Coocoo's Nest

December 20

COOCOO’S NEST

I ran away to join the zoo hoping a life contained would calm me.  The segregation hit me first; isolated exclusively with those of my stripe drove my thirst for diverse scents and opinion.  Next, the monotony of the landscape bore into my brain.  The well-meaning effort of the keepers bears the mark of folks who go home at night.  The blandness of the food and music lent nothing to the experience, and antiseptic could drive anyone wild.  The final blow, the one that struck constantly and coldly, was the stream of observers waiting to be entertained.

Embrace plain tools and fine minds.

*

Home Fires Burning

I have trouble living with myself,

that is why I live with you.

It takes my mind off the things I don’t wish to face.

What I can busy myself within your service

lightens the load of expectation heaped in my DNA

by my Higher Power and Fate.

Worry is time consuming

and I wile away hours fretting over you

and all your unresolved trifles

while turning my back entirely on my life.

I couldn’t be happier to have you,

though from the corner of my eye

I glimpse God packing your bags.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/EPIQNgKAmmY

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

Leaves in a Pile

October 30

LEAVES IN A PILE

As a great pile of dry leaves, lay the problem.  Running through it to show my disrespect accomplishes nothing but to scatter my dilemma and widen the area of distress.  Covering and composting only allows the burden to indwell, leaching into that which feeds my soul.  Burning puts it in the air I breathe.  There is no galaxy far off enough to keep its reflection from my face.  Attack, flight, banishment?  No!  Insulation, conversion, contortion?  No!  I pursue none of these; I can not control things exterior.  I can not feed my power, light and life into the pile.  I have only one goal: not to become the problem.  Not to dry or dehydrate.  Not to fall from my hope and collect in the road.  My goal is to hold fast to hope and serve as conduit and companion to a life bigger than mine alone.

Practice little words like ‘oh’, and ‘hum’

*

Entrenched

I have dug myself a trench

and invited my friends and family.

Truth is, I drug many and tricked others

and there they are in the trench

I have so recently climbed out of.

It is a nasty place and I feel horribly responsible,

but here is the sacred truth;

I can’t climb down there again,

not even on a rescue mission.

I am obligated to help them, this is for sure,

but the fact still remains that it is not safe

to get into the water with a drowning person,

even if I am the one who caused the drowning.

If I am to be of any help at all I must get my footing

and keep it safely on the bank

and only then might I be able to throw down a rope

or lend a hand to anyone, especially those I love.

I pray for the sturdy stance of helpful strangers

and try my best to cause no further harm,

more than that will have to wait

until my cleats are soundly lodged into the earth

and my head is squarely upon my shoulders,

for headlong and mud covered I am no 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

Service and Sacrifice

April 27

SERVICE AND SACRIFICE

The difference between life and death in my recovery is the equal difference between service and sacrifice.  If I offer you what is in my hand, fine.  If I also give you my fingertips, I am lost.  Service lightens the load in my heart; sacrifice removes my tools for living.  When I go into debt for your existence, the cheer and optimism is sucked from my awareness.  My eyes go dead and soon I follow.  The cingulotomy of obligation crucifies my future and murders true hope and love.  Service feeds my heart and yours.  Renovating makes space.  It builds the muscles for joy and contentment, pumping and refilling my plate with spirituality.

Wriggle your toes and flex your mind.

*

Perkiomenville

Being actually alive does not feel as good as I imagined

the relief of  not being dead would feel

therefore I have anxiety and dread,

or is it disappointment.

I feel like a failure when I am in the process of trying

I want to throw the pieces in the air and run.

Does this mean I’m weak

or does it mean I am frightened?

Is there some heavenly host of other reasons

why my crêpe paper soul twists and turns

in the breeze of the marketplace?

Some part of me was auctioned off

and its removal left a psychic scar

that even equanimity cannot ease.

I am all things wonderful and yet there is this flaw,

this toe tied thread which holds me back,

holds me down with painful accurate precision.

I look for the knife with which to cut it

all the while wondering if this will turn it into

a toe tag or a price tag.

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 Music

January 22

THE MUSIC

I hear a tinkling noise and look around the room.  No, it’s coming from my head.  It’s the sound of the music of my life.  The bells, a horn or two, the strings, always the strings.  The sharp clear cry of the vixen, calling from the hedge row.  The lonely voice of resolve.  The melody shifts, tomorrow’s tune warming up in the wee hours of the night.  I don’t try to part my lips.  Replication is not yet a possibility.  I am only just learning to move with the rhythm, keep the beat in my heart and draw it down for my toe to tap.  I cannot sing my song.  I must let it live in me a while longer.  I can’t share things of which I haven’t had my fill.  Giving too much, too often, makes the anthem run thin.  I have to be fully me, to be full voiced.  I need to stew in the juice of overflowing harmony.  The pounding of my feet on the steps unite the accord. 

Wild things and practiced plans put forward the waves of life on earth.  I follow, placing my feet in well-worn treads, the dance school reopened for sober living.  Passion plays and calls my response.  For today, I pass.  I leave the song inside.

Talk to yourself in a possibly unknown language.........Kindness

*

Guest Flag

The polite thing to do is

fly the silly blue rectangle

with its equally silly white diagonal stripe.

That would be the polite thing, for sure

but that would peek my disease’s hold card.

If anyone knew that my illness

was sailing my ship instead of me

the effect would be ruined.

Or so says the canker that grips me

and steers me to disaster.

Announcing this day-tripper as an unentitled accessory

to whatever wrong I am about to commit

might warn my friends or enlist my sponsor,

But no I leave my colors fly

and endanger the surrounding water.

For in truth my flag is just as fraudulent

as this vessel and is only on loan to me as well.

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

Not My Best Friend

December 21

Not My Best Friend

No matter how tightly I hug a lump of coal I will not prevail in turning it into a diamond.  Some days I accept this better than others.  My desire may affect the coal, but this affect is not diamond producing; though it is stress producing.  I know it stresses me and chills me to the bone.  I had thought of coal as warming, but the disparate love of coal proves to be anything but.  I have pinned my hopes on what this lump had the potential to become rather than acceptance of what it is and now I see I must light my own fire and know the coal is not mine.

Close the window on harsh winds

*

AND THIS IS FOR WHAT?

I smiled down on God and said----
“This is pretty and what is it for?”
“Oh, that’s your life.
It is a surprisingly useful thing to have.”

My Higher Power, like my sponsor
Thinks she’s funny but she is not.
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Who do you think I am, your Mother,
Your Grandpa Joe, your guidance counselor?

I put all the possibilities in you,
Then I let the wind blow.
What would be the fun of coming here
If I gave it to you all mapped out?

Did it occur to you the reason people say--
You are right where you are suppose to be
Is because you did the things
That brought you here, not me.

And if you don’t like it here
You are the one who needs the motivation
To change it.”

“Take my life------Please!”
“You are such a comedian!”
“No that’s your department.

Could you stop tending your garden
For five minutes and give me your attention?”
“I don’t need to give you that kind of attention
You bloom on your own.”

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 Twelfth of April

December 3

The Twelfth of April

When I met you, you were a power tagged and trapped in a box.  A tiger caught by its toe and yet I could do nothing but fall under the spell of your roar.  The suppressed growl you leave for me like an invitation I could never decline.  I write to you a note of explanation; words testifying to my desire, which I promise to hold back out of respect for you. And a wish to survive my drive toward you and your furious stripes and claws. Your bite which I long to feel, yet know I must not ask for.  When I inquire if you have read, you say with sanguine smile, “Read it to me.”  When I am done and with tear stained face, all you reply is, “I have lost my taste for anyone but you.”

Keep an ear out for more than danger

*

GOOD SAMARITAN PIE

The meal prepared from my cognition,
The bread and jam of humility, salad of expectation,
Roast of determination and Good Samaritan pie
Wait on the table to be devoured.

The courses pass and come desert, my kindly intentions.
Are cut to wedges and pushed from setting to setting.
I can dollop after dollop cover the requisite desires
Of this tart in attempt to deny my addiction to fixing
Or I can serve up the plain truth.

I help and help, and wander down roads looking
For lost puppies to return to their homes.
I must admit my longing to lend support
Is sometimes half-baked and if kept to home and hearth
It might serve me better and make a sweeter dish.

Assistance is best in proportion to the meal
I must live my life and save my Good Samaritan pie till last.

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

Trouble with Geometry

July 3

Trouble with Geometry

You are not allowed to get into trouble on purpose, that’s the rule and if you do you will get no sympathy that’s the corollary.  Life is too hard to go looking for trouble, running toward danger, whining about self-inflicted pain.  The unspoken law of risk taking is that failure is dealt with in silence.  Writhing on the ground after sticking your head in a hornet’s nest, leaves me and the world I know to be speechless in your presence.  I know you desire consolation from me.  All I know to say is that your actions are incongruent with your life.

Stir the atmosphere in your room

*

DISTILLATION

I came into these rooms with a mixed mental makeup

And a polluted physical chemistry.

I have been transformed

But only into tiny droplets.

The drops are not dramatic but the process is.

Distillation of my thinking is a powerful thing

A volatile act of concentration takes place.

As my brain boils over

And the sane is separated from the profane.

Purity is a spiritual gift,

The result of vaporizing my old thoughts.

Many times the night distills the dew

And I am quickly refreshed,

Other times I must cook for quite awhile.

Coocoo's Nest

December 20

COOCOO’S NEST

I ran away to join the zoo hoping a life contained would calm me.  The segregation hit me first; isolated exclusively with those of my stripe drove my thirst for diverse scents and opinion.  Next, the monotony of the landscape bore into my brain.  The well-meaning effort of the keepers bears the mark of folks who go home at night.  The blandness of the food and music lent nothing to the experience, and antiseptic could drive anyone wild.  The final blow, the one that struck constantly and coldly, was the stream of observers waiting to be entertained.

Embrace plain tools and fine minds.

*

Home Fires Burning

I have trouble living with myself,

that is why I live with you.

It takes my mind off the things I don’t wish to face.

What I can busy myself within your service

lightens the load of expectation heaped in my DNA

by my Higher Power and Fate.

Worry is time consuming

and I wile away hours fretting over you

and all your unresolved trifles

while turning my back entirely on my life.

I couldn’t be happier to have you,

though from the corner of my eye

I glimpse God packing your bags.