Pink Cloud

April 30

PINK CLOUD

When the pink cloud lands in my valley, my task is to walk.  The pleasure of its presence can never outweigh the practice this cloud affords me. I walk in a haze of cherry blossom lightness; the future is a blur I do not fear.  Forward motion seeds my inertia; my gyroscope is set.  When dark clouds gather and the way is overshadowed, I will keep on.  When the test begins and I must proceed in the obscurity of night, the lively steps of pink-cloud days will cheer and empower me.  I can embed my future with right action and bank the confidence I feel today, saving it for the rain swept days that come to everyone.  Progress is positive even when made in bliss.

Get a cozy blanket for the times when the answers don’t come.

*

Reguess

When in my sarcasm

I suggested that you ‘guess again’,

I realized that you were in fact guessing,

guessing about everything,

Guessing in order to create a process of elimination,

a tool on which I now recognize you entirely depend.

Guessing as a way of life is a tragedy.

I’m not saying that trying to know every last thing in the world

is an acceptable alternate goal, but to reach an adult age

and not even be able to work your way up to a possible hunch

is scary, scarier than even my sarcasm,

Which at this moment seems interminable,

but I’m sure you guessed that.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

When a Snapper Crosses the Road

April 29

WHEN A SNAPPER CROSSES THE ROAD

What should I do?  I see the soggy green/gray lump creeping the macadam too slow to survive for long.  The surge in me, to aim and end the duckling eater's life, is a short-lived but palpable surge.  My Disney style justice is dismissed but heard from nonetheless.  Shall I pull over and assist?  This turtle is as ill equipped for this stretch of road as I am ill equipped to aid in its conveyance.  Should I reach with fingers or toes to something I know can extend its neck and sever me from parts I hold dear?  The ever-present missionary in me has spoken and is silenced.  In fact, what I can do is slow down and give wide berth.  I know this creature is a danger, but never more so than me.

Plot your graph and measure your curve.

*

Terry Bradshaw

When someone wants to take the easy way out

I condemn them for wanting ease

and fail to register that they want out.

I hear a whine when in fact it’s a cry.

A challenge is rarely passed up by the able bodied,

but must be foregone by the injured.

Carried from the field is no personal victory,

not a goal for sure.

When I would rather watch than play

I need to check for wounds not inflict them.

It is not natural for me to sit in the stands,

but accusation is never the way to get me on the field.

Suit up when I’m whole and hide when I’m not.

Absence is a fallback position for the fallen

I have to help myself to get back up.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Chapter and Verse

April 28

CHAPTER AND VERSE

I remember being trained and rehearsed for finding the words which would release my soul from bondage.  The scrupulous concern for detail pointed me to heaven.  And yet I drank.  Inside these rooms the path is wide, judgment is suspended and I have the right to be wrong.  The penalties for error can be great but the privilege and risk are mine.  As in all things, the extremists come.  They have come to this place, too.  Thumpers hound and belittle, threaten and cajole. They tell page numbers like punch lines and narrow the field at every opportunity.  I can’t stay sober sitting on my old stool and I can’t maintain this desire by their chapter and their verse.

Notes are numbers, so count out your time and sing your song.

*

Jane Street

The space between wanting to live

and not wanting to hurt

is the alley in which I live.

This lane is not as narrow as you might think,

In some places there is room for parking on one side.

Since I reside here more often than not

I have filled it with many of the appliances,

which allow me to pretend at life.

It doesn’t afford a truly clean or cheerful locale,

but there are laughs, sometimes flowers in the spring.

Finding my way out of this is tricky.

When unlocked I find these are backdoors to commerce

and though better than being sold wholesale,

retail is not what I was hoping to find

as I wrest myself from a confined existence.

I have heard of those who

drive through plate glass ignoring the structure.

I think this is less workable from the back.

What is left when I can’t bully or climb?

I guess I will have to throw my hands up and pray.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Service and Sacrifice

April 27

SERVICE AND SACRIFICE

The difference between life and death in my recovery is the equal difference between service and sacrifice.  If I offer you what is in my hand, fine.  If I also give you my fingertips, I am lost.  Service lightens the load in my heart; sacrifice removes my tools for living.  When I go into debt for your existence, the cheer and optimism is sucked from my awareness.  My eyes go dead and soon I follow.  The cingulotomy of obligation crucifies my future and murders true hope and love.  Service feeds my heart and yours.  Renovating makes space.  It builds the muscles for joy and contentment, pumping and refilling my plate with spirituality.

Wriggle your toes and flex your mind.

*

Perkiomenville

Being actually alive does not feel as good as I imagined

the relief of  not being dead would feel

therefore I have anxiety and dread,

or is it disappointment.

I feel like a failure when I am in the process of trying

I want to throw the pieces in the air and run.

Does this mean I’m weak

or does it mean I am frightened?

Is there some heavenly host of other reasons

why my crêpe paper soul twists and turns

in the breeze of the marketplace?

Some part of me was auctioned off

and its removal left a psychic scar

that even equanimity cannot ease.

I am all things wonderful and yet there is this flaw,

this toe tied thread which holds me back,

holds me down with painful accurate precision.

I look for the knife with which to cut it

all the while wondering if this will turn it into

a toe tag or a price tag.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

How Things Seem

April 26

HOW THINGS SEEM

Not everyone who pushes me down is my enemy and not everyone who pulls me up is my friend.  I have been seduced by the closeness of people who used me as their shield.  When I have been held in the place of honor, the point man of life, I forgot that made me the replacement target for the one who stood behind me.  I had been offended as I was thrown to the ground.  The hands that shoved me, I saw as my rejecters.  I was spared the tragedy and peril of the thing that flew by my ear thanks only to the grace of a thrust in the right direction.  Accurate appraisal is my weakness.  Seeing things for what they are is hard.  Things are rarely how they seem.

Grow tall with your grain and the years will grow around you.

*

Would You Rather a Lamp?

I am a girl filled with expectations.

Like a ginger jar filled, stuffed caulker block full,

though the filling is the part which is unpredictable;

It could be match books, or seashells,

acorns or all those pretty capsules.

This makes me erratic and sometimes volatile.

Are you strong enough or far too sane

to stay and help me sort the contents?

It’s lonely work without a witness or a spotter.

I rather be alone than with you reluctantly,

so please try to shuck that husk and remain.

Yes, I am sometimes capricious, but I try never to be cruel.

I know sometimes you convince yourself

that leaving me to my own devices is the wisest of courses,

but don’t be fooled;

You disappear due to your weakness not strength

and the worst part about the price of abandonment

is that everyone has to pay it.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Feeding the Monster

April 25

FEEDING THE MONSTER

Who will feed the monster once they’ve made her?  Her hunger burns in her like a beacon.  Should I let her starve?  Should I put her on rations of old crusts and tepid water?  Rebuke her as if she were her own idea?  Possibly bind her hands and cover her eyes?  Stand her in line with the good girls and fit her in?  Turn her visage from her desire and tell her to forget?  Hold her hand and tell her that’s enough?  When I stand in the face of her yawning hunger, what do I say? 

“It’s for your own good.”

Well, that’s what ‘They’ said, too.

Round the corners and square your shoulders.

*

Blinded

Alcoholism hits me like a kind of blindness.

I stagger through the living room

cursing anyone who changes familiar placement

or published timetables.

Like every aspect of this disease

shocked sightlessness is mine to deal with.

I must pick up the white cane,

procure the Seeing Eye pup,

learn to read clustered Braille.

When my vision clears

in these well worked spaces I am relieved

but I must accept that when I walk into a new room

more often then not I will be blind again

and must pick up my walking stick once more.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Escaping through the Ceiling

April 24

ESCAPING THROUGH THE CEILING

Up and away is my motto; upwardly mobile is my goal.  If I can flee without leaving a track, I’m clean.  No heart-wrenching walk down the aisle or the lane.  No dust on my shoes.  No possibility of stumbling.  Grace at all cost.  Empowerment through elevation.  If I must leave my human plane to attain this, so be it.  Give up my natural rights, such is life.  But, yet, if I lose my bonds to earth what did the leaving gain me?  I arise to appear better; as a result, I appear not at all.

Hold your hand then touch your face.

*

Imperturbable

Perfectionism is a cover,

a blanket of lead;

hard to move and rich with poison.

What it tries to hide

is my unwillingness to struggle and strive.

It’s not a fear of failure,

but the horror of success after a long hot pursuit.

If I can stall on the intricacies of the first move

there is no further movement.

If I can fail before I begin

there is no sweat, no stain, no stink.

Catastrophe is no bother,

but skinned knees are my undoing.

Winning is not so important to me;

my unfortunate goal is to look untroubled.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Crumpled Petals in my Pocket

April 23

CRUMPLED PETALS IN MY POCKET

I can’t bring back the bloom.  Cohesion, lost in ripeness, is left only to memory.  I carry home the parts, folded, petite, fragrant bedding for my wistful desires.  I put these colored remnants into a jar of salt.  I make an aromatic rub for the sweetest of wounds.  Transforming the parts to useful duty doesn’t restore the flower.  It doesn’t pay tribute to the past; it is survival.  I have a mind filled with roses but I must make hay.  Today, I live.  Today, the rose is dead, its pieces in my pocket.  I don’t die with the blossom, though my head blows in the wind.  The rose runs its course. I run mine.

Line your clouds with anything you like.

*

Coming Home to Work

I have arrived home to a beehive;

everyone industrious,

everyone filled with purpose,

everything buzzing right along.

My response to this of course is anger.

I have a sting and I want to use it.

I have a place it falls into yet I fear falling.

The living world is now opened to me,

but my destination had been death for so long

that the prospect of diligence ignites steel blue fury.

I divide my time between gratitude and rage.

I want to accuse myself, rescue myself,

then I remember everyone in this place too

has a buzz, a stripe and a stinger.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Whammo

April 22

WHAMMO

I have been hopping on one foot with a ball of hope shoved under one arm and a ball of hysteria under the other.  I wish I could tell from the outside of the ball which is the hope.  I worry I will put down the wrong one, so I hold on to both.  My life is sorely limited by the baggage, and I fear I am losing life with every hop.  A lack of information is my problem.  I don’t adequately know the properties of either and suspect my every interpretation.  Finally, I stand before my sponsor to ask the question of my life.

“That’s easy, Honey.  Hope is the one that bounces back,” is all she has to say.

Give yourself credit in a currency that enriches your life.

*

Halloween

“Why does self-centered fear wear a costume

that looks so much like ‘other people’s opinion’?”

I asked my sponsor.

“For the same reason

that booze masquerades as ‘a good time.’

How would you ever fall into a pit

which used no pretense?

Naked ambition attracts far fewer devotees than addicts of

‘must make Mama and Daddy proud’

or the ‘doing better for my kids’ crowd.”

“Ambition is not all together bad!” I crow.

“Neither is fear in its proper scale,

but fear cloaks itself to seize more than its share of your life,

just like any parasite.

So take your spring tonic like a good kid

and keep the worms at bay.”

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Solidity

April 21

SOLIDITY

Apprehension stands in the archeological site that is my life…listening.  Listening for the rumble of a cement truck to come and help solidify the shifting and tenuous nature of my existence.  A wet and sloppy solution.  A solution to be raked and smoothed, covered and cured.  Something to build a monument on or a place to park my car.  The nearby grass looks lush and green but I dare not leave apprehension alone or it spreads.  I stand with it on bad days and against it on good ones.  I pray for the mixer to arrive or at least the gravel spreader.  I need to fill this hole so it can be a life and stop being a grave.

When your emotions are at low tide, explore the shoreline for shells and trinkets.

*

More Better

When I take a break from my idyllic life,

trading up to paradise,

I balk at thoughts of returning

to the simply marvelous

day to day I have worked so hard to attain.

Self accusation floods under the door,

but I whimilate it with fact.

My reluctance to turn my back on a good thing

is an asset which many days keeps me sober.

I greedily seize every improvement

and hold on for dear life.

If reflections of the past

even held a glimmer for me I might worry;

I turn from all but the highest good.

I don’t regret the past

but I shall never return to it.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Rank

April 20

RANK

I took an area level service position and my sponsor laughed herself off her chair.

“What is your motivation for this?” she asked.

“I want to move up through the service structure,” my reply.

“Are you trying to make rank?”

“Problem with that?"  I ask.

“Ever heard of self-fulfilling prophecy?  You will become what you desire.  You will become rank and you will stink.  The triangle is inverted to help you clean up your act.  Don’t get washed away in a tide of ego.”

I put down my swim fins and removed my epaulets.

Listen intently enough to hear the music of the planets spinning in your mind.

*

Bummed

I accept change

like coins slipped into a cup

that sits beside me on the curb.

Never did it occur to me

that I look in need of pity

or alms from strangers;

Which is to say

I don’t accept much these days,

yet I do not fight it either.

I keep my head down

when I can no longer fend off the inevitable.

I may not win control or compliance,

Might not remain strong enough to fight another day,

but this too is a blessing somehow.

A laying down of arms.

Money in my pocket

makes the world a funny place to endure

when I’m living in the tiny room in my head.

What good news it would be

if I learned to throw the windows open

and let the day take me.

This time it’s God

that needs to wear the ear muffs

and lead me through the coldness of change.

On my own I just walk farther

down the blind alleys

and fold myself on this sidewalk in exhaustion.

I don’t like the tea or the sympathy,

but I don’t think I would mind if God took me in.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Drowning Naked

April 19

DROWNING NAKED

Bare and exposed, I laid myself on the altar of my home group.  With AA as my only Source, I emptied the contents of my soul and bore the mantle of overexposure.  But vultures lurked in many rooms.  I was safely guided, by persons of my gender, to the more secluded and effective place of transmission.  I thrust myself into the arms and mind of my sponsor.  She escorted me up the steps with the door closed and taught me how and when it could be prudently opened.  AA is a power greater than me.  So is the ocean.  Precaution needs to be taken when wading in.  Care must be exercised as to how much to bare.

Wrap your intentions in wool to keep them warm and in gold to keep them untarnished.

*

Bound

The reason the sleeves of my disease

wrap around and tie in the back

is so that I will struggle with change.

Alcoholism is my straightjacket

and my goal is that ‘loose garment life’

I’ve heard so much about.

The sweat I work up

from railing against my confining existence

causes petulance, frothing and enervation,

Defeat is the landing on which I collapse,

acceptance a flight of steps away.

My ailment leads me to believe

I have nothing to hold onto as I adjust.

Though this isn’t true,

the fact remains that this is still

a process of letting go.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Claw Marks

April 18

CLAW MARKS

There is a brackish river whose current changes direction twice a day.  Its bed is well washed on every side.  It begs the question: which way is downhill?  There are times I struggle uphill in both directions.  There are times I slip from every slope.  What was up is often down.  Judgment of topography requires distance.  Scaling the surface takes tenacity.  I plan on leaving my mark as I go, life’s residue staining my fingertips.

Design caution signs for your emotions.

*

What I Take from Laban’s House

If I have the audacity to have a problem

I must provide the instantaneous solution

or be the cause of world-wide panic.

Additionally it is the height of rudeness

to have open-ended dilemma.

It makes the gods uncomfortable,

makes them shift in their seats

and wish me away.

I prevent banishment

by either being problem free

or solution-full

When the answers are not to their liking

I exile myself saving them the inconvenience

and me the embarrassment.

It is never good to implode the household deities,

you never know when you might need one

for historic perspective or a door stop.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Luck

April 17

LUCK

Luck, transposed for gratitude, makes a mockery of grief and loss.  If you are lucky, what does that make me?  The forgotten?  The orphan of fate?  If what I lost and what it cost me is just a lack of fortune, then why do right?  What is sea level?  I may deserve all the sweetness in the world but what explains the pain?  I’ve heard that life’s not fair and laughed at the underestimation of the claim.  If pain is the touchstone of growth and you are lucky and I’m hurt, does that make you short?  And what is the point of growing tall?

Blow kisses to stars which look familiar.

*

Ground Floor

Step 10 is the place where the doors slide open

and I discover I am out of the basement.

I have to pay close attention to where my feet are;

it is so easy to stumble here in the light of day.

Obvious limitations and universally accepted interpretations

are pried from installation and put on trial.

Never is it acceptable to allow my alcoholic thinking

to make decisions for my sober life.

The road to my door must be kept clear

so I can get out to do my part

and so  God can come home to me.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Napping

April 16

NAPPING

Too often, I have lifted the edge of the lawn in an attempt to join the worms for a bit of a dirt nap.  Or I crawled into a self-constructed cave to bear my feelings and hibernate from life.  The times I sprint with the deer, jumping the fences in hopes of escaping the wolves, these are all the times when I forget who I am.  I forget to ask direction, fail to make a meeting.  Seeing those of my ilk puts my feet on the ground, focuses my perspective on just what sort of creature I am.  I can’t always follow my instincts when I don’t know who I am.  I can’t see myself until I stand next to you.

Relax one toe at a time.

*

In Training

Like a faithful dog that was hard to train,

patience is a thing hoped for

yet peevish during the breaking in.

Stanch companionability is hard won,

but worth the cost of acquisition.

And what is the price I truly paid in the end;

whatever I gave in the pursuit of patience

was a cheap babysitter

and kept me from far worse reformation.

For what would I do in this late day and age

as a tempest torn toddler,

no bottle to sooth my woes and bothers.

Strictly speaking this is a world ill suited

to the edgy intolerant masses

and only seems to fit those who can mark time and bend.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Trap Door

April 15

TRAP DOOR

The trap door of my mind opens occasionally and I find myself acting out things better left to conversation.  When I leave too many things unsaid, the pressure builds and the door opens.  My thoughts connect with my body minus the benefit of my brain, not to mention the brain of my sponsor.  I can ill afford the consequences of these open door exhibitions and I am obligated to spend much time scrambling up the hills my outlandishness slid down.  Thinking, speaking and contemplating, the prerequisites of action, must be done frequently or my mind’s sink, piled with my dirty dishes, will flood the counter top, then leave dishes crashing to the floor.  Even if I can’t keep everything caught up, at least I can leave things soaking.  I can start notes or little chats so I am not weighting the latch.  I can prevent the coupling of impulse and exploit. All I have to do is stick out my tongue.

Release your emotions from captivity.

*

Like an Elf Working in an Empty Tree

The chairs in the loft are empty,

but I still hear the choir sing.

The bottle though it’s empty,

still sometimes calls my name.

Though front pocket is empty

and there is rolled up empty sleeve,

still the nicotine haunts my dreams.

On this empty road I travel,

I still long for company.

The stillness is not all that’s empty,

but I run to fill that spot.

Chaos is like a tapeworm

it eats me from the inside,

but in the meantime I still believe it’s filling me.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

The Playground

April 14

THE PLAYGROUND

Getting my ass kicked in the playground of my mind was once a daily event.  Now, it is a far off memory.  I absent myself from the jungle gym the same way I absent myself from bars---places set with traps and schemes I am no longer attracted to.  Bullies and ego trips can’t draw me toward the fence.  Dares and double-dares are such ancient devices I can’t even find the trigger they used to pull.  Trouble doesn’t know my new name, my sober name; I don’t answer to the old one.  I hate to admit the isolation of my school yard days, but no one I knew back then will keep me on the road to the future.  So, I leave the ball in their court and wish them well.

Expectations are lovely as long as you leave off the outcomes.

*

Not Fur but Fin

You can’t delay the river,

I’ve tried, all it does is distort.

I block the flow and swamp ensues,

mighty oaks waist deep in water.

The current is strong

and I fear being swept away,

not realizing I was born to swim.

Dreading the swim back for spawn

I try to stay too close to my origins,

never make it to open water,

never to live the life I was intended for.

I’ve heard it said,

“Don’t push the river it flows by itself,”

but I can’t stall it either.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Willing Piecrust

April 13

WILLING PIECRUST

I lay the crust of my will over the pie plate of God’s will for me.  I must have the willingness to trim off the excesses.  I hesitate; I worked hard to roll it out.  I know from past experience, when hot issues come up, these tags and hangings-on burn and drop sometimes ruining the flavor and appearance of the whole.  It is easier to cut loose the things outside God-given intent.  I get the pie in its entirety when I crimp and bend to the shape of my life.

Hope is free, so spread it around.

*

Chickens and Eggs

Who is more sober

the early riser or the long-timer?

How do we get here and what does it mean.

It all starts with a day, which is good

because this is more than we had hoped for,

sometimes more than we could do.

Then it moved into an ever escalating game

of can you beat this, each day an improvement

over what had been accomplished the day before.

For years the standard bearer is the pain or relief

of the very first in this string,

orbs of 24, yet here stands the question,

“Is the essence the last pearl you touch

or the total of the strand, which makes it real?”

I don’t know for sure.

Sobriety is like light;

is light made up of waves or is it made up of particles

and the answer is invariably yes, for it is.

And what you need and how you look at it

seems to make the determination,

scientific method or no

The watched is affected by the watcher and vice versa.

The end is a day round and imperfect as any

and what is strung between the beginning and the end

is what you’ve made of it.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Whip

April 12

WHIP

I have been to the meeting where they play 'whip', the meeting where the members are gotten in line.  The tempo increases constantly in an attempt to flick each other off into the land of shame and slips and less-than.  This game is invisible to the participants, though the stress on their bodies is surely felt.  Spectators often misunderstand the meaning of the activity and wrongly interpret it as strength training and endurance building.  I think of it as a backward step, throwing me to my initial desire for a drink; living in other peoples skewed lines sent me running for a bottle.  These same lines, placed around me in sobriety, will measure me up for a box.

Turn your plants and your mind so every aspect has an opportunity to get some sun.

*

Who to Ask

“You ask good questions

and you ask the right people,” said my sponsor.

“I ask questions because I need answers,” my reply.

“Do you know how many people need answers

and never ask?” she quipped.

“I ask my friends, no stroke of genius there,” I continue.

“You ask your playmates,

you ask the people you trust enough to have fun with.

You don’t realize how clever that is.

You know lots of folks who work hard

and you could ask your questions of these

But instead you save them for those diligent ones

who still know how to play and that, Sweetie Pie

is proof that you are no dummy.”

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Birds & Bees

April 11

BIRDS & BEES

Birds and bees can get me drunk.  I have to watch the amount of envy which pours through me as I watch their wondrous bliss.  When others make a bee-line to the hive, I must head to a meeting and save myself despair if my spiritual condition is not sound.  When other couples are weaving their nests, I have to be careful not to weave my way back to the bar.  The mating dance is so sweet and seductive; I have to make sure I don’t end up doing the two step.  For as much as I hate to admit it, if steps one and twelve where enough to keep me sober, the rest would not have needed to be written.

Pad barefoot through intention.

*

Neither Frog nor Fish

I was falling

and my Higher Power caught me

in a net called AA,

all of which was a pretty neat trick,

But the strangest consequence of this

is now I somehow think it shouldn’t be possible

for me to drown.

Defying gravity 24 hours at a time

doesn’t make me aquatic

or even amphibious for that matter.

I still have all the corollary restrictions

of anyone who is me.

I still need sleep and water,

food and warmth just like a mere mortal.

How silly I am.

I dodge a bullet

and suddenly I think I am waterproof.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Feeling Temples

April 10

FEELING TEMPLES

I failed to appreciate the initial onslaught of feelings.  I spent much time trying to capture them, lock them away, or in some other way submarine them.  This only had the effect of retarding my recovery.  I had to reframe my thinking.  I had to start with simple calisthenics, embrace and celebrate.  As my emotional health began to take shape, I started the foundations for tiny shrines, each with its own theme.  Happiness had a party going on until all hours.  With grief, there seemed to be a constant internment in progress, body or no.  Fear showed an IMAX film of the realities of life on earth, and curiosity had an endless library plus a DSL line.  Making myself a willing and frequent visitor to these contrasting places created in me wholeness and peace.  Never again do I have to trudge the two dimensional desert of my monochromatic former life.

Write love letters with your favorite pen.

*

The Key You See

The key you see is letting you accept me.

Oh, how I hide from that, run from that, flee from that.

I must be in control of what you think of me.

I curtain off the view of me

I don’t wish to share with you.

Add to that the unusual choices of what I hide.

I will strip down with all the lights blazing

long before I would let you see me drop the ball,

be confused, misunderstand.

What I truly fail to realize is that in the process

of trying to hide my faux pas and fumbles;

what I show you is my controlling ass.

Backside bare I moon you with my freak show

trying to hide my humanity.

Your compassion and tolerant waiting for me to calm down

and open my eyes is the key I fail to see about you.

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

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life