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

Old Bookkeeping, New Painting

October 1

OLD BOOKKEEPING, NEW PAINTING

What will become of the fine lines I use to divide good news from bad?  How will I handle a life with no screen to keep the silt from shifting across my personal landscape?  A delicate crosshatch had kept little checks in little boxes; now the checks are bouncing randomly, no pattern or restraint.  My old bookkeeping has come to an abrupt end, leaving many questions and much uncertainty.  I lift the green visor from my brow, looking for answers from the periphery.  Taking the long view I put down my pencil and pick up my paints, sling the easel over my shoulder and walk away from meticulous survival.  The fine lines I have now are in my brush strokes and even bad news is somehow good.

Donate some time.

*

Saltbox House

Refusing to make reasonable demands

is quite as dysfunctional as making unreasonable demands.

The opposite of an extreme is often twice as crazy

and harder to explain.

I open my mouth and dry toast is the reply.

Nothing should be said when nothing can be done

and to do nothing is harder than one might think.

I fold my hands but my lap rejects them;

I quiet my mind but my soul objects.

I must let my heart sing

and trust you enough to ask for help.

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

Old Bookkeeping, New Painting

October 1

OLD BOOKKEEPING, NEW PAINTING

What will become of the fine lines I use to divide good news from bad?  How will I handle a life with no screen to keep the silt from shifting across my personal landscape?  A delicate crosshatch had kept little checks in little boxes; now the checks are bouncing randomly, no pattern or restraint.  My old bookkeeping has come to an abrupt end, leaving many questions and much uncertainty.  I lift the green visor from my brow, looking for answers from the periphery.  Taking the long view I put down my pencil and pick up my paints, sling the easel over my shoulder and walk away from meticulous survival.  The fine lines I have now are in my brush strokes and even bad news is somehow good.

Donate some time.

*

Saltbox House

Refusing to make reasonable demands

is quite as dysfunctional as making unreasonable demands.

The opposite of an extreme is often twice as crazy

and harder to explain.

I open my mouth and dry toast is the reply.

Nothing should be said when nothing can be done

and to do nothing is harder than one might think.

I fold my hands but my lap rejects them;

I quiet my mind but my soul objects.

I must let my heart sing

and trust you enough to ask for help.