Make Use of Brown Soap

August 26

Make Use of Brown Soap

When I have death in my pocket it makes it easy to cross the street without a glance.  A little arsenic in my in my veins allows me to swallow the rest with no thought beyond want.  Twist the screws tight enough in my brain and no other pressure seems problematic.  All of the trouble in the world can beat a path to my door when I carry within me the seeds of destruction.  I have to check myself for stow-away devastation.  Ruin begins in tiny droplets but will wash me down the drain if not wiped immediately from my skin.  Vigilant acknowledgement of the power of small burdens protects me from the mind blown ravages of the ensuing cyclone.  Microbes cause mayhem, so I must watch where I touch and wash before I eat.

Don’t keep your windows shuttered; don’t keep your eyes closed

*

UNIFIED THEORY

When I build the circuit correctly the light comes on.

When I heal the shards together the bell rings.

If I am meticulous and attentive, if the world is gracious

And bares herself to my mind I will see how everything fits.

I know the reflexive nature of things

And the way life folds one thing inside the other.

Whale song is a long slow underwater birdcall.

Moon rise, sun rise, then the moon again.

The universe works without my interference

But also without my complete understanding.

I am learning how to be a part of a beautiful maze

I long to comprehend it.

The weeds are trying to take back the city

If I lay down maybe they will take me back too.

If I keep my eyes open I might see it all unfold.

Conception without is my desire within.

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

Tyler's Truth

July 5

Tyler’s Truth

The snow is dying, pouring itself into the creeks and riverbeds.  Sacrificing its crystalline structure and community for the ubiquitous oneness of liquid.  Drawn by the gravitational lure of the ocean.  Unity conquers the frozen individuated whole.  Pulled from coast to coast the sun tempts the water’s life, the sea gives up her soul to the sky to be reborn as snow once more.  

Open your mouth just to see if a song comes dancing out

*

THE RAINBOW

What is that look of concentration?

Asked my sponsor

I am trying to see the gray.

The gray? She queried.

Yes, I heard at the meeting that between the

Black and white there’s a lot of gray.

Well my darling

I don’t want you to have black and white thinking.

But what lies between black and white

Are all the colors ---the full spectrum

What am I to do with this information?

What do I do with all those colors?

I ask in shock and confusion

For right now, just remember

That all colors aren’t blue.

Leaves in a Pile

October 30

LEAVES IN A PILE

As a great pile of dry leaves, lay the problem.  Running through it to show my disrespect accomplishes nothing but to scatter my dilemma and widen the area of distress.  Covering and composting only allows the burden to indwell, leaching into that which feeds my soul.  Burning puts it in the air I breathe.  There is no galaxy far off enough to keep its reflection from my face.  Attack, flight, banishment?  No!  Insulation, conversion, contortion?  No!  I pursue none of these; I can not control things exterior.  I can not feed my power, light and life into the pile.  I have only one goal: not to become the problem.  Not to dry or dehydrate.  Not to fall from my hope and collect in the road.  My goal is to hold fast to hope and serve as conduit and companion to a life bigger than mine alone.

Practice little words like ‘oh’, and ‘hum’

*

Entrenched

I have dug myself a trench

and invited my friends and family.

Truth is, I drug many and tricked others

and there they are in the trench

I have so recently climbed out of.

It is a nasty place and I feel horribly responsible,

but here is the sacred truth;

I can’t climb down there again,

not even on a rescue mission.

I am obligated to help them, this is for sure,

but the fact still remains that it is not safe

to get into the water with a drowning person,

even if I am the one who caused the drowning.

If I am to be of any help at all I must get my footing

and keep it safely on the bank

and only then might I be able to throw down a rope

or lend a hand to anyone, especially those I love.

I pray for the sturdy stance of helpful strangers

and try my best to cause no further harm,

more than that will have to wait

until my cleats are soundly lodged into the earth

and my head is squarely upon my shoulders,

for headlong and mud covered I am no help.

Public Privacy

August 28

PUBLIC PRIVACY

My public privacy is protected by my smile not my scowl.  Maintaining boundaries as I travel the common areas of life is more readily accomplished by a pleasant demeanor than a dark stare.  I have used negative attitude and found myself outside of my own protection.  The buoyancy of my manner keeps surface tension a natural and acceptable reality.  Hooded behavior drags every interaction into suspicion.  When I make part of my business to put others at ease, it is easier for me to preserve my business as my own.

Put clothes on ambition.

*

The Slick Nature of Grace

The higher I climb the more severe the fall;

the sweeter my life the more brittle my blood sugar.

I must be more careful as I get better.

I thought being sober would make my life free from care,

but I think it is a freedom from fretting

that might be more accurate.

I must still climb and take in all the sweetness

which comes my way,

but always I must vigilantly keep my balance.

Hold on tighter; eat more protein.

Grace is a glorious thing

and I am the consecrated recipient

who knows the slickness of the slopes

and the cunning of the glucose.

Daring to be sober is an athletic endeavor

I must tighten my cleats

and sharpen my sweet tooth.

Autumn

August 25

AUTUMN

The falling leaves slap my hand as I ride the road at fifty miles per, my arm dangling

The trees are shedding their masquerade

Exposed they stand stark, stripped

Naked to the soul

The growth of this year's yearning waves on the fringe

I can follow this lead

Remove pretense not clothing

Stand before all who have an interest in seeing me

Unashamed of my wants

And the things I reach for

I can cast off the uniform of evolution

And enjoy a long winter of truth

Do what you do.

*

Echidna’s Child

The difference between perplexed paranoia

and procrastination is sometimes a subtle distinction.

The confusion which swirls,

confounding me along my trudge,

gets the name of procrastinator.

I am not at all sure I should continue to call it by that name.

I believe that quite possibly I am an internal chimera,

a blend of creatures, both mythic and fantastic,

striving to live as one functioning specter,

in a world too hard for a disparate visage as myself.

When I am most myself,

when the goal is pure and true, I work with a will.

When I am making deadly compromise

and risking my soul for social ease or the approval of the keepers,

my dragon heart rebels and I am struggling

against the fire in my stomach and fear screaming in my head.

I don’t know how to eliminate the conflict,

but for now I will attempt to stop calling myself names.

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.

*

Origins

At the root of it all is darkness.

The place from which I grow,

the structure that holds me fiercely upright,

is pressed on all sides by dirt.

When I get right down to it the ethereal leaves

and twigs, even the branches, do not exist,

except for my foundation in the composted death

and recycled life; the ground.

For is it God who rains down from the heavens

light and water or is God truly living

at the center of the earth,

warming my toes and securing me to what is real.

In The Meadow

June 15

IN THE MEADOW

Being the only tree in the meadow often leaves me feeling lonely.  I tell myself of the camaraderie I imagine in the forest.  These images are more poetic than real.  I believe in community and support; I think of the woods as this place apart from the complications of my exposed life.  I shrug off the very real competition and struggle from sharing every inch of root space and the search for each square of sunlight.  There is much joy in being an individual.  An eco-system of diversity allows me to fully develop.  I can spread my branches and my roots.  I can offer shelter to those in need of my reaching and my shadow; tender flowers and tired birds find me a haven.  I have unique abilities in this field.  Space can feel lonely but it is full of possibilities.

Press up against your iron will.

*

Poe-etiquette

Cosmic questions cross the sky,

I wonder but don’t ask why

I pitch the tent, but don’t stay the night

I borrow money and don’t pay the rent

I sooth myself but can’t be content

I earn my keep though it is all been spent

The real true meanings are pushed away,

Has ready tragedy come to stay

Forever darkness, no more light of day

Cheerful greeting left to lay

All the poets bring their knives

For blood letting’s become their prize

Here I sit and tend the boat

Rocking dingy out to moor

I play the Raven, black and poor

I dare not speak it but in my mind sing

“Never more”

No Reason

September 5

No Reason

Reason falls through, where it lands is a place of unknown seascape and unrelenting tides. The roar in my ears furthers the disorienting effect of relocation. At first it seems easier to let go of reason but when I descend into madness I scramble for purchase; looking for sanity like a cleft in a cliff. Loss of skin and blood is nothing to compare to the loss of my mind. I believe I could be more easily separated from a limb or two than to lose rein on my brain. Reason falls through; I must follow even though the terrain is arduous and my heart is sometimes faint, for without reason there is no reason and without reason there is no life.

Write songs to the dead, sing them to the living

*

HATCHLING

When the shell gets too tight

It’s time to hatch.

I can’t tell you it’s safe out there

Just that it’s time to go.

The leaving is not easy.

Exodus fulfilled by the use of one small tooth

This experience may or may not prepare you

For the rest of your life.

So much still depends on predestination

And your attitude.

I mean are you a chicken or a hawk?

A peacock or a dove?

Or is there something of which I am unaware.

Did someone sit on your nest

Or cover it with sand?

Are you a turtle, lizard or snake?

See so much is out of your hands

But still your actions are your choice.

What are We Fighting For?

August 5

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 my head, but nothing fast or tight, nothing that holds water. So, the question remains; why are we hell bent?

Welcome help

*

MY TALE

I must be my own tattletale.

I must give my sponsor bullets to shoot down my disease

Anything I nurture and protect will grow and take me over.

It is up to me to choose if I will feed my ailment or my health

My life will be consumed that is a guarantee,

All things feed into others.

The direction this meal takes is my daily decision.

The bull’s eye can be hit if I describe the target.

The ending will be happy if the story I tell is my own.

Hatchling

September 17

HATCHLING



When the shell gets too tight it’s time to hatch. I can’t tell you it’s safe out there, just that it’s time to go. The leaving is not easy. Exodus fulfilled by the use of one small tooth. This experience may or may not prepare you for the rest of your life, so much still depends on predestination and your attitude. I mean are you a chicken or a hawk? A peacock or dove? Or is there something of which I am unaware? Did someone sit on your nest or was it covered in sand? Are you turtle, lizard or snake? See, so much is out of your hands, but still your actions are your choice.


Touch your books and pet them.

Harvest Timing

September 9

HARVEST TIMING


The harvest fits in the growing season and the oak fits inside the acorn. My sober mind fits right in my sober time. The soul of everything rubs across the hind leg of a cricket to sing. The infinite machinery of the universe spins but you stand there questioning the existence of a Higher Power. Well, that’s who you are, but I have only one question for you. Who else could have made all the best tomatoes come from Jersey?


Catch rain on your face.