March 17
UNNECESSARY WORDS
I’ve spent years trying to put names on the streets in my
twelfth step map, post clear signs with monikers easy to remember, themed and
progressive. But I have been wasting my
time. The map is there, no doubt, and I
have seen people follow it to varying degrees.
The names are unnecessary. Like
ants, we trail each other’s scent. We
track closely so as not to lose visual contact; we don’t play with our
survival. Or we are bees standing in
front of the meeting, doing the dance, which describes the path to sobriety
with meaningful jokes and well-earned tears.
As I stand at the foot of a few twenty-fours and see the evolution of my
recovery, I realize the names in the placards are ever changing. Meaning and value pour through the
kaleidoscope of time and come out as indescribable gifts, which I can only give
through action. I will no longer fritter
away my time looking for tags and titles.
Rename your
problems.
*
Malaria
Flailing, reaching, screaming;
hiding, avoiding, misdirecting,
theses are subsets in a list of extremes
whose commonality is lacking, lacking humility.
I fall to pieces just thinking of standing exposed,
imperfect and unprotected.
I’m not sure what I think will happen to me
in this posture; instantaneous death?
Couldn’t be, I’m not that lucky,
nor am I foolish enough to think that I am that lucky.
Possibly, I fear rancorous humiliation,
but really who is powerful enough to do that to me?
I know and like myself well enough
to deflect obvious flying nonsense,
so what is it that I do flee?
I think it is the endless grinding inelegance of life,
the stinging nettled nature of things,
my inability to weave my way around
my weakness and slip into the open unpoisoned.
I fear exchanging peace for failure.
Humility is when I know I cannot fail.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane
and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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