Fishing for Contentment

October 17

FISHING FOR CONTENTMENT

Fishing for contentment is a wonderful pastime but what is used for bait?  Is there a delicacy to dangle before contentment to lure it into my life?  Can I crumble the best biscotti and leave a trail to my door?  I don’t believe contentment swims around waiting to be caught.  I think it’s more like the wild yeast that finds its way to my starter.  If I put the ingredients in my life, contentment will rise to the occasion.

Renew your own understanding of the word NO.

*

Where do I live?

Fleeter of foot is my goal.

I race to catch the prize thoroughbreds as they flee.

I play chase, I win, I lose, I fall in the mud, I break my leg.

None of this does anything for the horses either,

they are loose and confused;

off  like a shot, but nowhere to go.

I buy better shoes, hire a trainer,

put reflective tack on the stallions and the mares.

In short I go broke.

I had the world of possibilities before me and it ran away;

all because I didn’t close the barn door.

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

Stubborn

August 5

STUBBORN

When the donkey won’t move forward it’s time to stop running.  No need to make an ass of myself through force or coercion.  The dumb animal may be mute but its actions speak.  Reluctance is a warning.  If my animal nature is balking, listening not shoving is the preferred course.  Super intelligence can’t best good horse sense.  I must stand with my intuition; that creature depends on my survival for life.

Balance your shoe with your foot.

*

What are We Fighting For

Instead of competition for dominance

we would benefit from cooperation for survival.

The struggle to become the very best destroyers in the world

very well might make us postmortem champions.

Why is it that the lions don’t work to eradicate hyenas?

They could, but they don’t.

Why not, is the ever present question on my mind.

I have no answer as to why we strive to conquer.

A thousand platitudes come to mind,

but nothing fast or tight, nothing that holds water.

So, the question remains; why are we hell bent?

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

Noun, Verb, Adjective

July 12

NOUN, VERB, ADJECTIVE

Model Sobriety (mod`<sup>e</sup>l so-bri`i te), n., v., adj., 1. model sobriety acts like clay. Durable and flexible it molds to any situation.  2. model sobriety is like a clotheshorse; everything you put on it fits and looks good.  3. model sobriety is the 24-hour version of a life-long process.  4.  model sobriety is a set of axioms with which we interpret truth.  5.  model sobriety is what we put in the window for other sufferers to see.  6.  model sobriety is the mirror we use to learn what is natural.  7. model sobriety eliminates extremes in behavior and thinking.  8. model sobriety is the mode by which we become a channel.  9.  model sobriety is the definition in and of my life.  Noun, verb, and adjective.

Write an acrostic poem for a dog.

*

Old Nasty

My addiction is like a Percheron,

bigger and more powerful than I am,

but what I have learned is that if I treat this horse

with due respect and a guiding hand

from my recovery and my Higher Power

I can harness the energy of my illness

and use its’ force to make my life work.

I can never be the master of alcoholism,

but I can see it for what it is;

an overgrown instinct looking for an outlet.

When I am given my way out I take this beast with me

and when I value that partnership we are both safe.

When I have tried to lock it in a stall

and run far from the barn, it kicks my life down.

When I put my head in the yoke willingly,

together we are led and we do the work

which is fulfilling and rich.

I was meant to work in a team,

I am grateful to have a teammate.

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

Dichotomy's Embrace

March 4

DICHOTOMY’S EMBRACE

Contentment and security bleed in through the doors and windows of my heart.  Peace blows its fine wind across my mind.  I fear for my identity.  I raise my hand to beat the drum.  Is my pulse still there if the beat of discontent is not?  The warmth seeps in, my fingers uncurl.  I resist the urge to tilt my face to the sun.  How can I be I, if my countenance is not bleak?  Mirth escapes my lips.  Am I a creature of laughter?

Shadows play across the shade.  My brain feels through levels of sheltered memory.  I am old and age hangs from my brow.  I am young and exposure stings my flesh.  In all this, joy?  Where can I enfold this antithesis?  A child of extreme, yes.  Brooding and rage; hounding and silence.  How have sprinkles and starlight added to the mix?  Purring, musing and sweet kisses.  What am I in this embrace?

Write a collage.

*

The Horse of a Different Stripe

When I arrived at the horse and pony show,

I saw all there was to see;

there were Morgans, Walkers, and Paints.

Yet I couldn’t help but return

to this particular zebra,

the spark of my imagination,

the inspiration of my dreams.

There was no help for me,

I want what I want and need what I need.

It was all about spirit, all about soul.

The fire in its eyes matched

the burning of my heart,

ignition at the point of recognition.

Then I stumble, then I fall,

bad behavior and wrong thinking,

the selfishness of the self-involved

takes hold and runs my mouth, “

Nice mount, great steed,

But can nothing be done about these stripes?”

The flash in those eyes,

the knowing knickers, said it all.

I was trying to stay in my small place

and that would never work with her,

if I wanted the Zebra,

I had to be willing to go to Africa.

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

A Horse of a Different Stripe

March 3

The Horse of a Different Stripe

When I arrived at the horse and pony show, I saw all there was to see; there were Morgans, Walkers, and Paints.  Yet I couldn’t help, but return to this particular zebra, the spark of my imagination, the inspiration of my dreams.  There was no help for me, I want what I want and need what I need.  It was all about spirit, all about soul; the fire in its eyes matched the burning of my heart, ignition at the point of recognition.  Then I stumble, then I fall, bad behavior and wrong thinking, the selfishness of the self-involved takes hold and runs my mouth, “Nice mount, great steed, But can nothing be done about these stripes?” The flash in those eyes, the knowing knickers, said it all.  I was trying to stay in my small place and that would never work with her, if I wanted the Zebra, I had to be willing to go to Africa.

Respect randomness

*

DICHOTOMY'S' EMBRACE

Contentment and security
Bleed in through the doors and windows of my heart.
Peace blows its fine wind across my mind.

I fear for my identity
I raise my hand to beat the drum
Is my pulse still here if the beat of discontent is not?

The warmth seeps in
My fingers uncurl
I resist the urge to tilt my face to the sun.

How can I be I
If my countenance is not bleak?
Mirth escapes my lips, Am I a creature of laughter?

My brain feels through levels of sheltered memory
I am old and age hangs from my brow
I am young and exposure stings my flesh.

In all this----Joy?
Where can I enfold this antithesis
Shadows play across shade.

A child of extremes, Yes
Brooding and rage, howling and silence
How have sprinkles and starlight added to the mix?

Purring, musing and sweet kisses
What am I in this embrace?

Stubborn

August 5

STUBBORN

When the donkey won’t move forward it’s time to stop running.  No need to make an ass of myself through force or coercion.  The dumb animal may be mute but its actions speak.  Reluctance is a warning.  If my animal nature is balking, listening not shoving is the preferred course.  Super intelligence can’t best good horse sense.  I must stand with my intuition; that creature depends on my survival for life.

Balance your shoe with your foot.

*

What are We Fighting For

Instead of competition for dominance

we would benefit from cooperation for survival.

The struggle to become the very best destroyers in the world

very well might make us postmortem champions.

Why is it that the lions don’t work to eradiate hyenas?

They could, but they don’t.

Why not, is the ever present question on my mind.

I have no answer as to why we strive to conquer.

A thousand platitudes come to mind,

but nothing fast or tight, nothing that holds water.

So, the question remains; why are we hell bent?

Horse Play

July 17

Horse Play

The sequestered equestrian rides alone through the night; the wood is as quiet as she. Passing no one; speaking not a word, she slips into the paddock without a nicker or a neigh. I long to be just as she, not silent sentinel, but living a whist fleet life, a power unto myself. What stands between are my hurt feelings and my longing to be loved. I can’t blame myself for either, but work to heal and grow. Nagging need is a pestilence I will be well rid of; the irredeemable past is luggage for a catalog, not for hauling on my back. I will mount up and ride my great round stead, the night is mine when I am ready the path is there I know.

Imagine an ostrich in flight

*

GRAFT

The bottom has been cut out

My underpinnings stripped from me..

Budding ambition whittled down, transplanted,

Saddled onto the rock like stock of other peoples sobriety.

Taped to the leg of my sponsor I heal and grow.

I splice my thinking with the rich ideas of improved living

I cling to the cleft, divisions made from the people,

Places and things of my past leave me split,

Primed for fresh growth and opportunity.

Never again do I need return to the sordid

Acquisition of power or control

There is no gain when I am bolted to position and influence

Graft is graft for good or bad

I don’t have to grow where I was planted.

The Horse of a Different Stripe

March 3

The Horse of a Different Stripe

When I arrived at the horse and pony show, I saw all there was to see; there were Morgans, Walkers, and Paints. Yet I couldn’t help, but return to this particular zebra, the spark of my imagination, the inspiration of my dreams. There was no help for me, I want what I want and need what I need. It was all about spirit, all about soul; the fire in its eyes matched the burning of my heart, ignition at the point of recognition. Then I stumble, then I fall, bad behavior and wrong thinking, the selfishness of the self-involved takes hold and runs my mouth, “Nice mount, great steed, But can nothing be done about these stripes?” The flash in those eyes, the knowing knickers, said it all. I was trying to stay in my small place and that would never work with her, if I wanted the Zebra, I had to be willing to go to Africa.

Respect randomness

*

DICHOTOMY'S' EMBRACE

Contentment and security
Bleed in through the doors and windows of my heart.
Peace blows its fine wind across my mind.

I fear for my identity
I raise my hand to beat the drum
Is my pulse still here if the beat of discontent is not?

The warmth seeps in
My fingers uncurl
I resist the urge to tilt my face to the sun.

How can I be I
If my countenance is not bleak?
Mirth escapes my lips, Am I a creature of laughter?

My brain feels through levels of sheltered memory
I am old and age hangs from my brow
I am young and exposure stings my flesh.

In all this----Joy?
Where can I enfold this antithesis
Shadows play across shade.

A child of extremes, Yes
Brooding and rage, howling and silence
How have sprinkles and starlight added to the mix?

Purring, musing and sweet kisses
What am I in this embrace?

Where do I live?

October 18

Where do I live?

Fleeter of foot is my goal. I race to catch the prize thoroughbreds as they flee. I play chase, I win, I lose, I fall in the mud, I break my leg. None of this does anything for the horses either, they are loose and confused; off like a shot, but nowhere to go. I buy better shoes, hire a trainer, put reflective tack on the stallions and the mares. In short I go broke. I had the world of possibilities before me and it ran away; all because I don’t close the barn door.

Sometimes raise your value by stooping

*

OPEN HEARTED GRIEF

Tell a tale of openhearted grief
And closed-minded terror
Bend the limits of misery.

Pour over the damned feelings and tired excuses
Level the cupful of measured terrene
And wipe the drooling face of denial.

The children will not dance tonight
The grass is wet with their tears.
The dogs circle the encampment of desire
And come to sleep when we are settled.

Silly ruffled whimsy won’t carry the freight
But the bus pulls into the drowsy station
Filled with tea lites and pantomime.

The story will close with a hand on the doorknob of hope
An eye on the jelly sandwich of contentment.
Whisper the lullaby to the ones who stay to hear it.

Morning cracks the shell to daytime.
Shattered pieces litter the night
Tremors shade my peace of mind.
Sum up the analogies of broken hearts and twisted minds.

Keds

July 26

Keds

If I gave a child a pair of sneakers would I refuse to help them to tie them on? Would I want this kid to wear them open, tongues hanging out, laces dangling and dangerous? Or worse would I want the child to have to lug the sneakers around; the kid feeling the need to treasure the gift and protect it from use or wear? I hope that I would not be this sick, misguided or deranged. I have to say that I have given up believing in a crazy G-d but this doesn’t mean that I can’t drive G-d crazy with my insane behavior. I have to stick my feet inside my shoes and lift my foot for help and open my mouth to ask, then pay close attention so I can learn to do it on my own; all the while not beating myself up that I can’t do it already.

Treat adventure as a requirement for life

*

STUBBORN

When the donkey won’t move forward

It’s time to stop running

No need to make an ass of myself

Through force or coercion.

The dumb animal may be mute but its actions speak.

Reluctance is a warning.

If my animal nature is balking

Listening not shoving in the preferred course.

Super intelligence can’t best good horse sense.

I must stand with my intuition

That creature depends on my survival for life.

Horse Play

July 17

Horse Play

The sequestered equestrian rides alone through the night; the wood is as quiet as she. Passing no one; speaking not a word, she slips into the paddock without a nicker or a neigh. I long to be just as she, not silent sentinel, but living a whist fleet life, a power unto myself. What stands between are my hurt feelings and my longing to be loved. I can’t blame myself for either, but work to heal and grow. Nagging need is a pestilence I will be well rid of; the irredeemable past is luggage for a catalog, not for hauling on my back. I will mount up and ride my great round stead, the night is mine when I am ready the path is there I know.

Imagine an ostrich in flight

*

GRAFT

The bottom has been cut out

My underpinnings stripped from me..

Budding ambition whittled down, transplanted,

Saddled onto the rock like stock of other peoples sobriety.

Taped to the leg of my sponsor I heal and grow.

I splice my thinking with the rich ideas of improved living

I cling to the cleft, divisions made from the people,

Places and things of my past leave me split,

Primed for fresh growth and opportunity.

Never again do I need return to the sordid

Acquisition of power or control

There is no gain when I am bolted to position and influence

Graft is graft for good or bad

I don’t have to grow where I was planted.

Stubborn

August 5

STUBBORN


When the donkey won’t move forward it’s time to stop running. No need to make an ass of myself through force or coercion. The dumb animal may be mute but its actions speak. Reluctance is a warning. If my animal nature is balking, listening not shoving is the preferred course. Super intelligence can’t best good horse sense. I must stand with my intuition; that creature depends on my survival for life.


Balance your shoe with your foot.