Feelings/Facts

March 28

Feelings/Facts

Delay is when I don’t deal with the tack, don’t deal with the finish nail, land up with a 12 penny in my heel and think about waiting for the railroad spike.  Rebellion is when I run through the razor-wire fence expecting to make a clean get away.  If I don’t socialize my problems when they are puppies all hope is lost when faced with the big dogs.  Exiting out the fifth story window is suicide in fact, but in my thinking I am merely rebelling.  Willingness and cooperation make a dynamic duo; powerful combatants of delay, rebellion, many other joy killing, life stealing foe.  A life led with cooperation and willingness is not necessarily perfection, but it often feels that way. 

Coax loose your tangled frustrations

*

FUTURE TENTS

The future seeps in through the windows
Like the dawn steeling across the sky
Once I inhale it, I am out of doors
Only the lightest of canvas covering me

The opening, flaps in the breeze
The wind of unbidden things echoes
Off the wall of people
Shut out from this adventure

I brace myself for the cutting current
But am greeted by the softest of zephyrs
I duck out
I stand unfettered

Lonely whispers call
But I am isolated
The scene is empty, serene and beautiful
There are other tents

Other seekers standing on other hills
But they see their own futures
From the vantage of their own tents
And thankfully I am left to see mine

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

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

New Borne

March 27

New Borne

What happens when you finally get what you want, what you barely dared to dream?  What happens when you can hardly do more than drip tears down from smiling eyes?  Where do you go with a future filled with proposed joy?  Heaven is an option if only you believed, but hell has been such a perennial destination it’s hard to realize there will be no return trip this year or possibly ever again.  The work required to change from an attitude of longing to one of satisfaction is as real as all the work needed thus far.  Tending love is a host of disciplines I want to step to, like I have done it all my life, like I was born to do it and I was, yet, still growth is accompanied by its own pain and awkwardness and who am I to deny this treat.  Any new life worth living is worth the pain to bear it.    

Turn up your smile

*

FEELINGS

Getting my feelings back
Was like a package delivered.
Not a letter bomb
More like live squid or bait of some kind
It was something to catch me out there.

I think overcoming the shock
Was more or less the small part
Though it seemed to loom at the time.
The squirming, the writhing of my soul
Was like a pregnancy following a bad dream.

I wondered how this became a part of me.
I squandered my days
Hoping it would leave quietly some night soon.
Like all difficult relationships
I attempted to hold my breath through it.

Failing this, I tried to offer my feelings a guest wing in my heart
And a never ending supply of tea and cookies.
When the reality of life with feelings planted itself firmly in me
I let out my breath, stopped the hostess act
And endeavored to roll with it.

This worked well.
I have since invested in a wet-suit and fins
The squid are much easier to live with
When I meet them on their turf.

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

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

the way I do it

December 8

THE WAY I DO IT

Cooking by smell, parking by ear, recovering by touch.  The latter has to be done this way; I cannot see into the black-box technology, which keeps me sober.  Feel through the resentments, pain, sadness, joy; find myself under a pile of rags with a match in my hand.  The many times the steps have saved me from becoming a human torch are balanced by the weight of the rope, woven from these same rags, that together we use to drag one another to safety.  The savory scent of a meal, or the glee of front row parking can’t compare with the tender sense of a sober heart.

Write bad advice on tissue and wipe with it.

*

Master Mind

I was taught that it was my job to master fear;

raised in a religion swearing they could master death.

I used to spend all I had trying to create a master plan,

while trying to keep secure using a Master lock.

I have seen Master & Commander

and do not long for that burden;

in fact mastery is so much a snare and illusion.

Life is quite improved

when we each have an oar and we all row on.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/J9IaheHYzsg

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

Feelings

March 28

FEELINGS

Getting my feelings back was like a package delivered---not a letter bomb, more like live squid or bait of some kind.  It was something to catch me out there.  I think overcoming the shock was more or less the small part, though it seemed to loom at the time.  The squirming, the writhing of my soul was like a pregnancy following a bad dream.  I wondered how this became a part of me.  I squandered my days hoping it would leave quietly some night soon.  Like all difficult relationships, I attempted to hold my breath through it.  Failing this, I tried to offer my feelings a guest wing in my heart and a never-ending supply of tea and cookies.  When the reality of life with feelings planted itself firmly in me, I let out my breath, stopped the hostess act and endeavored to roll with it.  This worked well.  I have since invested in a wet- suit and fins.  The squid are much easier to live with when I meet them on their turf.

Sponge off what life flings at you.

*

Yes, Virginia there is a solution

Suspended in the colloid of sobriety

the overly large molecule, which is me,

finds a fix I couldn’t imagine.

I can get better, I do get better,

I have a set of values to substitute into the old equations.

I now live in a mixture where there is one thing in common

and all the rest are variants which ordinarily don’t mix.

The scientific method is entry to homogenous living;

a concept that never made it to the table

in my days as a rogue element.

And with all this on board,

the thing I love the best is that it grows;

what I can do and how I can do it

is an ever widening frame of reference,

Even things which were once outside of my view

are now possible.

I am grateful that there is a solution

I am amazed that it is the solution to everything.

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

Calibrate Coincidence

March 27

CALIBRATE COINCIDENCE

Do good.  Do right.  Line up with the next correct movement.  Get the universe locked into the sprockets of my desires and make the miracles flow in my direction.  Ah, the boy scout merit badge of sobriety.  I force spiritual alchemy through the pasta maker of my small life expecting gold.  And where is God?  Where is the realness of reality?  Where is my place in this hairy mess?  Well, who knows?  Am I the wizard?  The Chemist?  The mechanic of the galaxy?  Though I wish and hope, in truth, I am not the one who calibrates coincidence.  I am the receiver of.

Date your recovery.

*

Feelings/Facts

Delay is when I don’t deal with the tack,

don’t deal with the finish nail,

land up with a 12 penny in my heel

and think about waiting for the railroad spike.

Rebellion is when I run through the razor-wire fence

expecting to make a clean get away.

If I don’t socialize my problems when they are puppies

all hope is lost when faced with the big dogs.

Exiting out the fifth story window is suicide in fact,

but in my thinking I am merely rebelling.

Willingness and cooperation make a dynamic duo;

powerful combatants of delay, rebellion,

and many other joy killing, life stealing foes.

A life led with cooperation and willingness

is not necessarily perfection,

but it often feels that way.

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

Alarm

October 13

Alarm

I have lived life like one long fire drill.  Is there smoke?  Not always, but I fear flames.  The alarm in my head is with me always and I walk from my life single file and silent.  I don’t move on, this is only a drill, ‘I don’t want to take drastic action, this will pass,’ is my constant thought, though, I can not remember a time without the buzz.  I have stood outside my life so long practicing in case of an emergency that there is no life to protect.  I have been conscientious to the point of being consumed by caution.  Balance requires risk.  I must be brave enough to have it all.

Remember old leaves turn over, too

*

FISH OF CHAOS

Out of chaos come very tiny fish,
Well maybe not fish but a very swimmy feeling.
How can I go around with my feet off the ground,
My mind racing on a squirrel cage?

Breathing helps, breathing is a place to start.
Once I get breathing regularly I can gingerly probe
With one foot for a place to stand.

The chaos may race around and past my legs
Like so many eels on a summers evening
But with time and practice
I can step from this current as well.
Out of chaos come very tiny fish but I can come out too.

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

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Moniker

September 30

Moniker

The Hurt carry on the tradition, would never think to give it up, don’t even know there is that option, strap on their weapons without a second thought.  How can there be a second thought when there never was a first.  Hurt is a reflex and it moves its way through the world like dominoes tumbling; everything’s knocked down before you ever saw it standing. So, what’s the use anyway? So, I fall down and in that action push you forward and we are all together in the mud, but it is so hard to recognize anyone in the mud, including myself and especially you.  If I hurt you that makes it hard for me to see anything about you except my wish for your departure, which I subconsciously hope will take away the guilt I can’t afford to feel.  If I make it out of the mud I can’t afford anything, but if I don’t pay up I’ll be in new mud soon, so I must break tradition and the first step toward that is seeing it and the second is calling it by its name.       

Open up your secret vault and unload

*

BATTLESHIP

If the first is a guess, what is the second?

Paranoia or worse.?

Action is a blessing, reaction a debilitation

And to twist from reaction to self-doubt

Sinks the battle and the battleship.

When I can’t make sense, the gift is stepping back,

Better to put my hand down than to lose the farm.

When I find myself in a minefield I can walk gingerly

Or wait for aid to come from above, air rescue or other.

The option of rethinking every step sets me dancing

The tune which begins this hurky jerky polka of death which

Stems from the metronome of criticism playing in my ear.

When I am overwhelmed with critique

I give up acceptance of chance or joy of spontaneity

Throwing myself into a pit of apprehension.

I am safer being wrong occasionally

Then unsure forever

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

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Please Sir

April 5

Please Sir

Gratitude is a thing which collects and solidifies, it’s pink and I can walk around on it.  Some days it is a broad highway and other times a winding spindling track.  Ever present if I am mindful, gratitude roots out pests and pestilence while planting a garden beyond my dreams.  Gratitude is like handholding; it warms and strengthens me, keeps me connected to real life and reassures me that I am not alone.  Many days I find a way to make a face and pout, plundering the rich rewards of sobriety for the thin gruel of discontent, poke me with a stick on these days and remind me who I am, for I am never Oliver even if I feel a little twist.

Rest between great ideas

*

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 on IMAX film
Of the realities of life on earth
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

Feelings/Facts

March 28

Feelings/Facts

Delay is when I don’t deal with the tack, don’t deal with the finish nail, land up with a 12 penny in my heel and think about waiting for the railroad spike.  Rebellion is when I run through the razor-wire fence expecting to make a clean get away.  If I don’t socialize my problems when they are puppies all hope is lost when faced with the big dogs.  Exiting out the fifth story window is suicide in fact, but in my thinking I am merely rebelling.  Willingness and cooperation make a dynamic duo; powerful combatants of delay, rebellion, many other joy killing, life stealing foe.  A life led with cooperation and willingness is not necessarily perfection, but it often feels that way. 

Coax loose your tangled frustrations

*

FUTURE TENTS

The future seeps in through the windows
Like the dawn steeling across the sky
Once I inhale it, I am out of doors
Only the lightest of canvas covering me

The opening, flaps in the breeze
The wind of unbidden things echoes
Off the wall of people
Shut out from this adventure

I brace myself for the cutting current
But am greeted by the softest of zephyrs
I duck out
I stand unfettered

Lonely whispers call
But I am isolated
The scene is empty, serene and beautiful
There are other tents

Other seekers standing on other hills
But they see their own futures
From the vantage of their own tents
And thankfully I am left to see mine

New Borne

March 27

New Borne

What happens when you finally get what you want, what you barely dared to dream?  What happens when you can hardly do more than drip tears down from smiling eyes?  Where do you go with a future filled with proposed joy?  Heaven is an option if only you believed, but hell has been such a perennial destination it’s hard to realize there will be no return trip this year or possibly ever again.  The work required to change from an attitude of longing to one of satisfaction is as real as all the work needed thus far.  Tending love is a host of disciplines I want to step to, like I have done it all my life, like I was born to do it and I was, yet, still growth is accompanied by its own pain and awkwardness and who am I to deny this treat.  Any new life worth living is worth the pain to bear it.    

Turn up your smile

*

FEELINGS

Getting my feelings back
Was like a package delivered.
Not a letter bomb
More like live squid or bait of some kind
It was something to catch me out there.

I think overcoming the shock
Was more or less the small part
Though it seemed to loom at the time.
The squirming, the writhing of my soul
Was like a pregnancy following a bad dream.

I wondered how this became a part of me.
I squandered my days
Hoping it would leave quietly some night soon.
Like all difficult relationships
I attempted to hold my breath through it.

Failing this, I tried to offer my feelings a guest wing in my heart
And a never ending supply of tea and cookies.
When the reality of life with feelings planted itself firmly in me
I let out my breath, stopped the hostess act
And endeavored to roll with it.

This worked well.
I have since invested in a wet-suit and fins
The squid are much easier to live with
When I meet them on their turf.

Know Enough to Clap

February 1

Know Enough to Clap

If I know I’m happy I can clap my hands, but if I’m happy and I don’t know it, what then?  Will my face display tell tale signs without whispering a word of it to my mind?  Will I whistle a happy tune therefore revealing my inner state?  If I can’t demonstrate my reality does it cease to exist?  Does my retarded ability to reflect my emotion condemn me to remedial society?  Is there any other society?  If I become well enough to reflexively feel and exhibit my mood will I graduate to the advanced class or be forever alone no longer having a place amid the emotional head bangers, hair twirlers and cobweb pickers?  Is it a choice of knowing happiness in isolation or confusion with a crowd?  Could I know?  Should I know?  Would I know?  Who knows?

Iron your will

*

THE DIFFERENCE

Falling and flying are the same, save the landing.
No matter what you do in the air, how well or how poorly
In the end, if you don't land, it's a fall
And if you do, a flight.

How we begin seems of ultimate importance
But is seen as a farce in the face of ruin.
The most promising of starts can be sucked ground ward,
Compass and instrumentation rendered useless, through lack of humility.

Piteous starts, starts without plan or goal
Are viewed as triumphs when safety has been captured from defeat.
Willingness is my aileron
It contributes to my lift in ways I cannot explain.

It smoothes the gusts of life which forever blow in my face
And willingness brings the ground up to meet me.
All I have to do is be willing
And stick out my feet.

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.

Stop Talking

April 5

STOP TALKING

“Try to stop talking when people stop listening,” said my sponsor. “And try not to take it personally.”

“Why is that?” I query.

“Most individuals can’t handle much of anything real. Try as they may, they are unable to listen to anyone speaking the truth. Tell them a story; you can hold their attention all day. Sprinkle bits of honesty into the tale and you still will keep your audience. But strafe them with bullets of the truth and they will run for cover.”

“I’ve seen it happen. I never knew what made them scurry, but I have seen them sprint away.”

“It’s a coping mechanism. If you try to turn their heart too quickly, they’re afraid it will stop beating.”

“Why is it you never worry about that with me? You tell me the facts whether I want to hear it or not.”

“I can tell you because you take step 3.”

Color a page using only three crayons.

*

Fearing Fearlessness

How many times

have I given the credit to night blind fear,

credit due the brave persistent child?

How many times

have I blamed the willing diligent pursuer

when the fault was the backstabbing delay of mistrust?

I resist the onset of freedom.

Fear was my oldest familiar

and I put from my mind that it was my jailer, captor;

Kidnapped me from my cradle

and kept me locked from God’s fine intentions.

Fearlessness sounds debilitating to my crippled ears,

Organs who hear well the disclaimers

and are deaf to the claims.

I am the producer of bile and addicted to dread,

Endorphins wear white hats

and win the day

once this yellow belly is put to bed.

Feelings

March 28

FEELINGS

Getting my feelings back was like a package delivered---not a letter bomb, more like live squid or bait of some kind. It was something to catch me out there. I think overcoming the shock was more or less the small part, though it seemed to loom at the time. The squirming, the writhing of my soul was like a pregnancy following a bad dream. I wondered how this became a part of me. I squandered my days hoping it would leave quietly some night soon. Like all difficult relationships, I attempted to hold my breath through it. Failing this, I tried to offer my feelings a guest wing in my heart and a never-ending supply of tea and cookies. When the reality of life with feelings planted itself firmly in me, I let out my breath, stopped the hostess act and endeavored to roll with it. This worked well. I have since invested in a wet- suit and fins. The squid are much easier to live with when I meet them on their turf.

Sponge off what life flings at you.

*

Yes, Virginia there is a solution

Suspended in the colloid of sobriety

the overly large molecule, which is me,

finds a fix I couldn’t imagine.

I can get better, I do get better,

I have a set of values to substitute into the old equations.

I now live in a mixture where there is one thing in common

and all the rest are variants which ordinarily don’t mix.

The scientific method is entry to homogenous living;

a concept that never made it to the table

in my days as a rogue element.

And with all this on board,

the thing I love the best is that it grows;

what I can do and how I can do it

is an ever widening frame of reference,

Even things which were once outside of my view

are now possible.

I am grateful that there is a solution

I am amazed that it is the solution to everything.

Feelings/Facts

March 28

Feelings/Facts

Delay is when I don’t deal with the tack, don’t deal with the finish nail, land up with a 12 penny in my heel and think about waiting for the railroad spike. Rebellion is when I run through the razor-wire fence expecting to make a clean get away. If I don’t socialize my problems when they are puppies all hope is lost when faced with the big dogs. Exiting out the fifth story window is suicide in fact, but in my thinking I am merely rebelling. Willingness and cooperation make a dynamic duo; powerful combatants of delay, rebellion, many other joy killing, life stealing foe. A life led with cooperation and willingness is not necessarily perfection, but it often feels that way.

Coax loose your tangled frustrations

*

FUTURE TENTS

The future seeps in through the windows
Like the dawn steeling across the sky
Once I inhale it, I am out of doors
Only the lightest of canvas covering me

The opening, flaps in the breeze
The wind of unbidden things echoes
Off the wall of people
Shut out from this adventure

I brace myself for the cutting current
But am greeted by the softest of zephyrs
I duck out
I stand unfettered

Lonely whispers call
But I am isolated
The scene is empty, serene and beautiful
There are other tents

Other seekers standing on other hills
But they see their own futures
From the vantage of their own tents
And thankfully I am left to see mine

Hiding

February 18

Hiding

“Defeat is what you make of it,” says my sponsor. “Fighting a thousand secret battles when you claim that you want peace is not right. The agony of defeat is when you keep on fighting. There is no honor in waving the white flag, but never laying down your arms.”

“I can’t just give them up they have been in the family for years,” my whining retort.

“I’m sure they have, darling, I’m sure they have, and haven’t done any of you a lick of good either,” her smug reply.

“They are good for sabotage,” I begin my running start at her.

“Sabotage is something you only do to yourself, because who else can you really sabotage? Who do you really hate enough other than you?”

“My hobby is denying that you know.”

“Yes, and sweet lot of good it does you, the war rages within you and outside you say it’s harmony, no matter all the signs of discord.”

“And if I were to really give up. If, I were really tired enough, how can I insure my safety?” I asked with my hands nearly in the air.

“Tell the truth, even if it’s only to your self. Put space between you and weapons of mass destruction. Oh, and make sure you surrender to a friend.”

Loosen your grasp as often as you can

*

LIFE IS UNFAIR

Assuring myself I will not be permitted through the gate,
I walk the perimeter assessing the fence,
Looking for a place to exploit, a wire slightly high.
Trying to look graceful, I duck under the fence.

Telling myself I prefer life on the edge.
The water is less dangerous here on the fringe.
I wouldn't want to be swept away.

I stay clear of my peers.
I stand in the baby pool and feel confidant I won't drown.
Brushing from my conscience that I won't swim either.

Struggling to the top of the pile or scurrying underneath
Is a blatant lack of humility
Skirting the margin is the same.

Facing life and finding it unfair
I take to the world of exception
And hope to slip through the cracks to a life of safety.
In that act, I discount my talent and ability.
Worst of all, I disconnect from God.

Time Tables

July 17

TIME TABLES


I know the train is coming and I want to read the schedule. I hear rumors that the convoy going to Feelings will arrive in two years. The five-year expedition to Getting My Brains Back seems unlikely but is often commented on in meetings. Excursions to far off destinations such as Functional and Reasonable have me on my feet in gleeful anticipation. Still I wish for a clear mapping of time. I feel I could leave off worrying about the how of it if only I could be sure of the when. This cavalcade of adventure would be so much more palatable with a well written itinerary.


Sell yourself but not short.

Utility of Emotion

July 5

UTILITY OF EMOTION



I plug into the utility of my emotions. These utilities aid my life as all utilities do. The duel prong of anger serves to light me up and gives me strength to set good boundaries. The four-line clip cord of pain allows me to keep in touch with my Higher Power, my friends, and my fellows. I have nothing to share if I can’t stay real about my pain. Fear is hard to contain and is carefully piped. Explosions of fear can start so easily it’s a good thing its foul odor can be smelled in the air. The coaxial cable of joy screws neatly into the back of my mind and gives me endless delight, color and sound; these are the privileges of sobriety. Emotions are plainly utilitarian but they help me survive and make living into a life.


Touch all the letters in your name.

Currency of Fear

July 2

CURRENCY OF FEAR


Fear pays the way for my disease to enter. Once inside fear seats itself front and center. Fear is the currency that allows entry to the far reaches. The coinage is ancient and steeped in tradition. There is no time or place that hasn’t been moneyed with fear and its derivatives. I can’t hide from it so my job must be to educate fear. Fear is real and has a place as protector and warning. But fear expands with ignorance and devalues the purpose of caution. Fear cannot buy safety, though I can use it to pay the toll across the bridge to balance.


Speckle your tongue with new words.