Friday, January 31, 2014

Trust

January 31


TRUST

My sponsor always says, “You can trust people to be who they are.”  I am a different being in relationship to different people.  To some, I am the center of their constellation, the sun burning bright; I’m all they can see.  To others, I am the moon, orbiting them, silent and dedicated.  With another group, I am a comet streaking through the sky, seldom seen but well remembered.  For many, I am a distant star, one among the multitude, blending in the night with the other signs.  Then, there are the folks who see me in a more down to earth way.  I am the dirt beneath their feet.  The farmers see me as a plant to be tended.  The cowboys view me as a horse to be broken.  To fishermen, I’m a catch.  I am what people want to see, so what can I trust them to be?  Wrapped in their own worlds?  Yes, mostly, I guess.  None of my business in the end.  I watch them and learn what I want to do, who I want to be, in large part, by avoiding what I see them do.  I do trust people to serve as bad examples often and good ones infrequently, and for each of them to see me through their own filter, if they see me at all.  From me, they can expect the same.



Find a corner, then pitch a tent.
*




The Was and the Is

The Silent Scream that existed as a placeholder
for my G-d was incomprehensible to me.
I entered AA and was informed
that understanding my Higher Power was required
not just some far distant goal.
In true alcoholic form my first move was to shun G-d.
This made room for my rage
which was in much need of the space.
After a few fine years of dissipation
I lost interest in incendiary devices
no matter how large their detonation capacity.
Having cleared the room I brought in G-d as potted plant.
I talked to it occasionally, watered and fed it, mostly ignored it.
Growing in spite of lacking ministrations
G-d was an unobtrusive force living in the corner
changing gas into air and demanding nothing.
As I quelled my apprehension and lived with the Presence
I looked, listened, probed and questioned
the subtle Force sharing the room.
“Add it up,” chanted the children in my ear,
“run the numbers, settle the accounts.”
I calculated proofs and discarded the faulty and inaccurate.
What was left, the whole, not the remainder was mine to keep,
But it was not everything.  I haven’t an everything G-d,
because I am not a nothing person.
I am something and G-d is something too.

We are complimentary,
like pairs of angles who come full circle.



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

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Nurse

January 30


NURSE

What if the word God is like the word nurse?  What if the person is only the simple meaning?  The actor doing the service, the plain act, uncontrollable from my end.  What if my active part of God is the same as my active part of nurse?  What I draw down; how I schedule myself to be ready when the milk arrives?  How I pull and am satisfied, digest and draw again, like the sea laps at the shore, the moon tugging it all the while.  What if God is about my hunger, satisfaction dependent on finding a suitable teat? 
Maybe this is why, when it comes to God, much of what I do is cry.  When faced with my need, I open my mouth, finding only two possible responses: suck or scream.  My aching consumes me and I don’t know how to calm myself.  I look for the caretaker, the person, the deed.  I need succor, but never look for the breast.  I am the child of God; I must learn to draw God in.


Paint a picture of life after expectation.
*

Inertia

n.

1.     Physics.  The tendency of a body to resist acceleration.
The tendency of a body at rest to remain at rest
or of a body in straight line motion to stay in
motion in a straight line unless acted on by an
outside force. Resistance or disinclination to
motion, action, or change.

This force is real; the laws that govern it act on me for well and ill.
When I’m on a roll it’s hard to guide me
and like the girl with the curl; when I’m stuck,
I’m very, very stuck and it’s awful.

I am bound by this reality and go or stay according to what is set
in motion or stopped, but what about ‘the outside force’?
Am I in charge of summoning ‘it’ or is ‘it’ summonable at all?

Will ‘it’ obey like the dog, or obey like the cat?
Or is ‘it’ more random than the rain?
Can ‘it’ be lured or tempted or does ‘it lure and tempt me?

And the biggest questions on my mind:
Is ‘the outside force’ also subject to inertia?
Are we in this together?

What is ‘its’ outside force?
Might it have something to do with me?


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

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

My Mother's Face

January 29

MY MOTHER’S FACE


The way that age pours down my mother's face when she is sad reminds me that grief runs through my blood.  Generation after generation has been transfused with anxious woe.  Heartbreak vexes minds full of fear.  There is no easy way to round the bend on sharp pointed issues; the route is circuitous.  I battle the chaotic thinking to fight my way back to a place where my mother’s eyes sparkle as they squint closed with her smile.  The war of peace is not easily won by contemporaries.  We must close ranks between the ages to keep the joy from sheeting off our skin and keep the sadness in proportion.  Restore us to our possible bliss; we can overtake ecstasy from there.


Build ladders for the boxes that confine you.
*

Sponsorship


Right now, as I think of sponsorship,
I think of all the things I have done wrong.
Times when I was not understanding enough
and times when I was too understanding and enabling.

Sponsors I chose for ulterior motives
and the ones I didn't challenge when they wandered away.
I search my mind for the ingredients
that were in the mix when things went well
and the dominant component was willingness, mine and theirs.

Whether I was sponsor or sponsee,
willingness overrode ability, determination and love.
We had to come to the table willing,
this was never something we were able to cook up or construct.

Nor is it something I can always hold onto,
sometimes willingness evaporates
or slips away like sand in a clenched fist.

The permanence and impermanence
of sponsorship awes and frightens me.
Like a guidewire twisted from many strands
none of which reaches from end to end
I worry about the unraveling but depend on the strength.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Amends

January 28


AMENDS


Amends is about truth and change.  The relationships of my past were places of little truth and even less change.  I tried to be nice not honest; I tried to keep things going even when they needed to die.  Making amends has ended most of my relationships from the past.  A quick strong 10th step keeps me from starting too many new ones.  Good healthy relationships require time and attention, so this necessitates a short list.  Sometimes I wish for more quantity, but I realize in sobriety I cannot accept less quality.



Tie your shoes with humor.
*

Simplicity Itself

My life runs at a Gilbert and Sullivan pace,
with about as much sense and comic relief.
You say 'keep it simple'
and my disease says 'why ruin a good play?’

The truth is this is not play at all
but a work that consumes my life from me
and doesn't thank me for my time.

Simplicity for me requires respect,
a gift I selectively give myself
a gift that I often use only as a shield during battle.

My past method of increased self-respect
is life in a war zone, this is no solution.
Release of grief, this is the onerous path I avoid taking.

Purging the wrong thinking and action of others
from my blood, my eyes, my skin,
allows me to lift my chin and square my soul.

To plumb and level living,
don self-respect as a birth right
and set a calendar fit for plausible life, a simple life.


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

Monday, January 27, 2014

Deep in the Sea

January 27


DEEP IN THE SEA

Under the mirror, there is a life.  Under what I reflect to the world, I am a world apart.  I smile sweetly, political in my response to confrontation and conflict.  Deep, deep in the sea, is a current of sadness I can’t always shake.  Pain is the past, but it’s there like a moray, lurking to strike aimlessly, pointlessly, at the passers-by.  The ripping teeth and cold stare, my terror.  No way to escape it, I focus on the topside, the reflective part of me.  I keep the surface as clean and free as can be.  I stick to my business, list goals and make plans.  The water runs cold and then hot beneath.  I carry the steps to this under-water grave, trying to inflate the rubber skin of god, but no.  There is no life in the god of my understanding, or maybe there is no life for the character the drowned balloon represents.  The sea is bigger than me, the life stronger and more abundant. The sky it reflects as vast as the liquid I swim.  There is a Power and it doesn’t need that comic book face.  Safety is not the requirement that can be granted.  Lack of safety does not end my life.  It does not end God.


Tear open your thoughts like a letter you read mostly between the lines.
*

A Living Love




What I love about the program
is that it is a living thing, like me.
It is not perfect, it is growing and changing,
adapting and correcting for each experience and need.

AA is a life into life process
and saves me because life begets life,
no matter what I was told.

The answer to life is living
and I get to see that being done
by everyone from newcomer to old-timer
each at his or her personal ability.

I am allowed to dangle my feet,
wade, tread-water and swim,
all under the watchful eye of
loving support and critical pretender.

Difficulty is not removed nor is the way made smooth,
but I am no longer without a thread to hold.
I love the web I help weave myself into
and feel protected from the spider of my addiction
because together we are living proof.



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

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Button Box

January 26


BUTTON BOX

I go to my button box to sort out my life.  I lay out matching sets, the various sizes, shapes and colors.  Coat buttons are commanding but unsuitable for the delicate places.  The tiny pearl buttons with shanks pull my attention but work well only on silk.  The metal, shell, and horn buttons come from such far off places and all end up here crossing my table, as I try to see clearly how to stick with the winners. 
I know the people represented in this box, the strong, the loud, the beautiful.  I know the weak, the unique, the ones of special circumstances and occasion.  I come to the realization the simple ones, the buttons sewn on the inside, the ones who silently give strength and support to the large and small alike, the ones which come in every shade and size, which match their ability to the service they can render others, these are my favorites.  They make secure all the things I love and trust in sobriety.  Flat and unobtrusive, these buttons hold fast the fabric of my life.


Name your pens and pencils.
*



Responding to Response

Thankfully I’m not in charge
of what is so freely given in this program.
I want it to be available,
but I want gratitude to be the universal response.

At first I thought I couldn’t understand
how anyone could hold this gift in their hands
and not feel grateful,
truth is I know exactly how that’s done
and I don’t want to look at that ugly thing.

“Cunning, Baffling, Powerful”
But they left out how repulsive it is,
maybe they didn’t want to see it either,
or thought it was self-explanatory.

No matter which,
I’m glad I am not the arbiter
of the flowing fount that is recovery,
I might have been tempted to cap and meter it,
killing all the beauty and wild randomness
that makes it real and true.

I despair that others don’t recover as I recover
and yet I am relieved that I didn’t have to drink as they drank.
I have to see those around me well enough
to stay out of their traps or follow their leads,
whichever is appropriate,
but I don’t have to adjudicate their reply.



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

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Life as an Elm

January 25


LIFE AS AN ELM

I stand tall, my bark sloughing elongated rectangles.  Great bunions of protruding wood, giant bubbles of tight grain grown in reactionary curls, these tumors born of abuse and endured in maturation are harvested in recovery.  The burden of them is severed from me by the sharp teeth of truth.  Sectioning these masses for purposes of inventory allows the twisted and deformed wood to become dry and constructive.  I inlay the contorted sheets of history into the panels of the doors AA built for me, the doors built to exit hell, which gave me access to the world beyond. 
I stand in the woods, reaching the sky, sinking deeply to the underlying springs, surrounded by the joys of reality, things unseen in my pain- consumed, blister-covered life of addiction.  Life was a forest of one; the wind hit only me; the snow fell only on me; the drought affected only me.  Today, lightened by the loss of my inappropriate growth, I grow together with my sponsor, my group, and the we.  I can accept shade and shelter; also offer it.  The bugs and parasites meet with the resistance of communal health, and my disease has no harbor, not in my bark, not in my heart.  Today, my program strips me of my disabilities and makes me strong in camaraderie.

Cry just to water your face.
*


The Max Factor


I apply foundation and rouge
to make up the difference between reality and expectation.
My composition is unexamined by onlookers
Appearance is the subliminal standard bearer.

My brave face is plaster cast
as an estimation and a singularity.
Powder gives and takes power;
builds a glass ceiling then a glass floor.

What I owe my mind
is more than what I allow its representation to be.
I am made up to a spot on the wall
from which I can not move,
all because I wanted to put my best face forward.



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

Friday, January 24, 2014

Compost

January 24


COMPOST

Looking at the bins, the stages of decomposition remind me of my disease, the stinking garbage I came in with.  I have learned to work my program the same way I learned to tend my pile: personal experience, advice, watching and smelling the mistakes of others and myself.  I learned that covering thoroughly with meetings and steps works like leaves and hay to eliminate the immediate stench.  Circulation is important to prevent me from becoming stale.  In the end, the secret is turning it over.  If I don’t turn it over, I become putrid; I rot and ferment instead of decomposing, breaking down in a way which restores me to usefulness.  When I work the process, my Higher Power turns me into a medium of growth, a renewed source of life and depth.  I become rich in all the things that matter and sought after by all the people involved in planting seeds of hope.
My sponsor says it’s a sign of humility that I aspire to be like dirt, encouraging sprouts from the remnants of my past.
She might be right.


Speak from your heart, listen with your mind.
*


Frankie


“Why do I expect new leaves to grow on dead sticks?”
I pleaded to my sponsor.
“Is that a ‘why do fools fall in love’, question?” she retorted.

“Oh, I suppose it is.  I was doing so well having a ‘listen only’
relationship with someone then she asked why I don’t tell her
my opinion and I like a ‘fool’ I told her.
The ensuing pile of rationalizing and justifying
she gave stank up my whole day.”

“I bet your steady stream of self-reproach didn’t help either,”
my sponsor added.
“But, I know better!” I cried.  “I mean this is why I stopped
my speaking role with this girl.
I know she is a reactor NOT a listener.
How could I fall apart at her first recognition that I am wordless
in the face of her diatribes?”

“You were hopeful, is that such a crime?
You think better of people than they really are.
I think that helps you stay willing to help them,” she soothed.

“Yes, but this snapped my willingness to work with her in half.
How do I put it back together?”
“Maybe you needed to learn that it’s okay to leave the dead sticks behind.”


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

Thursday, January 23, 2014

The Process

January 23

THE PROCESS


The mountains don’t wash away like sandcastles.  The amount of persistence required is far greater.  Acorns don’t work like sunflowers; not everything is instant gratification.  Marathons aren’t run in seconds.  If you don’t love the whole adventure, pick a smaller goal.  There is no shame in sunflowers or sandcastles or microwave popcorn as long as you want it and hold it in esteem.  Time-consuming, life-consuming journeys have a high price in boredom and are not worth the consumption if that is not where your heart leads you. You don’t have to love washing the pans to be a good baker but it helps.  Peace is in the process.


Leave space on your plate for discussion.

*


Lathhouse



I want to face the sun.
I want to stand and the wind to blow.
I want the rain uninterrupted on my head.
I want to remain upright and unburnt,
to prevail amidst it all.

Tender stalks and verdant leaves
frustrate my anti-social streak.
I want to bear the worst
without cover or assistance
but here I am in the slanted shade of this dynasty.

As I grow so does the awareness
that even when I am strong enough
to leave this sheltered abode
I will be relocated to a row where I am never alone.


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

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

The Music

January 22


THE MUSIC

I hear a tinkling noise and look around the room.  No, it’s coming from my head.  It’s the sound of the music of my life.  The bells, a horn or two, the strings, always the strings.  The sharp clear cry of the vixen, calling from the hedge row.  The lonely voice of resolve.  The melody shifts, tomorrow’s tune warming up in the wee hours of the night.  I don’t try to part my lips.  Replication is not yet a possibility.  I am only just learning to move with the rhythm, keep the beat in my heart and draw it down for my toe to tap.  I cannot sing my song.  I must let it live in me a while longer.  I can’t share things of which I haven’t had my fill.  Giving too much, too often, makes the anthem run thin.  I have to be fully me, to be full voiced.  I need to stew in the juice of overflowing harmony.  The pounding of my feet on the steps unite the accord. 
Wild things and practiced plans put forward the waves of life on earth.  I follow, placing my feet in well-worn treads, the dance school reopened for sober living.  Passion plays and calls my response.  For today, I pass.  I leave the song inside.

Talk to yourself in a possibly unknown language.........Kindness
*



Guest Flag


The polite thing to do is
fly the silly blue rectangle
with its equally silly white diagonal stripe.

That would be the polite thing, for sure
but that would peek my disease’s hold card.
If anyone knew that my illness
was sailing my ship instead of me
the effect would be ruined.

Or so says the canker that grips me
and steers me to disaster.
Announcing this day-tripper as an unentitled accessory
to whatever wrong I am about to commit
might warn my friends or enlist my sponsor,

But no I leave my colors fly
and endanger the surrounding water.
For in truth my flag is just as fraudulent
as this vessel and is only on loan to me as well.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The Frog

January 21


THE FROG

Stretched in the water, still, the frog hangs.  The pond is barely a teacup, sufficient for the communion of God and frog.  I watch the frog, unblinking , savoring respiration.  In a pond in Maine, I bore this posture, center stage.  A quarter mile of water all around, I hold my head above the surface and feel I am in the eye of God’s creation, face to face with benevolence.  Peace spars with uneasy smallness.  I am a tiny speck, floating in the soup; I am one organism in a sea teaming with life; I am a part of, not privileged but equal to the rest.  Can I bear this reality, the struggle of living on a web?  Can I live a humble life, knowing I am favored no more than the rest?  Can I set aside my need for preferential treatment, a God-given Band-Aid for my multitude of hurt?
“If you can’t, you will drink," says my sponsor.
“If I have to live this way, I will cry,” I respond.
“That is your God-given right.”


Take someone else’s Higher Power out for a test drive.
*


Saurian or Dalliance


I love to be mystical
but the only dragon in my life
is when I drag on and on.

Procrastination is the winged beast in my world.
I armor plate the thing, shiny and gleaming,
my loitering delay is mightily impressive.

You might think it would take flight
from the way it postures
but departure has been adjourned
in favor of misgiving and postponement.

I wander through the forest
attempting to appear brave and feeling it occasionally
while my tale grows longer.

I need the fierce face and sharp claws
I can beat the mythology
if I will just continue to take action.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

Monday, January 20, 2014

Because

January 20

BECAUSE



Because I am my father’s child, I make my attendance at meetings frequent and regular.  Having looked deeply in the genetic mirror, I see so many bitter days.  I’ve run from the implications and sheltered in the steps.  The humility that saved my life is the understanding I am no different from my family.  And, since this is a progressive disease we all have, I will just get there faster.  Knowing who I can be helps me turn my will over and keeps me grasping my Higher Power’s belt loop.  All I am turns in every direction and can pull or push, lift or fall.  I know my assets and I know their power and their limitations.  All my hope is placed on a plan to use these resources.  I follow the only lead which has never promised more than it can deliver.


Be your own loving parent.
*



What Is A Sheep To Do?



Things are bad out there.
I see the trouble as I circle within the flock.
Many of us whisper to each other as we pass.
How can I create lasting change?

Is there something helpful
that will not separate me from my precious life,
something that will not make me prey
to the vultures before I even realize that I’m dead?

How can I live and strive
while the wolves hold the hilltops?
Is the choice merely, one death or the other?

Is there an as yet unseen path?
Can I find it
while maintaining my place in this congregation?
What is a sheep to do?


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

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Rock Bottom Prices

January 19


ROCK BOTTOM PRICES


Marble topped dressers, dry sinks and wardrobes, standing in the auctioneer’s warehouse, show loving use and obvious value.  The hungry consumers peruse the merchandise looking for the perfect piece to fit their need.  Old men eating ice cream sandwiches pick their way through the rows of tidbits laid out on the lawn, bargains to fill in odd spaces and little desires.  So like our meeting places, where people try to refurnish their lives.  The cost to arrive may have been high, but once in the market is more than fair.  We reclaim relics and we use them as road signs and warnings.  There is always someone around to carry large truths home and no one has to go away empty handed.  We bid on our own survival by buying someone else a break.  Time passes easily, as the one at the podium recounts the rock bottom prices.


Curl up inside the nautilus of your mind and take a nap.
*



Tea or Sympathy


Tears pouring into the teacup
growing cold on the table
create a sea of emotions uncharted.

If I cannot offer sympathy to the contents,
the soulless heel that I am,
how then do I expect to have a future?

If I will tender only meager tolerance
toward the spindled thing
valiantly trying to beat within me
why do I even show my face to the mirror?

If shoulders are cold and turned inward
then I will collapse into the inexpressive,
dismal thing that has been misshapen
through misuse.

I might as well drink the chilly tea
for that is all the comfort I will get.
I must do better by myself
in order to brew a better world.



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

Saturday, January 18, 2014

There is a Tree

January 18


THERE IS A TREE

There is a tree in the woods.  I’ve seen it.  It is cut off from any visible source of strength or sustenance.  Carried aloft by the surrounding trees, the splintered trunk dangles in the air.  It makes no connection to the forest floor.  I know the feeling.  I have been cut off too.  Violently separated from my God, as it were.  I probe the fractured stump at the bottom of my soul.  I explore the crevices seeking tendrils of hope.  My anxiety bonds to my frustration, but faith eludes me.  I look down to the broken place, the view unrealized by me.  I have a vista of unimagined beauty provided to me by the growth of others.  I am eye to eye with my peers, held in their loving embrace.  I bloom and flower with them.  I endure the winters the same as they, and come spring am the stronger for it.  I don’t know why I was damaged.  I don’t know why I was saved.  I am grateful it is done.
My sponsor says it’s for our sobriety and the pleasure of your company.



Think of three honorable people.
*


Between Two Chains


The curving movement half seen sweeps forward
and catches me squarely on the chin.
Realization glimmers that next time
it will strike me in the mouth
and I take a step back.

I estimate the returning arc, raise my arms,
push the board back from whence it came.
As it hurtles toward me once more, I reposition.

Force returns force;
fury comes vigorously my way
and I thrust with strength and enthusiasm.

And this is fine for what it is.
I have learned how not to get hit.
I can push when I get shoved.
How much better will it be
when I can get on and swing?

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

Friday, January 17, 2014

In the Comfort of My Room

January 17


IN THE COMFORT OF MY ROOM

I sit and panic concerning the future.  I have come through hell, built a safe and satisfying life, but it will all end soon.  I can feel it.  The tide rises in my soul, the blood red tide of self-doubt and degradation.  I fail to see my strength, or intelligence.  Hell, I can’t even remember the sheer willingness, which has carried me this far.  All I see are shreds, tattered little bits of my hopes and dreams, scattered by the breeze of fate.
What is the point of me being in this sweet space if I’m going to intellectually turn it to a dungeon?  Why set out fluffy pillows only to frighten myself daily with thoughts of their removal?  How can I pray for safety and practice personal terrorism?  With an open mind?  No!  My mind is closed to the double side of life.  I know the destruction but forget the glory.  I have washed ashore in the land of love and support.  I need not drag my mind and spirit to the nether world of hopelessness.  I’ve been to the dark places.  My task is to warm in the sunlit today.


Make an anagram of your name, which empowers you.
*

Hades


There is strangeness to the dark.
A velvety comfort
when my paranoia is not alive
with ice crystals and contempt.

Cocoons of light create hives of life
in an otherwise isolating phenomena.
Pressing to my skin I can wear the night out
as a jewel, a talisman for the hope I dare not share.

Pixies and faeries inhabit dawn’s wee hours
but the black blank stretch of space
is home to things quite different.

Unspeakable in their face I allow them to pass.
Should I be carried off my return is eminent
for half the seeds remain.

Not wholly ransomed I live only part time in the sun.
When the shadows fall there is the oddness of home
I can neither embrace nor deny.

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

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Feeding Squirrels on a One Lane Bridge

January 16


 FEEDING SQUIRRELS ON A ONE LANE BRIDGE

Cattle corn spread on the single Lane Bridge---the trap.  Food or safety?  There are plenty of other choices; my disease sees none of them.  Gluttony and danger the perfect combination.  How can I resist?  Why would I resist?  I have to have more.  I cannot depend on my nature, the ability God gave me to survive in my environs.  Help must come from outside, and must be wild and dramatic.  Inward help is boring, subtle, tiresome.  Where’s my image?  My excitement?
How am I going to prove my God worthy without too much, without perilous risk and rescue?  I can’t.  I can’t prove my God, and my God doesn’t need to prove anything to me.  I can find my way, off the beaten path, away from the prying eyes of rubberneckers.  No cheers from the crowd are necessary.  I have the equipment.  It came standard.  If I look at the controls and follow the twelve step tutorial, I should be able to manage just fine.  No Mack truck in my face, as I stuff myself with ill-gotten grain.


Look deeply into a glass of water searching for mermaids.
*


Bon


Comfort or motivation
these are the two major reasons for building a fire.
Sometimes I set it before me
other times under me.

The warmth can be soothing
and the light dazzling,
but licking flames move me
off the spot like nothing else.

Fuel and surrounds contribute to the effect.
Mental state and personal company
provide dampening or air.

How high the flames rise or how long they burn
varies widely inspiring my passions,
my thoughts, my fears

The conflagration is an apt tool
as long as I don’t go up in smoke.

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

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

No Maps

January 15

NO MAPS


Maps have existed longer than I have.  By the time of my birth, aerial photography had made pinpoint accuracy the norm.  I can be tracked by satellite on my daily commute.  I can get a Trip Tik and travel to the far reaches of this continent.
"So what’s your problem?” asks my sponsor.
There is no map for where we’ve been going.  There are the twelve steps but after that, it is all uncharted territory, except, of course for my family’s warnings about dragons.
“Those critters stay to home mostly.  You have bigger things to worry about.”
So, where’s the map?  I need to know where to go.
“No map.  We go through this together.  The pitfalls are similar: sex and money.  There are a few others.  What each of us finds on this journey is unchartable, plus if you spend your time looking down, you will miss the view.  We prop each other up as we step off into the unknown, and reel each other back if we start falling off the beam.”
How do I know if I’m doing it right?
“Are you still sober?”
Yes, but I’m unsure.  Lots of people are sober right up until the time they’re drunk.
“So true.  It’s all about motive, and it’s difficult to chart your heart.  Do you have willingness?”
Yes, you know I do.
“I have found that is the vehicle to everywhere, Honey.  Learn to enjoy the ride.”




Write silly verse.
*


Comparison Shopping



Cost analysis of the yeas and nays
requires a savvy consumer.
Every word has a variable price
dependent on whom it is spoken to
and when it is said.

Some words charge compound interest
and others pay dividends.
Timing and delivery is of the utmost importance.
Knowledge of the markets requires constant assessment.

The risk to benefit ratio varies widely
and the short term verses the long term price
can flip the market from profit to loss.

Hold my tongue, speak my mind,
these must be weighed;
the clock consulted and inventories taken.

What I say and when
can be less a matter of bull or bear
than whether or not I can afford to be a sheep.



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

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Gravity Works All the Time

January 14


GRAVITY WORKS ALL THE TIME

Limits and boundaries are a drag.  I hate feeling tied to the ground.  I know I could fly if not for unseen forces.  I sense myself lightening, smoothing, I drop my burdens; I pick up speed.  Fourth dimension!  Hell!  I’m proverbial vapor trails.  At this time I should explain.  When I get moving this fast, I inevitably wind myself into a position where my head is up my in my nether regions, a place it does not belong. 
I have slowly grown to love my limits; no restraint holds me back.  In reality, I am supported, rooted as it were.  I am not a hydroponic.  I can live in the real world.  I am me.  Encouraged by the wind and the rain, I am not the hot house flower.  I am truly free.  I can walk where I was born to walk.  I forget life has not been found outside my little world, and when it is, I’m still better off being me.


Introduce yourself to a new vegetable.

*
Specks


Spectacles are for specks;
tiny things that must be watched.
Commotion is nothing but a congregation
of minutia with an audience.

How many small things
do I strain my eyes to see;
then seek help to pursue further?

Some of these are put on display fishing for voyeurs.
Others are secreted away
only to be ferreted out through magnification.

Whether curiosity or contempt drives me
to these pinpoints I must search my motives
before I scan the plain.

For truly if I am not careful
I, myself will end up either speck or spectacle.


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

Monday, January 13, 2014

Catch

January 13

CATCH



How can my sensibility catch my intellect?  Or find a map with enough information to get my heart to the current location of my mind?  What are the common markers recognized by soul and brain?  I know the pulse of my wrist is counter-pointing the firing of my synapses.  My life signs run their course and I struggle to find the intersections.  I long for more than signposts and curbing.  I would like parallels, paradigms and conclusions.  There must be a place of common home and hearth.  I am looking for the depot of my life.  I hope I hit it before I hit the coast.


Warm your heart with your thoughts.

*
Offset


I often feel out of round
and unmatched to my counterparts.
Awkwardly I sit unable to strike a plausible pose.

I want my asymmetry to seem chic.
I feel a victim of universal ugliness
and gracelessly plod through my days.

Luckily offset thinking,
the partner of my offset soul, saves me.
I see that I am uniquely useful,

Like a screwdriver set at right angles
for use where a straight one could not reach.
I am counterbalance and compensation.

I may be lateral but I am also collateral.
I am an embellisher, beneficial in unexpected ways
and shouldn’t seek to be inline with the multitude.

I am the new growth,
the spur to the future.



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