.

This is not from over exposure to beams of light.

Closeness warms me, I glow from standing near.

I know the face and form is different for everyday

I must not stop for definitions.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Rings of Color against Butterflies

July 19

Rings of Color against Butterflies

Resistance I can accomplish directly; impedance requires magnetism from an alternating world.  I can drag my heels and live life in a sandpaper shack making everything a chore, but what it takes to throw furniture in the path of progress, slamming doors and turning off the lights that is more than I can do on my own.  This takes the cooperation of my disease and me, the monkey-hoop, which is effort and clever repartee.  Look how well we do it, too.  Distracting possibilities, staving off humanity and the humane, may not sound like much, but it takes up our whole day; goodness is such a persistent little grub.  It takes a concerted effort to prevent it from chrysalis and failing that, still more determination to make sure it doesn’t fly.   

Listen to music the way you walk through a garden

*

2 CHAIRS

Math is the language which moves

Closest to the speed of my brain.

The language of recovery slows my thinking

So I am more than numbers and clicks.

I need not race my mind in an effort to win.

I am my prize.

The victory is mine if I can embrace who I am.

I can use numbers to figure whether I am more or less

But owning who I am must be given

To the talk of the soul and heart.

My nashamah is not an astral projection

To be theorized but the seat of my emotions.

The only way to discover myself

Is through deep and loving conversation

So I had best pull up two chairs.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Cicatrix and Love

July 18

Cicatrix and Love

The mark left by injury is indelible though it may heal, the consequence remains.  This is also true of love.  I am branded and changed by your affection.  The improvement wrought in me does not leave when you do.  If you stop loving me, can no longer remember my name, my face, my sigh; I am better for having had your love if only for a short time.  Good medicine offers lasting results; the miracle of your love is my health.  The blush in my cheek, the revitalization I feel is traceable to you, to the days you held me in your heart and the nights you held me in your arms.  And though I want you back in my world the best of you lives on in my life.

Slice time with your thoughts and peer through the pieces

*

JUXTAPOSITION

Right next to this world is the globe that I came from.

The landmarks are similar but these spheres have little in common

The angle of refraction illuminates the place of my origin

The source of this light is legend.

On my home planet, the existence of sobriety is cast off as myth.

I held onto this tale with my heart.

I slipped the gravitational bonds of Crazy one night

By the glow of the ready button on the coffee pot.

Here and there intersect at only one point

A room with some chairs and a circle with a triangle.

The meeting was on step one

And it was a good place to jump in.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Horse Play

July 17

Horse Play

The sequestered equestrian rides alone through the night; the wood is as quiet as she.  Passing no one; speaking not a word, she slips into the paddock without a nicker or a neigh. I long to be just as she, not silent sentinel, but living a whist fleet life, a power unto myself.  What stands between are my hurt feelings and my longing to be loved.  I can’t blame myself for either, but work to heal and grow.  Nagging need is a pestilence I will be well rid of; the irredeemable past is luggage for a catalog, not for hauling on my back.  I will mount up and ride my great round stead, the night is mine when I am ready the path is there I know.

Imagine an ostrich in flight

*

GRAFT

The bottom has been cut out

My underpinnings stripped from me..

Budding ambition whittled down, transplanted,

Saddled onto the rock like stock of other peoples sobriety.

Taped to the leg of my sponsor I heal and grow.

I splice my thinking with the rich ideas of improved living

I cling to the cleft, divisions made from the people,

Places and things of my past leave me split,

Primed for fresh growth and opportunity.

Never again do I need return to the sordid

Acquisition of power or control

There is no gain when I am bolted to position and influence

Graft is graft for good or bad

I don’t have to grow where I was planted.

Rounder

July 16

Rounder

Back again, yes, that I see, but change is not the same as return.  What I know of you is your past.  I believe the past because I know it.  If there is a new you to meet that remains to be seen.  Even a chameleon sheds its skin, though I doubt its intrinsic nature is altered much in the process.  So flash your smile and wind your words into the thoughts of those with whom you have no history.  I’ve been exposed before, the virus doesn’t conquer me, I am immune.  Once bitten makes me wary when you come around again.

Pick a color and let it find you all day

*

TO SLOOP

When I was a tanker- I carried such a heavy load.

The diesel cycle ran at regular intervals

And my internal temperature was terrific.

The fuel sprayed and things went round and round

The cost was high.

Now my principal means of propulsion

Is the wind in my sails.

Conversion was difficult

Though I found the rigging and mast a fascination

The ballast was a heavy load to bear.

Cargo is something short lived

To be cast off at the next port.

Incumbent discretion is welded to my keel

And will go with me to every harbor.

As a tankard, liquid was transported or consumed.

As a cutter, dependability keeps me tacking into the wind.

Now my outlay is low and my rewards are high

I carry only what I need, I am free, a sloop upon the sea.

Sympathetic Strings

July 15

Sympathetic Strings

A guitar with 28 strings generates much sympathy from the cords which were not strummed.  Pluck is contagious and inspires much harmony and verve in the vicinity in which it shows face.  Sympathetic strings vibrate in response to the jangling around them but are tuned to their own notes.  Much distortion adds to the depth of the sound created by this throng.  Can you hear my life?  How a disturbance in my life rings in the lives which surround me?  How I twitch and chime when things are twanged in the lives of my neighbors, my friends, my kin.  We make the music of care, the discord of reaction.  To every move there is a sound to every sympathy a harmony. 

Surprise yourself with the light in your own eyes

*

THE LIVING DREAM

Throwing yourself into the river in pieces

Drowns you as crumbs.

Casting aside love and longing

makes you less in your heart

and your soul stops beating.

Pitching your tent with critics and complainers

Leaves you out in the cold on warm summer evenings.

Crest the hill to meet the rising sun

Orbit the constellations without hesitation.

Petit point the pictures in your mind

Then set them to music.

The world is your dream

Live it into reality.

Wales

July 14

Wales

It is safe for the houses to sleep in the streets, but not for me.  I cannot follow that which is so right and regular for mundane things.  I am a jagged piece and it is hard for me to find my place.

The sun comes though everyone’s windows and peeks around the blinds left down.  I must mind my manners and not be a nuisance or a bother; draw no undue attention to my brightness, carry a basket to hide it in.

And while every river can drown its sorrows in the rush of the downhill sweep to the sea; I must stand here stock cold sober and bear the pain appointed to me.

Curl your fingers into the tangles of life and hang on

*

WAKE

Don’t worry that you might spoil the procession

By getting out of your coffin.

You don’t need to lie there waiting for the lid to close.

People will walk past saying ---so sad---too bad

But don’t lie instate just to keep them from feeling

Their trip was a waste.

Just because the crypt has been purchased

Doesn’t mean you’re ready to go.

There are still opportunities to dance.

Don’t die for love, glory or pride.

Don’t die before your time.

Death is only an honor

If you lived every preceding second.

Old Nasty

July 13

Old Nasty

My addiction is like a Percheron, bigger and more powerful than I am, but what I have learned is that if I treat this horse with due respect and a guiding hand from my recovery and my Higher Power I can harness the energy of my illness and use its’ force to make my life work.  I can never be the master of alcoholism, but I can see it for what it is; an overgrown instinct looking for an outlet.  When I am given my way out I take this beast with me and when I value that partnership we are both safe.  When I have tried to lock it in a stall and run far from the barn, it kicks my life down.  When I put my head in the yoke willingly, together we are led and we do the work which is fulfilling and rich.  I was meant to work in a team, I am grateful to have a teammate.

Close your eyes and look at yourself

*

QUICK-------SAND !!!!!!

Don’t ask how deep the quicksand is. Said my sponsor.

It’s your job to get out of it--not quantify it.

I’m not sure how to get out.

Will you come and get me. I ask her?

No Darling, if I get in we will both be down for the count

The only chance we have for me to help you

Is if I stay out of the morass

With my feet firmly on solid ground.

What if you can’t get me out. I cry?

I will go get more help.

What if all of AA can’t get me out?

Angel, my hope is, that if there was no way out

You wouldn’t even know you were stuck.

A Year For Me

July 12

A Year for Me

The world is my mollusk and I am its pennyweight paragon, witty girl that I am.  I have spent enough time surrounded by wet feet and confining shells, all held at the bottom of the sea.  This is a year for me.  I am going to climb over the rim of my briny brink and try myself against the fearsome winds of chance.  Although souse is buoyant I feel strong enough to stand my ground.  Time has come for life, open and raw, but I shall leave the clams to the casino.

Allow ticklish issues to make you laugh

*

HOLD THE LINE

Relax is not the same as give up.

Unwind is not fray.

Letting go doesn’t mean never grab hold.

It is important to have moderation in all things

Including moderation, exuberance and enthusiasm,

These are wonderful in their season

Too much and I could get an adrenaline addiction.

Make sure your song has more than one note

And make sure you sing more than one song in your life.

Change, interest and excitement are vital to my existence

If you take all the spikes and ridges

Out of your life line

It means you’re Dead.

Let God Do What?

July 11

Let God Do What?

I hesitate to let go to G-d because I fear that G-d doesn’t like me, or likes me now, but doesn’t like me all the time.  I think I got this belief from being the only child of parents who don’t like children.  It never mattered how good I was, how smart or thoughtful, well informed, helpful, I always ended up being treated like I was a burden, someone to be endured.  If only I was likeable, I would think to myself and try recreating me to become….what?  Finally I settled on indispensable, if I could make myself necessary, then my life would be okay. People would need me therefore they would want me.  What I discovered is that people who can’t live without me end up resenting me.  By the time I was so important to others I was no longer important to me, so I didn’t need G-d’s help because I didn’t need anything, I didn’t exist.  Over time what I have settled on are a few truths: People who don’t like kids shouldn’t have them.  And I need G-d’s help to learn how to want to be here on this planet since I was not brought to earth by people who wanted me.

Title your dreams

*

SYMPTOMATIC BOUQUET

My bouquet of symptoms took root in alcoholism

I displayed these blossoms to few.

I thought I could keep these problem posies to myself.

No need to worry

Everyone has a bit of manure in their lives.

Mine hardly seem strange.

Planted in addiction things grew in a dramatic way

Pruning became unworkable,

Drastic measures were required.

Uprooted and exposed these virulent stalks

Created the need for help from better gardeners than I.

Thinned and repotted these character traits

Have fruited many a lovely harvest.

None of which could have happened

Had I been left in the family plot.

Special

July 10

Special

Is it the wiring between my ears, the size of the pump in my chest?  The difference which can be seen when you look from me to the neighbors? I know that you feel me to be special.  I feel me to be special, too, just like you.  Defining that thing, that combination which unlocks the mundane is more than just an attempt to point a finger; it’s a search for that little light.  Close and closer we pull together and that is special, but now I will whisper it, tell you the secret truth is my ability to play.  Come play with me!

Whistle with the tune the wind brings you

*

IT’S MY PARTY

The party I was throwing myself in addiction

Was nothing but a very long wake.

There were no smiles, only murmurs of what might have been.

I was filled with tears I couldn’t cry

And mourned my death as I caused it.

When I took off my little black dress

And stepped from this shroud

I closed the bar, clicked the switch and the dirge stopped.

The funeral ended prematurely

I walked into AA where I learned to be the life of the party.