Showing posts with label balance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label balance. Show all posts

Friday, September 5, 2014

Do not be a Fraud

September 5

DO NOT BE A FRAUD

“Fake it ‘til you make it" is like saying "keep drinking ‘til you get sober,” complains my sponsor.
“But what about the things I can’t do yet?"  I ask.
“You work on them; that’s all.  You work.  You adjust your attitude, practice the steps, carry your behind to meetings and talk with me and the other people in your network.”
"Yeah, that sounds like a breeze."
“Easier than staying sober while lying.  In this program we try to stay in the moment and be honest.  Pretending to feel differently than you do at any given time defeats your ability to be present and makes it hard for people to trust you.”
“But it’s so awkward,” I grumble.
“Which is why we of the alcoholic persuasion try to find short cuts, but don’t get sucked into them.  Tell the truth and do the hard work of sobriety, and stay away from the persons who try to sell you a softer way.”


Let people give advice to you, never take it from them.
*

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.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

Saturday, July 13, 2013

Old Nasty

July 13



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.




Close your eyes and look at yourself
*




QUICK-------SAND !!!!!!

Don’t ask how deep the quicksand is. Said my sponsor.
It’s your job to get out of it--not quantify it.
I’m not sure how to get out.
Will you come and get me. I ask her?

No Darling, if I get in we will both be down for the count
The only chance we have for me to help you
Is if I stay out of the morass
With my feet firmly on solid ground.

What if you can’t get me out. I cry?
I will go get more help.
What if all of AA can’t get me out?

Angel, my hope is, that if there was no way out
You wouldn’t even know you were stuck.



Saturday, June 8, 2013

Enclosed Space

June 8


Enclosed Space


In the echo chamber it is the cymbals which cause the most pain.  The drums resound, deep and loud, but it is the crashing of brass that drives me wild.  Cotton wool and sealing wax can not put my head at ease. Resonate walls with their hollow effects create the feedback loops of hurt, like the endless reflection of parallel mirrors the sounds come back to me with relentless repetition.  Aural illusion might have been the idea, but chaos is the result and leaving the space between these ears will be, will allow, the band to play on without the benefit of my torment.






Write the stories the clouds illustrate

*

BOUQUET

I love the flowers in my garden
Their upkeep is my solemn trust
With my shears I must cut
Clear and swift the runners
Which detract from the health and structure.

When fruiting is heavy I must spare the stalk
And choose what stays and what needs to be taken
I am scrupulous in my observation of form and function

The bucolic scene thrives
The pageant of color sweeps the rows
I bend to nurture and stretch to prune
I pay over much attention to the plucking
And forget I need to bring the blooms home.