Suzy Q's Mother

February 17

Suzy Q’s Mother

Through process of elimination I have had to learn who G-d is and who G-d isn’t.  When it comes down to my understanding everything incomprehensible is off the table and what is left is mine, all mine.  I can’t fathom an all powerful G-d; therefore my G-d is not all powerful.  I can not begin to comprehend a vengeful G-d, as you might have guessed; my G-d is not vengeful.  Because of these constraints I have a non-omnipotent G-d, one with limitations and bounds.  This doesn’t mean I love my G-d any less in fact it may be why I love my G-d so very much.  And G-d loves me with a Mother love that trails me to the depths and heights of the path, but like any mother, she can’t do everything.  My G-d is accomplished and wonderful, but there are days that I need things, which lay outside my Higher Power’s area of expertise and I must turn to help beyond our little circle of two.  This is not easy at first.  We both feel awkward in the attempt, but Suzy Q lives two houses down and her mother still has her hook shot from college and since my mom’s experience of basketball is that it’s the court you walk through to go play tennis, I ask Mrs. Q with help making the three point shots.  I don’t have to understand Suzy Q’s mother, I leave that to Suzy.  I just have to ask for help, learn the jump and go home when I’m done.  It’s nice to be able to slam dunk, but there is no place like home.

Recommend earnestness

*

THIN ICE

The ice is brittle, transparent and breaking away.
I brace for destruction, turmoil and frigid descent.
I am stuck in my topside thinking
And cannot realize the chance for freedom the cracking expanse promises.

I am an oceanic creature.
I can escape my watery bonds with the splitting of the ice.
Trapped in a hole I keep open only through the friction of my unrest
I am kept from the community of life to which I belong.

My reflection mixes with my view of the sky
And I forget my place, forget my name,
Forget how I have come to be trapped here.

The pining after what is not mine to have
Has brought me to this thin edge.
I must break through to be who I am.
In doing so I shatter the illusion of who I thought I was.

Zeal to zenith
I must move away from the phantasm and mockery
And take refuge in what I am

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

Sharing

August 3

SHARING

Please take a bite of my PB&J.  I made it myself.  It is fine as it is. I slathered the bread and cut it so neatly; still I can’t help but want to offer some to you.  I know that to stand and smile next to you, watch you lick the peanut butter from the roof of your mouth, have you dab the jelly from the corner of my lips, will make this sandwich even better.  You bring so much to this meal, something bright and so clever.  You bring you. I can pull things together and set it all up but somehow my creation is never quite complete until I share it with you.

Withhold a convoy of criticism, advance a brigade of cheer.

*

Big Name

My name has a foreign sound;

my head turns when it is called.

I recognize this as training not identity.

I remember teaching the dog her name.

I called it while petting and praising her,

soon the name was hers.

Now, I think of God.

Did we call long and loud enough

to trigger name recognition on a vast intangible?

Is this how we tagged and labeled the unknowable;

assigned it a place on a shelf;

somewhere to be called up from?

Does the noise sound as strange as the syllables

of my name sound to me?

Does it matter as long as we answer?

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

Space

May 31

SPACE

I stand behind the podium and talk about the event horizon, which brought me into these rooms.  My audience: other unwitting astronauts whose lives, like mine, were deconstructed by the Black Hole of addiction.  Though the time and place may be different, the physics of compulsion and allergy are precise and repetitive.  Nodding heads affirm my calculations to be accurate with the vectors and trajectories of their own experience.  I conclude, with the gratitude of a reassembled life, and pray, with gravity, for my feet to stay on the ground.

Toast your bread with satisfaction.

*

The Attention Tax

Paying attention is the price exacted for living in this society.

A taxation which is like a leach;

it takes the life force, diverts my brain waves,

claims the water rights to my river of thought.

What is left I use to wash off what I can,

never quite managing to feel clean or clear.

I sit in the mud puddle

still unsure if I understand what just happened;

harboring a dark fear of the wave to come.

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

Future Tents

March 29

FUTURE TENTS

The future seeps in through the windows, like the dawn stealing 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 walls 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.

Tape a coin to the place you sleep.

*

Catalog of Growth

The right seed in the right season

grows a garden of miracles for me.

I get the food for my table

or the stores for winter.

Sometimes when I’m in a Jack like predicament,

right planted seeds can provide a bean stalk

of escape from my restricted life.

I have a role to play with these wonders.

I must sort the seeds from the pebbles.

I must let the kernels out of my pocket

and into the ground.

I water when I can

and harvest what comes to fruition.

Though the best by far

is the part when I get to share the seeds.

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 Music

January 22

THE MUSIC

I hear a tinkling noise and look around the room.  No, it’s coming from my head.  It’s the sound of the music of my life.  The bells, a horn or two, the strings, always the strings.  The sharp clear cry of the vixen, calling from the hedge row.  The lonely voice of resolve.  The melody shifts, tomorrow’s tune warming up in the wee hours of the night.  I don’t try to part my lips.  Replication is not yet a possibility.  I am only just learning to move with the rhythm, keep the beat in my heart and draw it down for my toe to tap.  I cannot sing my song.  I must let it live in me a while longer.  I can’t share things of which I haven’t had my fill.  Giving too much, too often, makes the anthem run thin.  I have to be fully me, to be full voiced.  I need to stew in the juice of overflowing harmony.  The pounding of my feet on the steps unite the accord. 

Wild things and practiced plans put forward the waves of life on earth.  I follow, placing my feet in well-worn treads, the dance school reopened for sober living.  Passion plays and calls my response.  For today, I pass.  I leave the song inside.

Talk to yourself in a possibly unknown language.........Kindness

*

Guest Flag

The polite thing to do is

fly the silly blue rectangle

with its equally silly white diagonal stripe.

That would be the polite thing, for sure

but that would peek my disease’s hold card.

If anyone knew that my illness

was sailing my ship instead of me

the effect would be ruined.

Or so says the canker that grips me

and steers me to disaster.

Announcing this day-tripper as an unentitled accessory

to whatever wrong I am about to commit

might warn my friends or enlist my sponsor,

But no I leave my colors fly

and endanger the surrounding water.

For in truth my flag is just as fraudulent

as this vessel and is only on loan to me as well.

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

What I Give You

December 13

What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind, a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver, how do I go on in its absence?  Or does it ever leave me?  Is this more like an excision than segmentation?  Is it similar to how I carry you with me when I catch a resentment; only in a good way?  I don’t know that I can be truly divided up, but I do know that parts of me don’t belong exclusively to me anymore and I believe this is all for the better. 

Zoom up to anticipation

*

HEART HANDED

I pick up the pen in my heart hand
And the blood of my soul pours onto the page.
The words coalesce and clot into binding phrases
Sealed deals with my spirits punctuation.

Some days it is hard for my mind to keep up.
The current is swift and deeper than I expect.
The pulse of energy is amazing even to the mind it feeds
.
Like clouds racing the sky this power
Brings shade to some and rain to others.
The reaction of the moistened varies.
Some pull up hoods and scurry away

Others with up turned faces form a friendship with me.
At the level of electrons, we have a molecular bonding.
We are forever changed because I have picked up the pen
And they have picked up the page.

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

Dear G-d

July 25

Dear G-d

I need help.  I need help availing myself of the help you have provided me.  I am embarrassed to lack the ability to complete all the steps necessary for achieving the goals you have set before me.  I see now that it is always my turn with you and I can stop standing aside believing that I have had your attention and must now do without.  I do not want to ask for more; I don’t want to seem greedy.  I forget that you know my heart and that you trust me.  I am going to make that a two-way street, maybe a four-lane highway.  I need help, thank you for being help full.

Love,

Sherrie

The obvious is sometimes invisible

*

ACCESS

Writing to you my Sweet,

Allows me to give what I have available

At the moment it comes into my possession.

You reading lets you invite me in,

When you are ready or willing

Possibly both.

I can store succulent treasure for you

Without the least consideration of

Freezer burn or apathy.

You are here when I want you,

Yearning and prepared

I am yours for the taking

In the classroom, the bedroom

Or even in your bath

I can whisper or shout to you.

I can rant or tell jokes to you

You can embrace or ignore me

Introduce me to your friends

Or keep me your own personal province.

We are intimates

Because I bare my soul to you

And you take me into yours.

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

Speak!

July 24

Speak!

Are there songs a bird must not sing while communing with the flock?  Do fish learn to restrain their expressions while schooling?  Or are we the only animal versed in the language of taboo?  I wonder when I hear the cows lowing in the night are they giving whispered voice to things they longed to moo about all day.  I know what to keep inside, things too flamboyant for out of doors.  I understand to keep body and soul together I must keep down and hush, but when I complain to my pup does she comprehend or is it just blah, blah, blah; in her world of speak maybe it is like it is?

If your pallet is limited broaden your ideas

*

SHARING

Please take a bite of my PB&J,

I made it myself, it is fine as it is

I slathered the bread and cut it neatly

Still I can’t help but want to offer some to you.

I know to stand and smile next to you

Watch you lick the peanut butter from the roof of your mouth

Have you dab jelly from the corner of my lips

Will make this sandwich even better.

You bring so much to this meal

Something bright and clever --you bring you.

I can pull things together and set it all up

But somehow my creation is never quite complete

Until I share it with you.

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

Sharing

August 3

SHARING

Please take a bite of my PB&J.  I made it myself.  It is fine as it is. I slathered the bread and cut it so neatly; still I can’t help but want to offer some to you.  I know that to stand and smile next to you, watch you lick the peanut butter from the roof of your mouth, have you dab the jelly from the corner of my lips, will make this sandwich even better.  You bring so much to this meal, something bright and so clever.  You bring you. I can pull things together and set it all up but somehow my creation is never quite complete until I share it with you.

Withhold a convoy of criticism, advance a brigade of cheer.

*

Big Name

My name has a foreign sound;

my head turns when it is called.

I recognize this as training not identity.

I remember teaching the dog her name.

I called it while petting and praising her,

soon the name was hers.

Now, I think of God.

Did we call long and loud enough

to trigger name recognition on a vast intangible?

Is this how we tagged and labeled the unknowable;

assigned it a place on a shelf;

somewhere to be called up from?

Does the noise sound as strange as the syllables

of my name sound to me?

Does it matter as long as we answer?

What I give you

December 13

What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind, a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver, how do I go on in its absence? Or does it ever leave me? Is this more like an excision than segmentation? Is it similar to how I carry you with me when I catch a resentment; only in a good way? I don’t know that I can be truly divided up, but I do know that parts of me don’t belong exclusively to me anymore and I believe this is all for the better.

Zoom up to anticipation

*

HEART HANDED

I pick up the pen in my heart hand
And the blood of my soul pours onto the page.
The words coalesce and clot into binding phrases
Sealed deals with my spirits punctuation.

Some days it is hard for my mind to keep up.
The current is swift and deeper than I expect.
The pulse of energy is amazing even to the mind it feeds
.
Like clouds racing the sky this power
Brings shade to some and rain to others.
The reaction of the moistened varies.
Some pull up hoods and scurry away

Others with up turned faces form a friendship with me.
At the level of electrons, we have a molecular bonding.
We are forever changed because I have picked up the pen
And they have picked up the page.

Speak!

July 24

Speak!

Are there songs a bird must not sing while communing with the flock? Do fish learn to restrain their expressions while schooling? Or are we the only animal versed in the language of taboo? I wonder when I hear the cows lowing in the night are they giving whispered voice to things they longed to moo about all day. I know what to keep inside, things too flamboyant for out of doors. I understand to keep body and soul together I must keep down and hush, but when I complain to my pup does she comprehend or is it just blah, blah, blah; in her world of speak maybe it is like it is?

If your pallet is limited broaden your ideas

*

SHARING

Please take a bite of my PB&J,

I made it myself, it is fine as it is

I slathered the bread and cut it neatly

Still I can’t help but want to offer some to you.

I know to stand and smile next to you

Watch you lick the peanut butter from the roof of your mouth

Have you dab jelly from the corner of my lips

Will make this sandwich even better.

You bring so much to this meal

Something bright and clever --you bring you.

I can pull things together and set it all up

But somehow my creation is never quite complete

Until I share it with you.

What I give you

December 13

What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind, a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver, how do I go on in its absence? Or does it ever leave me? Is this more like an excision than segmentation? Is it similar to how I carry you with me when I catch a resentment; only in a good way? I don’t know that I can be truly divided up, but I do know that parts of me don’t belong exclusively to me anymore and I believe this is all for the better.

Zoom up to anticipation

*

HEART HANDED

I pick up the pen in my heart hand
And the blood of my soul pours onto the page.
The words coalesce and clot into binding phrases
Sealed deals with my spirits punctuation.

Some days it is hard for my mind to keep up.
The current is swift and deeper than I expect.
The pulse of energy is amazing even to the mind it feeds
.
Like clouds racing the sky this power
Brings shade to some and rain to others.
The reaction of the moistened varies.
Some pull up hoods and scurry away

Others with up turned faces form a friendship with me.
At the level of electrons, we have a molecular bonding.
We are forever changed because I have picked up the pen
And they have picked up the page.

Sharing

August 3

SHARING


Please take a bite of my PB&J. I made it myself. It is fine as it is. I slathered the bread and cut it so neatly; still I can’t help but want to offer some to you. I know that to stand and smile next to you, watch you lick the peanut butter from the roof of your mouth, have you dab the jelly from the corner of my lips, will make this sandwich even better. You bring so much to this meal, something bright and so clever. You bring you. I can pull things together and set it all up but somehow my creation is never quite complete until I share it with you.


Withhold a convoy of criticism, advance a brigade of cheer.