Tapers

December 11

TAPERS

I wax poetic and burn the candle at both ends.  I borrow from the beginning, I steal from the end, coming up short and feeling deeply cheated.  I pass myself off as the time-keeper but am the time-pleaser, arch-traitor selling short the days and hours for approval, not fulfillment.  I put away my true identity: mammal, human, the love of; I have exchanged it for the mask and cape of the Do-do-doer, a tragic figure of myth and legend who breaks the spirit of everyone who attempts the portrayal.  In spite of this the roads teem with actors becoming caricatures of a life less lived.  The world is more than a stage, and I must free powers greater than I to be more than an audience.

Laugh at old jokes and tell new ones.

*

Whose Oxygen Mask goes on First?

Desperation is the fuel which forges my resentments.

When I fear for my survival,

physical, emotional or financial

this will turn my response to your behavior into tinder,

sometimes gasoline and set our interaction ablaze.

Melt all which is steel strong between us

and create a molten mess

from which it will be a struggle to recover.

This is why,

taking good care of me,

attending to my life, and quelling my fears

is the very best way for me to protect you

from my attitude and save me

from a negative balance sheet during my 10^th step.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/ZG5jJR7cY5M

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

Fine Print

April 9

FINE PRINT

I can scrawl the wall with everything I know.  I can fill my books, chapter and verse, with pure and honest hope, but let me begin the precision of language and watch.  My once open face becomes tight; my free associations peek regularly around each corner.  Neatly painted lines are a trap with teeth laid bare.  Serrations of careful craft sever my umbilical and God floats off untethered.  Truth returns when I am shouting my prayers.  Scrupulous observance never advances my sails.  I must meet life with an open hand.  The devil may not be in the details but be sure to check the fine print.

Open one eye and wink at the possibilities.

*

Stumbling Under the Tenth Step

When I’ve been outside of my mind

it is so hard to tell when I’ve come home again.

The landmarks take on such distortion in memory

that the facts seem bloated or anorexic

as I turn my face from side to side.

Old journals remind me of old journeys

and perhaps there are accurate landmarks mentioned

but how can I know for sure that these too

are not just the ravings of a mind gone mad.

Real or imagined I must take the daily count

and try to keep the score

in favor of the actual.

I don’t always know that I’ve fallen

until I inventory the dirt on my face,

but better that I face the dirt

than live the delusion of a mole.

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

Sweat

March 3

SWEAT

I turn the desk lamp into the eyes of God.  I put question after question to the construct of my childhood concept.  “Would you please explain?"  Or, "Exactly why did You do this, that, or the other thing?"  "Are You now or have You ever been a member of…?”  I put the pressure on; the beads of perspiration join, then trickle.  I have God in ‘the box.’  I will not relent.

“I don’t understand You," I say disappointedly, as if speaking to a troubling adolescent.  “You have so much potential if only You would apply Yourself.”  The icon shakes Its head slowly and deliberately; I shake my head, too.  So much time has passed and I am no closer to embrace.

“You don’t understand Me,” says God to me.  Dawn breaks; I uncuff this mythic creature. 

“You are not the one I am looking for.  You are free to go.”

New is neutral, not better or worse.

*

Stepping up

I look along the list of names,

look upon the sea of faces.

Are there any whose eyes I avoid?

I gaze across the landscape

are there any craters,

any pock marks, any divots.

I tick through my actions

those I’ve recently taken

checking for stubbles, glitches, snafus.

These combined facts and figures

create a portrait of my day;

I appraise the eyes, the hair, the teeth.

If I can smile at what I see

all is well if not I begin the repair.

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

Help from Strange Sources

January 7

HELP FROM STRANGE SOURCES

I can not get my mind wrapped around the places I find help.  I struggle with believing I have been helped; I struggle with disbelief at my own resistance.  I am helped daily by many tiny things seen and unseen.  I realize now, I was injured by the same tiny things when I was misaligned with my Higher Power. 

The sun rising, the tiny star I circle in this great nothingness, it makes my whole day.  The air hanging around just in case I need it, which I often do.  The people who live with me (a mean feat), work with me, those who exist here with me, keep my ship on course.  How very sweet of them to do mostly right every day of their lives.  What a help that is.  The whole ecosystem and all the weather: what would I do without it?  But this is on a good day.

On a bad day, the sun is in my eyes, scorching my skin. The air is too still or well, the wind is always a problem.  And People, people are an endless plight.  People do things to hurt, annoy and irritate me.  Full intent, targeted to me, my life, my wants destroyed.  Bugs seek me and I am followed by the darkest cloud, every day, all day lurking.

I am so thankful for a sponsor and a tenth step.

Name your tears; honor them for who they are

*

Dion

Everything in the world happened before I was born

and the cinders sift through my fingers.

Accomplishing cohesion of the ashes

is a goal I have not yet achieved.

Cremains precious but meager

are a difficult building material,

shifting due to emotions and wind,

I find they stick too well to my lungs

and not well enough to anything else.

Tears help, but I will not cry forever.

I must draw from a fresh water source

and wet the powdery scratch I have inherited

and form the world anew.

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

Ground Floor

April 19

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.  Oblivious 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 G-d can come home to me.

Spin heads, spin tales, spin dry

*

CHAPTER & 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

I can't maintain desire by their chapter and their verse.

Stumbling Under the Tenth Step

April 10

Stumbling Under the Tenth Step

When I’ve been outside of my mind it is so hard to tell when I’ve come home again.  The landmarks take on such distortion in memory that the facts seem bloated or anorexic as I turn my face from side to side.  Old journals remind me of old journeys and perhaps there are accurate landmarks mentioned, but how can I know for sure that these too are not just the ravings of a mind gone mad.  Real or imagined I must take the daily count and try to keep the score in favor of the actual.  I don’t always know that I’ve fallen until I inventory the dirt on my face, but better that I face the dirt than live the delusion of a mole.

Notice the shape of your fixtures

*

DROWNING NAKED

Bare & Exposed

I laid myself on the alter

Of my home group

AA, 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 more secluded and effective place of transmission

I thrust myself into the arms and mind of my sponsor

She escorts me to 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.

Hand Me Down Pain

January 6

Hand Me Down Pain

You have sent a cold thing into my heart it causes my feet to move me away from you.  It need not be spoken of this is a thing of ice and lead.  Words are no help here action is the only cure.  Eternity can be spent with a soul bisected by slivers.  Stepping the willing way to joy and freedom seems so unlikely from this frosty local.  Make my mind up I must.  Close my eyes and move forward.  I will leave your pain behind me I hope not to have to leave you.

Kiss tiny pebbles and roll them away

~

HELP FROM STRANGE SOURCES

I cannot get my mind wrapped around the places I find help.
I struggle with believing I have been helped.
I struggle with disbelief at my own resistance.
I am helped daily by many tiny things seen and unseen.
I realize now I was injured by the same tiny things.
When I was misaligned with my Higher Power
The sun rising, the tiny star I circle in this great nothingness
It makes my whole day.
The air hanging around just in case I need it,
Which I often do.
The people who live with me, a mean feat.
The people who work with me.
Those who exist here with me keep my ship on course,
How sweet of them to do mostly right everyday of their lives,
What a help that is.
The whole ecosystem and all the weather
What would I do without it?
But this is on a good day,
On a bad day, the sun is in my eyes and scorching my skin,
The air is too still, or well, the wind is always a problem.
And people, people are an endless plight,
People do things to hurt, annoy and irritate me,
Full intent, targeted to me, my life, my wants destroyed.
Bugs seek me and I am followed by the darkest cloud,
Everyday, all day, lurking.

I AM SO THANKFUL FOR A SPONSOR AND A TENTH STEP

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.

Ground Floor

April 19

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. Oblivious 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 G-d can come home to me.

Spin heads, spin tales, spin dry

*

CHAPTER & 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

I can't maintain desire by their chapter and their verse.