Abundance of Water

October 25

ABUNDANCE OF WATER

Waterfalls fail the catch basin and run off to make mud slide from the hills.  Power showers down, but the channels it uses are not always beneficial.  High tide with the push of tsunami wipes out the coast.  Water is the stuff of life, but God forbid it gets out of control, there is no living with it.  I cannot regulate the weather but today I have a plan.  I don’t have to stand out waiting to see how much will come down.  I may not have every contingency covered; I do have a backup for the worse than average season.  Yes, I did dig myself a French-drain, but I started by not living on the flood plain.

Travel in your own good company.

*

Basket Ball

Idiots out number poets, this is a fact,

though I do wonder why.

It cannot be an easy lot spending your days

in slow witted discharge;

I would think they might at least try putting pen to paper.

I think I would rather live in a world filled with bad poets

than drifting on this ship of fools,

The troubadours rise with imbeciles as their cover

and poems fall from favor.

I wonder how I could make verse a contagion,

how could I make it spread?

You may laugh at me, but think what some guy did

with a broken peach basket and a rubber ball.

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

Humility

September 19

HUMILITY

A great woman walks my street everyday.  She carries a tall walking stick with a loop for her hand.  Each morning I see her low crown of hair and the half-smile, her friendly wave when I catch her eye.  Each morning when I see her I see the secret play across her face, humility.  This is the secret she cannot share.  I know she would sing it from the mountaintops if it would help, but humility is not a secret you can tell; it’s a secret you have to live with.  As I slowly learn this precious thing I see it shine in others.  Recognition of the persons with inborn dignity and a keen understanding of their personal value lights inside me.  When I see this fine woman walking with purpose, I appreciate myself better and am so very grateful for those who keep humility alive by living it.

Know your friends well and your books better.

*

Toolbox

I know just how hard it is to pick up the right tools.

It's like I know I have a hammer in the drawer,

in fact I have two, so, why oh, why do I feel compelled

to hit things with the heel of my shoe?

Trust and believe it is ineffective at best;

additionally it is embarrassing.

I wish I could say I have done this a handful of times,

unfortunately, I have done it over and over,

it’s hell on my shoes and worse on my morale.

Using what is at hand or foot may seem practical,

but it is not prudent.

Walking myself through the step by step process;

reading and following directions is easier

but only when I disengage the lie that says it’s harder.

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

Top

February 26

TOP

The chipped paint of the red stripe gives the illusion of fading to rose as it spins.  The edge, painted with green, thalo in its intensity, reflects the windows of the room.  The bead, purple and gleaming, affixed to the stem, holds the cuff with its two apposed openings, the cord recoiled inside. Underneath, protected from easy observation, resides the point, lathed and faultless.  The turning weight is carried and balanced perfectly on this nib.  The hum, spiraling and melodic, comes from the table as well as the top, the epitome of form and function, grace and harmony.  In spite of it all, the only thing that truly matters is who pulls the string.

Be polite to your dreams.

*

Exceptance

“I want God’s will for me,”

I sigh to my sponsor.

“Except for this and except for that,”

is her trig response.

She knows me, knows I have exceptance.

“You have a list of exclusions,

a list that dams up the works.”

“Well, trust is hard,” I splutter.

“Trust is not the issue here,” says she.

“You don’t feel acceptable

and exceptance is what follows.”

“Whatever could you mean?”

my broken bluster leaving only this plaintive whine.

“You believe you’re not good enough

for God or anyone

and cross everything off the list

in an attempt to duck blame

or shame or some other nasty thing.

You are good enough kiddo,

get that and everything else is good enough, too.

At least good enough for now

and now is all we have. Accept 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

Button Box

January 26

BUTTON BOX

I go to my button box to sort out my life.  I lay out matching sets, the various sizes, shapes and colors.  Coat buttons are commanding but unsuitable for the delicate places.  The tiny pearl buttons with shanks pull my attention but work well only on silk.  The metal, shell, and horn buttons come from such far off places and all end up here crossing my table, as I try to see clearly how to stick with the winners. 

I know the people represented in this box, the strong, the loud, the beautiful.  I know the weak, the unique, the ones of special circumstances and occasion.  I come to the realization the simple ones, the buttons sewn on the inside, the ones who silently give strength and support to the large and small alike, the ones which come in every shade and size, which match their ability to the service they can render others, these are my favorites.  They make secure all the things I love and trust in sobriety.  Flat and unobtrusive, these buttons hold fast the fabric of my life.

Name your pens and pencils.

*

Responding to Response

Thankfully I’m not in charge

of what is so freely given in this program.

I want it to be available,

but I want gratitude to be the universal response.

At first I thought I couldn’t understand

how anyone could hold this gift in their hands

and not feel grateful,

truth is I know exactly how that’s done

and I don’t want to look at that ugly thing.

“Cunning, Baffling, Powerful”

But they left out how repulsive it is,

maybe they didn’t want to see it either,

or thought it was self-explanatory.

No matter which,

I’m glad I am not the arbiter

of the flowing fount that is recovery,

I might have been tempted to cap and meter it,

killing all the beauty and wild randomness

that makes it real and true.

I despair that others don’t recover as I recover

and yet I am relieved that I didn’t have to drink as they drank.

I have to see those around me well enough

to stay out of their traps or follow their leads,

whichever is appropriate,

but I don’t have to adjudicate their reply.

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

Life as an Elm

January 25

LIFE AS AN ELM

I stand tall, my bark sloughing elongated rectangles.  Great bunions of protruding wood, giant bubbles of tight grain grown in reactionary curls, these tumors born of abuse and endured in maturation are harvested in recovery.  The burden of them is severed from me by the sharp teeth of truth.  Sectioning these masses for purposes of inventory allows the twisted and deformed wood to become dry and constructive.  I inlay the contorted sheets of history into the panels of the doors AA built for me, the doors built to exit hell, which gave me access to the world beyond. 

I stand in the woods, reaching the sky, sinking deeply to the underlying springs, surrounded by the joys of reality, things unseen in my pain- consumed, blister-covered life of addiction.  Life was a forest of one; the wind hit only me; the snow fell only on me; the drought affected only me.  Today, lightened by the loss of my inappropriate growth, I grow together with my sponsor, my group, and the we.  I can accept shade and shelter; also offer it.  The bugs and parasites meet with the resistance of communal health, and my disease has no harbor, not in my bark, not in my heart.  Today, my program strips me of my disabilities and makes me strong in camaraderie.

Cry just to water your face.

*

The Max Factor

I apply foundation and rouge

to make up the difference between reality and expectation.

My composition is unexamined by onlookers

Appearance is the subliminal standard bearer.

My brave face is plaster cast

as an estimation and a singularity.

Powder gives and takes power;

builds a glass ceiling then a glass floor.

What I owe my mind

is more than what I allow its representation to be.

I am made up to a spot on the wall

from which I can not move,

all because I wanted to put my best face forward.

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 Process

January 23

THE PROCESS

The mountains don’t wash away like sandcastles.  The amount of persistence required is far greater.  Acorns don’t work like sunflowers; not everything is instant gratification.  Marathons aren’t run in seconds.  If you don’t love the whole adventure, pick a smaller goal.  There is no shame in sunflowers or sandcastles or microwave popcorn as long as you want it and hold it in esteem.  Time-consuming, life-consuming journeys have a high price in boredom and are not worth the consumption if that is not where your heart leads you. You don’t have to love washing the pans to be a good baker but it helps.  Peace is in the process.

Leave space on your plate for discussion.

*

Lathhouse

I want to face the sun.

I want to stand and the wind to blow.

I want the rain uninterrupted on my head.

I want to remain upright and unburnt,

to prevail amidst it all.

Tender stalks and verdant leaves

frustrate my anti-social streak.

I want to bear the worst

without cover or assistance

but here I am in the slanted shade of this dynasty.

As I grow so does the awareness

that even when I am strong enough

to leave this sheltered abode

I will be relocated to a row where I am never alone.

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

Come What May

November 10

Come What May

Inevitable things are very much like inedible things; you can’t quite swallow them yet they are hard to throw up.  It can’t seem to get here quick enough to comfort my fear nor will it pass with any speed once it has arrived.  I am like a boa with a hedgehog as my lunch, the shredding is rightfully dreaded and in no way preventable.  Not everything that wings my way is anxiety driven, but I have to admit that some things are.  I cannot spend my days wishing the storm clouds away so I will put on my slicker and hunker down for the drenching. 

The alleys in your mind are for passage not permanence

*

PRIDE GOETHE BEFORE A FALL

In truth, pride goes wherever it wants, it’s pride.
Pride wanders alone, for no one enjoys its company.
Pride travels far but gets nowhere.
Pride rises above reality and seeps beneath the surface.

When pride wears out, love and honesty poke holes in it.
Until it is grounded and transforms to humility
Pride’s past is remembered with flush and embarrassment.
Recounting yesterday is pride’s unenviable task.
Keeping it from recreation is 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

Let the Groundhog Sing It

November 7

Let the Groundhog Sing It

Mistakes and poor choices save me from attempting to climb out onto moral high ground.  Moral ambiguity keeps me protected from the illusion of relentless righteousness.  Lopsided living is a fate I am spared due to my flawed execution of perfection; all in a days work for a functional human.  Left by the wayside is the fantasy that I am all right.

Be a timekeeper and a dream-maker

*

NUZZLES OFFERING

Like a vegan kitten who wrestles
Long tailed leaves and twigs
Subduing them and dragging these prizes
To the feet of human parents
I fight paper tigers and bring the tatters
As tributes to my Higher Power.

These bloodless battles are pure practice
Future wars may not be as clean.
I cannot enlist my God
To fight these skirmishes.
I would never believe in one that could.

I accept Deus as creator and cheerleader
But champion-----No
Foliage and foes are mine to fight.
The spoils I bring back
For pats on the head and bragging.

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

Helping Hands?

September 8

Helping Hands?

Why would you go to a rattler for a snakebite remedy?  It feels so much like the hair of the dog that bit me.  The truth is I must, must stay away from the quick answers.  I am a slow healer, but I do heal if I allow myself to do so unencumbered by poison or untruth.  When I am returning to the vomit of my past it is incumbent upon me to search for the old lies and/or the new ones, either or both will get me drunk; do I even need the help of a prescription pad? 

Never cage harbingers

*

SELF-SEEKING IS A DEBIT

Trying to get credit for everything I do

Has run me into debt in my anonymity account

Which draws directly from my humility bank.

I cannot expend my resources seeking acknowledgement

And expect to retain much dignity or class.

How can I build within, while constantly grasping,

For nods and smiles from scenery and landscaping?

I want approval so much that I have lost my center.

In an attempt to top the charts I forgot my song.

My ego writes checks that my soul can’t cover.

I run my potential into the red

Looking to get my name in black and white.

If I keep my name out of lights

I have a chance of building up my dignity.

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

Nightcrawlers and Nightingales

September 6

Nightcrawlers and Nightingales

I wriggle blind eyed through the dirt; friction, my friend giving me something to push against, resistance aiding my travels.  I worm my way through life and believed that was all there was; having never seen the sky.  I traveled far and wide once I had taken to the air.  Open eyed I push against a thing I cannot see and peer down on the dirt I left behind.  I soar rather than struggle and go the distance leaving my mind open to the next frontier.

Say what everyone knows in a way that no one thought of

*

HUMILITY

A great woman walks my street everyday.

She carries a tall walking stick with a loop for her hand.

Each morning I see her low crown of hair and the half smile,

Her friendly wave when I catch her eye.

Each morning when I see her

I see the secret play across her face--humility.

This is the secret she cannot share.

I know she would sing it from the mountain tops if it would help.

But humility is not a secret you can tell.

It’s a secret you have to live with.

As I slowly learn this precious thing I see it shine in others.

Recognition of persons with inborn dignity

And a keen understanding of their personal value lights inside me.

When I see this fine woman walking with purpose

I appreciate myself better and am so very grateful

For those who keep humility alive by living it.

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 Key You See

April 11

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.

Learn the difference between area and circumference

*

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 epilates

Bent, Spindled, Mutilated

March 20

Bent, Spindled, Mutilated

Injury changes memory, not just the memory of the individual trauma, but the very nature of the mind.  The hooks and loops distort and I can’t hold on as I once did.  The misses and disconnects become more frequent, then they become expected.  Emotional fluff-ups do not suffice, the hardware is damaged and a positive attitude is advisable but the pliers are a necessity.  Some things are easier to break than to repair, in fact most things are easier to break, no skill required, though some take it on as skill, most destruction is ignorant or accidental, nothing personal just a part of a pain filled landscape.  Direct intervention is not the same as hands-free degradation, though both have their cost.  Redemption, restoration, is sought from all comers.  Possibilities and probabilities stack; action is a relief, whether or not it is a fix.  I take a breath to face the final blow, for when the cost adds up and I look for recompense all I hear is the check is in the mail.  

Line the bin so the ick won’t stick

*

20 CART PILEUP

What's the problem here?
Asks my sponsor, as she approaches my apparent impasse.
Well, I've been trying to get these carts lined up
What do you think of my progress?
How many carts do you have here?
A few, quite a few, why?
And how many horses? She asks
Just the one, the same as everyone else, I answer.
And where is this poor animal?
Back here.
Behind the carts
OK, we have a twofold problem here.
First, one horse can handle only one cart.
So pick ONE
Second, that sad creature needs to be in the proper position
To do any good at all.
You had best figure out a way to get him in front
Or you will remain stuck
Even after you whittle down your burden.
I was stunned
She went to her cart
Climbed to the seat
And took the reins
How long did it take you to get yours like that? I ask
Honey it takes every day.
Don't kid yourself
I wake up every morning with the same train wreck
Your standing in now.
Learn to sort faster
And you'll have the rest of today
You can start over
With us tomorrow.

Malaria

March 18

Malaria

Flailing, reaching, screaming; hiding, avoiding, misdirecting, theses are subsets in a list of extremes whose commonality is lacking, lacking humility.  I fall to pieces just thinking of standing exposed, imperfect and unprotected.  I’m not sure what I think will happen to me in this posture; instantaneous death? Couldn’t be, I’m not that lucky, nor am I foolish enough to think that I am that lucky.  Possibly, I fear rancorous humiliation, but really who is powerful enough to do that to me?  I know and like myself well enough to deflect obvious flying nonsense, so what is it that I do flee?  I think it is the endless grinding inelegance of life, the stinging nettled nature of things, my inability to weave my way around my weakness and slip into the open unpoisoned.  I fear exchanging peace for failure.  Humility is when I know I cannot fail.                                       

Be conscience of judgment and try not to react to it

*

WET BLANKET

I have carried this sodden thing with me all my life.
It's weight a burden for numerous years,
I have never been able to explain my continuing drag of this pitiful thing
Though it has been commented on by many.

My fidelity is boundless
In spite of inner questions and doubts.
Now that the fire is here I am glad to have it.
I pull it over me and step into the fray.

Thick and moist, I somehow struggle under its influence
And am able to do what others, bare of my encumbrance, cannot
I don't believe I can quench all the flames but I hope to help some to safety
And bat down the encroaching inferno a bit.

Cured

February 24

Cured

Ham is cured.  Thank G-d, I’m not ham.  Ham likes to be the center of attention.  Thank G-d, I’m not ham.  I can’t be the worker among workers if I believe I don’t need to work.  I can’t be a friend among friends if I am an island or a precipice, above or away from the need or reach of others.  Cured is a one way street that leads to a dried up lonely end.  Just the same way that turning my cucumber into a pickle took me out of the garden, curing takes me away from the only home I know, recovery.  Though I am often raw and sometimes fresh, these I can survive, finished due to the drying out process that would be a living death.  Thank G-d I’m not cured.

                     

Side step pitfalls

*

BECAUSE

Because I am my fathers child,
I make my attendance at meetings frequent and regular.
Having looked deeply in the genetic mirror
I see so many bitter days.

I've run from implications and sheltered in the steps.
The humility that saved my life,
Is understanding I am no different from my family
And since this is a progressive disease we all have
I will just get there faster.

Knowing who I can be helps me turn my will over
And keeps me grasping my Higher Powers belt loop.
All I am turns in every direction
And can pull or push, lift or fall.

I know my assets.
I know their power and their limitations.
All my hope is placed on a plan to use these resources.
I follow the only lead
Which has never promised more than it can deliver.

Hospitality

February 9

Hospitality

What unites us, heals us, serves us, is the hospitality of the program.  Fellowship encircles us and draws us close, in a word unites us, hospitality is our core.  Hospital is the root of hospitality and recovery is the route to health, hospitality is the skeleton of recovery.  Hospitable aid, the true gift of self is hospitality; hospitality the master of A.A.

Observe inaction and discover its root

*

FORGIVENESS

Forgiveness is not something to force on people
 like unwanted coffee.
It is only appropriate to forgive people who ask
 for forgiveness
And show with their behavior that they want it.

It is never appropriate to shove forgiveness on people
 who haven't asked
And show no signs of wanting it
 or demonstrate just the opposite.

It's been said, forgiving was to help you feel better.
It doesn't.
Letting go of resentments makes you feel better.
Making amends to the people you've hurt,
Cleaning up your side of the street makes you feel better.

Keeping an open mind and heart will make you ready
 for the possibility of someone coming to make amends.
Forgiveness is a two way street.
Anything you have to throw over someone like a net
 is usually a mistake.

Simultaneous Acceptance

February 8

Simultaneous Acceptance

Being typical is a difficult thing to live with, but I am typical.  Being extraordinary is a challenging thing to live up to, but this is also mine to bear, you see I am a typical alcoholic after all.  Walking with one foot in each camp is not enough. I must simultaneously accept both my common commonality and my lottery winner uniqueness if I am to travel hand in hand with my Higher Power.  If I don’t integrate this double reality, allow it to imprint my thoughts the way it is tattooed in my DNA I can not possibly take the biggest step of all and drop my judgment of these things so that humility can dwell within.  You see there is not enough room in the vortex of my humanness to accommodate the jags of verdict and the desire for the sublime smoothness of humility. I can’t chase humility I have had to face that, but I can remove the impediments to its residence.

Have some compassion for your wounds

*

READY

Ready or not here it comes.
Life on terms of its own.
Bracing for the onslaught of gravity
I grip too well the implements of past days.

Fearing the pressure, I lay in my shallow grave,
The ground having been scooped out by my own hand.
Withering from expectation, my blood runs slow and dark,
Reducing to coagulated futility, loosing my life in anticipation of death.

Attempts at being less, as means of protection,
Less is not a solution.
Fading does not make life more livable
It makes me unavailable.

Readiness is my responsibility, it is momentary, momentary is sufficient.
Sobriety is nothing more than lining myself up with the needs of this instant
I need go no further,
Whole solutions are not my department.

Showing up,

dressed and washed,

ball and bat in hand if possible,

Just making it to the lineup is my full-time job.
Even if I never swing

It is better than being buried in the field

Self-Seeking is a Debt

September 21

SELF-SEEKING IS A DEBIT

Trying to get credit for everything I do has run me into debt in my anonymity account, which draws directly from my humility bank.  I cannot expend my resources seeking acknowledgement and expect to retain much dignity or class.  How can I build within while constantly grasping for nods and smiles from scenery and landscaping?  I want approval so much that I have lost my center.  In an attempt to top the charts I forgot my song.  My ego writes checks that my soul can’t cover.  I run my potential into the red looking to get my name in black and white.  If I keep my name out of lights I have a chance of building up my dignity.

Own your own blocks.

*

No Jinn

I molested the touch control lamp.

I had no trouble turning it on,

but could never figure how to turn it off;

therefore I let the light shine in the daytime.

I called looking for guidance,

“lick your fingers then try again,” was the glib suggestion.

I offered that I was not interested

in becoming that intimate with said lamp.

Sometimes connections are made easily,

other times they cannot be made at all,

still there are times the renewal of a connection

is determined by my willingness to up the ante.

Am I willing to put a little spit into the effort

or will I leave the light to burn?

Humility

September 19

HUMILITY

A great woman walks my street everyday.  She carries a tall walking stick with a loop for her hand.  Each morning I see her low crown of hair and the half-smile, her friendly wave when I catch her eye.  Each morning when I see her I see the secret play across her face, humility.  This is the secret she cannot share.  I know she would sing it from the mountaintops if it would help, but humility is not a secret you can tell; it’s a secret you have to live with.  As I slowly learn this precious thing I see it shine in others.  Recognition of the persons with inborn dignity and a keen understanding of their personal value lights inside me.  When I see this fine woman walking with purpose, I appreciate myself better and am so very grateful for those who keep humility alive by living it.

Know your friends well and your books better.

*

Toolbox

I know just how hard it is to pick up the right tools.

It's like I know I have a hammer in the drawer,

in fact I have two, so, why oh, why do I feel compelled

to hit things with the heel of my shoe?

Trust and believe it is ineffective at best;

additionally it is embarrassing.

I wish I could say I have done this a handful of times,

unfortunately, I have done it over and over,

it’s hell on my shoes and worse on my morale.

Using what is at hand or foot may seem practical,

but it is not prudent.

Walking myself through the step by step process;

reading and following directions is easier

but only when I disengage the lie that says it’s harder.

The Frog

January 21

THE FROG

Stretched in the water, still, the frog hangs. The pond is barely a teacup, sufficient for the communion of God and frog. I watch the frog, unblinking , savoring respiration. In a pond in Maine, I bore this posture, center stage. A quarter mile of water all around, I hold my head above the surface and feel I am in the eye of God’s creation, face to face with benevolence. Peace spars with uneasy smallness. I am a tiny speck, floating in the soup; I am one organism in a sea teaming with life; I am a part of, not privileged but equal to the rest. Can I bear this reality, the struggle of living on a web? Can I live a humble life, knowing I am favored no more than the rest? Can I set aside my need for preferential treatment, a God-given Band-Aid for my multitude of hurt?

“If you can’t, you will drink," says my sponsor.

“If I have to live this way, I will cry,” I respond.

“That is your God-given right.”

Take someone else’s Higher Power out for a test drive.

*

Saurian or Dalliance

I love to be mystical

but the only dragon in my life

is when I drag on and on.

Procrastination is the winged beast in my world.

I armor plate the thing, shiny and gleaming,

my loitering delay is mightily impressive.

You might think it would take flight

from the way it postures

but departure has been adjourned

in favor of misgiving and postponement.

I wander through the forest

attempting to appear brave and feeling it occasionally

while my tale grows longer.

I need the fierce face and sharp claws

I can beat the mythology

if I will just continue to take action.

Let the Groundhog Sing It

November 7

Let the Groundhog Sing It

Mistakes and poor choices save me from attempting to climb out onto moral high ground. Moral ambiguity keeps me protected from the illusion of relentless righteousness. Lopsided living is a fate I am spared due to my flawed execution of perfection; all in a days work for a functional human. Left by the wayside is the fantasy that I am all right.

Be a timekeeper and a dream-maker

*

NUZZLES OFFERING

Like a vegan kitten who wrestles
Long tailed leaves and twigs
Subduing them and dragging these prizes
To the feet of human parents
I fight paper tigers and bring the tatters
As tributes to my Higher Power.

These bloodless battles are pure practice
Future wars may not be as clean.
I cannot enlist my God
To fight these skirmishes.
I would never believe in one that could.

I accept Deus as creator and cheerleader
But champion-----No
Foliage and foes are mine to fight.
The spoils I bring back
For pats on the head and bragging.