Heat Exchage

June 29

HEAT EXCHANGE

I stand in the shower and let the water run.  The water carries away my temperature in exchange for its own.  I leave the enclosure restored.  Mentally, a meeting does this for me.  I change hot topics for more moderate positions, cold indifference for warm regard.  Stepping into a group of my fellows carts off my excess ego and flushes my pride.  Isolation is taken and camaraderie left in its place.  I am always changed by standing amid the rush of sober minds and faithful service.  Balance comes from proximity and willingness.  Everything is reduced to letting myself get wet.

Measure your growth on a doorpost.

*

Exercising Futility

Asking the confused for explanation

is like asking a blind man the color of the sea.

It isn’t that he couldn’t tell you,

but how could you be sure?

To exercise futility is more than just a game

or the words to a song

your mother sings when lost or far away.

To take the fish out of water

and train it on a bike is meaner than I need to be,

but isn’t it my right?

Just to do things because they can be done

or try them because they can’t

is more the worse for everyday a tragedy in pants.

Puzzle out the little things and practice when you can,

for putting on the frazzled mind

is cruel to the poor sweet-hearted sot.

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

Stop Talking

April 5

STOP TALKING

“Try to stop talking when people stop listening,” said my sponsor.  “And try not to take it personally.”

“Why is that?” I query.

“Most individuals can’t handle much of anything real.  Try as they may, they are unable to listen to anyone speaking the truth.  Tell them a story; you can hold their attention all day.  Sprinkle bits of honesty into the tale and you still will keep your audience.  But strafe them with bullets of the truth and they will run for cover.”

“I’ve seen it happen.  I never knew what made them scurry, but I have seen them sprint away.”

“It’s a coping mechanism.  If you try to turn their heart too quickly, they’re afraid it will stop beating.”

“Why is it you never worry about that with me?  You tell me the facts whether I want to hear it or not.”

“I can tell you because you take step 3.”

Color a page using only three crayons.

*

Fearing Fearlessness

How many times

have I given the credit to night blind fear,

credit due the brave persistent child?

How many times

have I blamed the willing diligent pursuer

when the fault was the backstabbing delay of mistrust?

I resist the onset of freedom.

Fear was my oldest familiar

and I put from my mind that it was my jailer, captor;

Kidnapped me from my cradle

and kept me locked from God’s fine intentions.

Fearlessness sounds debilitating to my crippled ears,

Organs who hear well the disclaimers

and are deaf to the claims.

I am the producer of bile and addicted to dread,

Endorphins wear white hats

and win the day

once this yellow belly is put to bed.

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 Forgotten

February 5

THE FORGOTTEN

"I am not Cleopatra; I am not in denial.  I forgot."

“Sure,” says my sponsor, “I’ve seen the headdress.”

"That’s not fair!  I’ve heard women say they forget the pain of childbirth."

“They’re kidding.  You can’t just forget pain.  It’s there waiting in the wings, looking for its fifteen minutes of fame.”

"And what if I don’t give pain its fifteen minutes?"

“You will be the worse for it,” she says with her smug way.

"What if I can’t drag it forward?"

“Honey, Baby, Sweetie, you need to let those things come up before they drag you back to a drink or whatever your new addiction of choice is.  Just open your mind.  You might be surprised what is waiting to see the light of day.”

"What if it kills me?"

“Darling you’re not that lucky.  You don’t get to escape through death, either.  Lean into this and you will get through it faster.  Hold on to the program and you will get through it easier.  Fight it and it will tear you up.”

Always the optimist, my sponsor.

Dispel assumptions, inhale willingness.

*

What is “offender” number 2?

I’m not looking for trouble, really I’m not,

it’s just that thanks to this program

I’m no longer plagued by resentment,

but I doubt that is the only stumbling block there is.

Possibly the remaining list is as divergent

as the alcoholics who make the lists.

Though I am guessing we have more in common

than that one thing.

I stare at the various and sundry bric-a-brac

measuring potential harm and formidability,

so many candidates with razor edges.

I take my combat pose as I lift the pen,

wondering if giving things status also gives them power.

I take comfort that acknowledgement is empowering for me.

Tell me the weights you lift

to strengthen your “Spiritual Muscle”

the things that crowd behind resentment

vying for their turn as perpetrator of downfall and misery.

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

Poorly Chirping

December 1

Poorly Chirping

She writes poetry like fusion jazz, more fun to make than to listen to.  She stands at the podium serving as a bad example.  I pray as she reads, “Lord, please don’t let me get sucked into the self-importance of bad poetry for the sake of peering peers, and forgetting to write what is there for the world, the readers, the things which bring the word pictures and sets them before me.  Lord, remind me that the writing is not done for me, but done as Billy Collins quotes, for the love of strangers.”

Tops spin, do you?

*

DO WE SEE

The old man walked down the road to see the end,
I followed to glimpse the fruit of his pursuit.
Does the highway come to rest
Or like the river just feed a greater sea?

And time, will the clock stop him?
Can he win the treasure hunt
As the seconds tick away on the metronome?

Will the slowing of his steps
And the advancing of his age
Create a curve which will prevent his accomplishment?

Does this tag-along I am doing
Make me a part of his project?
The road is long and its end may never come, only ours.

When we take the road the road takes us.
More and less is what we are and so too the road.
I follow the contour of the ground
Which curves around the world
Spinning in our sky so we can all see the stars.

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

Ground Floor

April 19

Ground Floor

Step 10 is the place where the doors slide open and I discover I am out of the basement.  I have to pay close attention to where my feet are; it is so easy to stumble here in the light of day.  Oblivious limitations and universally accepted interpretations are pried from installation and put on trial.  Never is it acceptable to allow my alcoholic thinking to make decisions for my sober life. The road to my door must be kept clear so I can get out to do my part and so G-d can come home to me.

Spin heads, spin tales, spin dry

*

CHAPTER & VERSE

I remember being trained and rehearsed for finding the words

Which would release my soul from bondage

The scrupulous concern for detail pointed me to heaven

And yet I drank.

Inside these rooms the path is wide

Judgment is suspended and I have the right to be wrong

The penalties for error can be great

But the privilege and risk are mine

As in all things, the extremists come

They have come to this place too

Thumpers hound and belittle

Threaten and cajole

They tell page numbers like punch lines

And narrow the field at every opportunity

I can't stay sober sitting on my old stool

I can't maintain desire by their chapter and their verse.

Penny for your Thoughts

August 8

PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS


There is a penny in the bathtub. I wonder who stood in there with loose change. Possibly confusing it for a wishing well, the penny was tossed in. The stories I could tell, the hopes that tantalize my mind, elves and leprechauns, dreamers and optimists all trundle through my thinking. When I don’t know the answer, I can now at least look for the best, the sweetest thoughts. I don’t run to the dark and threatening disasters. I have lost the lease to my personal black cloud, the one that used to follow wherever I went. I can smile now and think of pennies from heaven. The first drop landed in my tub.


Think of what a spider and a whale have in common.