Adjustment

February 27

Adjustment

The chase is on, round and round it goes and where it stops no one knows.  I run after control and change as I grasp, but can never quite get my fingers wrapped around the thing.  An open fist is an adjustment; no fist at all would be a feat.  The fool’s errand I send myself on brings suffering; there would be suffering anyhow, I feel I am the cause due to my attempt to avoid it; another backhanded attempt at the illusion, the goal, control.  Adjusting to reality is at first freefall; rarely do I get to second.  The shape taken by the shift in my gears to no gears at all dilates my pupils and the rest is white.  If the colors come back I don’t know when.  If the ground beneath me returns I don’t know how.  I am blinded by the light and can only follow the sound.

Stall your reticence

*

ONE IN A THOUSAND

"Did they tell you the odds when you came in?"
Asked my sponsor
Yes, One in thirty make it to the rooms
One in thirty of those stay for five years.

One in a thousand get truly sober
And are catapulted to another dimension
I responded.
"What was your response to that?"

Well, I showed the proper amount of surprise
"Yes but what did you think inside?"
I thought, Climb with me or I'll climb over you.
Not very spiritual is it?

"It worked, you're still sober.
A lot of folks aren't.
The company you keep is sober.
There is nothing less spiritual than a drunk."

Is that why it's called a selfish program?
"I don't know."
It seems to me sobriety is a gift you give the world
But I give it to myself.

"Yes, but you can't give a gift
You don't have in your possession."
Point taken.

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

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.

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

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

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

Failed Soup and Mistrust of Burgundy

December 31

FAILED SOUP AND DISTRUST OF BURGUNDY

What keeps me coming back to meetings and step work is an abiding mistrust of booze.  Despite promises and advertisement, hopes and folklore, I couldn’t rely on drinking to take me where I wanted to go and I surely couldn’t depend on it to keep me there.  The struggle is great; the attempt to cling to salvation through decanter is mighty but in the end this joining of my chemistry to other chemistry failed miserably.  No matter how I held my mouth, held my head, held my liquor, satisfaction escaped without me and I was left here in the soup of my disillusion and disappointment.  Failure to cooperate fully with alcohol lead me to try sobriety as an alternative.  I may not always succeed in my recovery, but I can draw dividends on every deposit and use this to build a path to my desires.

Make a private heaven with plenty of windows and doors.

*

Failure of Imagination

The failure of imagination feels worse than it looks; it’s that rancid oily coating on the skin that I abhor.  The sweat that appears when sloth becomes a burden, the confusion of an unused intellect, the mumbled acquiescence of a weak will, creep me out of the permission that I wished to offer myself but can not accept.   The languishing mind that I left to wither in the confines of my skull requires my perseverance.  Falling down, giving up, throwing in terry cloth objects is impermissible, I must pluck up my willingness and apply whatever drops of genius I possess to every muscle fiber I can find.  So much has been made available to me and I must return that favor.  You see imagination only fails me if I have failed it first.

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/2xIyrdB516I

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

Cargo Lost, Cargo Found

December 30

CARGO LOST, CARGO FOUND

I fill the pallet of a new year's sobriety and, when it has been accomplished, make a manifest and strap this pallet with the others on the flatbed of my life.  The cargo is secure and weighty; there is ample pressure where the rubber meets the road.  I maneuver my rig carefully.  I feel assured as I stream with the traffic on the byways.  The power and magnitude of my transport prompts in me overconfidence.  I fail to realize variation in weather or road conditions can jeopardize my journey. Eighteen wheels make for a poor cantilever when traction is lost and top-heavy wins out.  In losing the battle of gravity, inertia and control I realize the past is not a weight I need to haul; all that is necessary is the inventory.  I slip the pages into my pocket and walk the rest of the way.  I am my only freight.

Medicate with laughter and tears.

*

Can’t Walk Back

I chase my reading list, lose my place, fall down, can’t find my page; suddenly there is a whole library beyond my grasp.  I write as fast as I can and so do my fellows the result is more than I can read in three lifetimes.  The glory and pain of freedom is the constriction of time.  I claw at the minutes but the days slip quickly out of reach.  How can I get the great work poured into my mind while still allowing original thought to flow from me? I ask God if I can be reincarnated with my backlist intact but there is no reply.  I know in my heart this life is like hang-gliding on the beach; my shoes and socks are left behind and I fly off over open sea.  So if we are friends now that is surely grand, but if you want to be my friend later, just take a walk in my shoes. 

Vlog: http://youtu.be/24UpEacsxX4

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

Satisfaction

August 29

SATISFACTION

Satisfaction is like a marble in my pocket.  Formed when correctness was still red hot and my sponsor rolled my mind until I was whole.  I sigh and square my shoulders.  I know I am up to any task.  I am skilled with my tools and know well the talents of my intimates and helpmates.  I am not invincible but I am capable.  I value who and what I am today.  I sleep the sleep of a person not a hostage or a captor.  I am me.  I have a marble in my pocket and it reminds me of the world.  I have a world within me; knowing how to live with that is a great satisfaction.

Listen clearly to angry words but don’t repeat them.

*

Even at the Bottom

Why is it that I feel God leads me to the path,

but expects me to travel it alone?

In all honesty it feels more like God leads me

to the stairs and I fall down them on my own.

I lay in a heap at the bottom

filled with self-reproach for the landing.

I forget that a power which draws me forward

can also endure.

I did not come here alone,

I will not leave here alone;

I am never alone,

even at the bottom of the stairs.

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

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.

*

The Biggest Chicken

I love to be mystical,

but the only dragon in my life

is when I let things drag on and on.

Procrastination is the winged beast in my world

and when she is slain the sun comes out

and I can count my blessings and plan for my possibilities.

The deep ditch left by depression

is where the lizard lays; siphoning my time

and sucking clean the bones of my wasted talents.

I have lunged and poked, stabbed her with my steel

and blown holes in her with my revolver,

but not until I sever the tendon with which she holds me

in her grasp do I have any real chance to be rid of her claws.

Once free of her I must be forever vigilant

lest her smothering song lure me back to that evil nest

where I feel as helpless as her egg.

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

No Gold Stars

June 3

NO GOLD STARS

I look at my chart, then my chest; there are no gold stars.  I long for the affirmation of my great and seemingly endless struggle.  I watch the movements of those with shiny shoes and hope to be awarded with the gummed insignia.  When I hang by a thread, I desire the corroboration of foil cutouts to assure me I have done right; I have stayed alive.  Punishment I fear less than lack of consolation.  But, no one truly knows my bravery and if I want these paper emblems, I can just go and buy my own.

Count unhatched chickens but don’t place them on the menu.

*

The Hope Diamond

My guess is

the same god that wants me stupid

also wants me to suffer.

I ask myself what could be all powerful about that?

I wonder is God like a friend or a lover?

I carefully chose my friends

whereas my lover found me

against my greatest plans and well thought rules.

And if this is to be like marriage,

may I file for divorce if things go astray?

Or am I stuck with this match,

like I am stuck with my deformed ear

there underneath hat or fringe of hair?

I never thought of my relationship with God

like a necklace I could take on and off at will,

though the more I study it seems this beautiful thing

enhances my beauty if all is right

and will strangle me if it gets hung up.

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