The Cows are Higher than the House

January 1

THE COWS ARE HIGHER THAN THE HOUSE

I got sober only to end up living in a house where the cows are higher than the house.  I mean, next to my house there is a hill. The hill is surrounded by a fence.  The cows are pastured inside the fence.  Standing on the hill, the cows are taller than the house.

I didn’t expect to live in a house where the cows were higher.  I expected normal.  I didn’t expect the cows at all.  I expected the house, but not this house, and not here, next to this hill.  I expected to tell people, "Come to my house.  It’s at the end of the lane.  It’s the one with the rose colored shutters."  My sponsor wants to know why rose colored shutters are okay but cows overlooking the house are not.  I can’t answer her.  It’s just wrong; that’s all!  I don’t know why she can’t understand this.  It seems perfectly clear to me.

My sponsor says I am powerless over cows and my life is not unmanageable but my thinking is.  She tells me to paint purple cows, to write stories about worse places for the cows to be.  I tell her the tub.  She says write it down.  She’s no fun.

I heard in a meeting I should pray for the people and things I am upset about.  I pray for the cows.  My sponsor says the cows see how I live my life and she is sure the cows pray for me.

Write a letter to the moon

*

Lie

Yes, a lie is just a lie,

but the truth also has problems.

I relay the facts

and the words take on a life of their own,

They leave out the backdoor

and walk on down the road.

They move to another town

and never find time to come back for a visit

even though, I am their mother.

And woe to the woman

who grows attached to credit

or recognition for her ideas.

These kidnapped prodigies are never ransomed

but sold outright and their DNA not questioned or tested.

So, my advice is to love your words in secret

and raise your notions behind high walls.

If you are ever called upon to share your wisdom, lie.

For even if you’re caught the risk is tolerable.

Exposure is awkward but then again no one is looking,

so, what is there to lose.

A lie is just a lie but it stays home with you at night.

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

Creed

March 12

Creed           

We have a long standing family tradition of viewing miracles as tragedy; this custom has afforded us many a fine escape from the unknown.  Most things in life are bad; people, places, things, this belief is protective though useless. Ultimately I feel this belief is not what colors the dynastic impression of the miraculous, but the apprehension is due to the limited nature of the thing.  I come from a line of dissatisfaction; miracles are provided when what is desired is panacea.  If everything is not imperially resolved then it is all for naught because the same psyche which cannot begin a process without a guaranteed outcome can’t pickup the slack after a triumphant start. Give it all to me tied with a bow, I will begin the critique from there though I will accept, offer me a beginning fraught with uncertainty and I will decline. A secure entrenchment is preferred to inexact risk.  I will die with my boots on, but I mustn’t leave the house.

Respect your age

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FRIENDS

My sweet, dear, funny friend
Steeped in beat
Whose hand I can no longer hold.

I yearn for the wildly flying words, like feathers in a snow
The shock of hair and glinting eyes I see so clearly
In my shivering mind.
I must let go.
I miss all the friends who for reason or no
Have traveled down the yellow brick spiral to who knows where.
My arms feel open and starved
But there is no way for me to retain myself
And follow them.
Some are lost, altogether
Some are lost only to me
But my arms remain empty nonetheless.
My ruined heart is sore and sad
But chasing this friend or that
Will not heal it.
The lonely path before me is the answer for me.
Possibly only for me among our former group
And will the paths cross later in this day or next?
I don't know and am better not knowing.
My path requires me to release outcomes
As well a kindred.
I must travel with my arms open
Some fall out of them
And others find their way in.

Smarts

September 18

SMARTS

Intelligence should be used as a tool not a weapon.  Intelligence is as common as silica and can be used to do anything, so, why not as a helping hand, lifeline, foothold?  Intelligence doesn’t preclude ignorance, arrogance or stupidity.  Nor does it eliminate selfishness, greed or anarchy.  Intelligence is not a substitute for wisdom and cannot hold a candle to kindness.  Intelligence makes things possible, help and hurt; intention makes the decision.  Intelligence is like a hand full of sand.

Pair your books for companionship.

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Buffoon

Never juggle knives and butter at the same time

or you will just spread your problems around.

Passing on the knives is the first best idea,

leaving the butter in the dish is the second.

I have gotten many funny schemes into my brain;

gotten them in with ease,

it is the getting them out of my brain I struggle with.

Crowbars and coercion have been my favored tools;

ineffective though they may be, I am persistent,

while wishing to be dexterous.

It took me years to realize the problem with juggling is

that it begins with me throwing things

and ends with disaster if I can’t catch it all.

What slips through my fingers

through daily living is hard enough

what I throw into the fray for showmanship is, too much.

I needn’t be the fool flinging my pins

when my goal is to stay on them.

Out Standing in my Field

May 11

Out Standing in My Field

Trying to remove expectations is like trying to unseed a field; it is damn near impossible until something crops up, though when it does I must act swiftly lest things take root. Tedious as it is weeding the fields of unreasonable expectancy saves me from so much frustration later on. I don’t recognize it, but expectations are like little dictators forever ruling me; leaving no room for G-d or direction, not to mention flexibility or change. Tap roots dive for the vein and my life depends on fleet elimination of unsuitable desire. I can want. I can strive. I can not leave expectations to grow in my garden.

Screen your comments when you can

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STRETCHING

Stretching is not equivalent to change

Limbering is nice

And warms the muscles, body and soul.

Over-reaching, over-compensation is trauma

It distorts the symmetry

And breeds erroneous thinking.

Extension beyond the bounds sets me up for a fall

I misinterpret touching with finger tips

With a firm and able grasp.

I don’t step forward because I believe

I have a hand on things

Failing to see how this is different from an embrace.

The sinew tears

And the fabric of life is destroyed

I lean forward but I go nowhere.