Live Bait

January 12

Live Bait

Is being a taunt to others really a life?  Dangling as the cover for a hook, luring intended and unintended to their deaths, is that living?  Or if I draw you with my attack rather than my appeal is that a worthwhile existence?  If I carry myself filled with poison praying for a strike is that anything other than a march to an unhappy grave for two, or more?  Hidden under an avalanche of harassment strips me of my vital quality and my soul loses its true nature. I am allowed to transcend the setup of competition and social strife.  It’s alright to be tempting with no agenda.  I could be an appetizer if only I removed the barbs or better yet I could be dessert.

Tuck tiny wishes between your toes.

*

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH

I was driving around in my car
Eating a meltingly ripe persimmon
On the radio came a fiddle playing band
Performing their rendition of In The White Room

I was traveling with the three drafts of my first step
Version one consisted of 690-some words
And the final had only four, JOY IS NOT ENOUGH
That's it, the whole thing.

Today my life is unmanageable
Due to the fact that having a balanced life
Feeling my wide range of feelings, including joy,
Is not sufficient to eliminate the pain and damage of the past.
My horrific childhood has not healed
Has not mended seamlessly
I have joy today, everyday, at some point
In proportion to my sober choices.

I fail to realize the promise doesn't say, Heal the past
It says, I will not regret the past.
I don't, at least not any of the choices I made,
Other peoples choices are not mine to regret.

I will not wish to shut the door on the past
And I don't wish to.
I want it Healed
I may not get my wish

Just because I am doing my part to heal the past
Doesn't make anyone else do it
I can't strong-arm the perpetrators into recovery
The way they strong-armed me into the abuse

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH but it's a hell of a start.

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/qnr7COwlqqU

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

The Deals I've Made

February 16

THE DEALS I’VE MADE

Because they are deals and not resentments or secrets, these circular schemes did not come out in my fourth step.  They didn’t come out in the wash; they come out whenever they are broken.  If the deal is don’t eat pickled herring and you won’t have to remember X, the deal will get broken when pickled herring is served to me at some social gathering.  As I get healthier, the breaks connect ever more deeply.  What in early sobriety would have given me unexplained discomfort now gives me full-blown flashbacks.  And I watch the deal unravel… you weren’t supposed to eat this because this is what was on the plate when… but now that it’s on the plate here, now you have to face this ugly roiling mess.  The deals saved my life, but unless they are handled with care and honesty, they can cost me the life I have now.  I must choose a safe person and place to share these broken shards, living alone with this will not work and making it public fodder is a set up as well.  In every one of these deals there is a back door to a drink and therefore We have to go out the front door together.

Pick three color words and use them all day.

*

The Long Dark Ride

Are fear and ignorance one thing

that looks like itself

or terrifying twins who feed one another?

Can they be separated

and if they can will it kill them?

And if they die

what will spring from their remains?

Will it be better or worse?

Can I tell what better is?

Should I tell if it turns out to be worse?

Is there ever an end to either fear or ignorance?

If there is, how deep is that well

and will I survive a trip to the bottom?

Do you know and do you care?

Will you go with me if I find the way?

Will you take me if you find it first?

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

Jeopardy

October 5

Jeopardy

Today I tore down the isolation booth.  I didn’t live in there exactly; sometimes I stuffed G-d in there and went out for a ride.  I left that shack stand for far, too long; a testimony to ill conceived, ham-handed, control freaks everywhere.  I said all I wanted was some peace, but a vacuum is not tranquility and escape won’t substitute either.  Since the live studio audience has gone home and the house lights are dimmed, I feel pretty foolish for playing round after round on my own.  This game was never any fun and the sponsors were death merchants and scavengers whose interest lay in destruction and nothing else.  I must not cast aspersions, I didn’t care that the contest was merely an upright pit with a lethal pendulum, I used it as a hideout and a lair, a place whose walls I could keep between me and my Higher Power and an activity I could depend on to keep me free from living a life.  It all came to the ground today; I walk over the splinters and shards, I know there has to be a better game and I’m ready to play.

Picture trouble floating away like bubbles on a river

*

MY HEROINE

The corpse that is my childhood
Is mine to protect from the wolves
And rats of denial and collusion.

The infant who commits suicide
In self-defense is my heroine.
The pure thinking of an uncluttered mind
Seizes on the only possible way for me to survive.

Her death at her own hand is my rescue
If the bad had killed her
I would have died with her.

In her plan I was left as the seed
She ejected in her assent
She is gone from this place
I feel her only as the wisp of memory.

The tiny body laid flat on the carpet
Her pressed pinafore somehow more alive than she is

the unfinished business of prevention.

As long as I see her there and do not walk away
From my responsibility and never forget
She protected me with the life she never lived
I am free to live this life.

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