Spirituality

March 12

SPIRITUALITY

The bedpan of spirituality was shoved under my ass in early sobriety.  It kept me from increasing the mess with which I surround myself.  The cold smack of enamel got my attention.  The old timers showed me there is a place for my shit; it was not any of the places I had been using.  Discretion is the better part of everything.  I needn’t show my backside everywhere I go.  My side, your side, all sides were strewn with my waste.  Fragments, tatters and fearful reminders were all there for me to clean up.  Amends as the shovel and willingness as its handle are what I use to clear my past.  Sweat is refreshing when progress is being made.  I’ve made inroads; paths of travel help me move easily from the past to the present without regret.

Write directions to your heart.

*

Wax On

“Sometimes a dish is just a dish,” I said to my sponsor.

“Yes and sometimes it is the world away,

which you hold in your hand,” her reply.

I stand at the sink and try to wash the dishes

when I am washing the dishes.

I try to drive the car when I drive the car.

These simple acts of concentration

focus and sooth the jagged mental sutures

where I am supposed to be coming together,

but ultimately come apart.

Anything to break my frenetic gyrations is a blessing,

anything to cut away to a closer view

and a clearer understanding of where I really am;

Anything to derail the speeding blur

of a life of my creation, is good.

What I do and who I am are secrets and mysteries

when I don’t know how to pay attention

and ironies when I do.

And if you doubt me, just go ask Arnold.

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

No Stone Left Behind

May 14

No Stone Left Behind

An anchor attaches at the lower extremities stabilizing me, an albatross is the thing weighing me down from the top, it tips me, throws me to the ground.  I must remember to choose ferrous instruments over long necked birds.  Often it’s not the amount of drag, but where it’s affixed.  There are so many variables, so much to think through, yet I often react and pick up what seems as harmless as a flock of sea gulls and turns out to be worse than an iron maiden. Leaving no tern unstoned is bad, but do I really have the time to do it the other way around?

Visualize the vapor trails from your words as they fly away from you

*

CLOCKS

When the clock stops

I wind it up or replace the battery

I have to-----time doesn’t end

Because the arms grow slow.

The device wears down

But the day is not over

Even if my internal metronome is bollixed

The planets keep revolving.

I can’t step off the world

It doesn’t stop turning for me

I don’t always have to keep my head up

But I must always go on.

There is no going back

I can only remember yesterday

I can’t return to it though it’s so close

The flowers are still fresh.

Sometimes I struggle

To keep my hands off the past

Those are the days I secure my future

And wind the clocks

Suzy Q's Mother

February 17

Suzy Q’s Mother

Through process of elimination I have had to learn who G-d is and who G-d isn’t.  When it comes down to my understanding everything incomprehensible is off the table and what is left is mine, all mine.  I can’t fathom an all powerful G-d; therefore my G-d is not all powerful.  I can not begin to comprehend a vengeful G-d, as you might have guessed; my G-d is not vengeful.  Because of these constraints I have a non-omnipotent G-d, one with limitations and bounds.  This doesn’t mean I love my G-d any less in fact it may be why I love my G-d so very much.  And G-d loves me with a Mother love that trails me to the depths and heights of the path, but like any mother, she can’t do everything.  My G-d is accomplished and wonderful, but there are days that I need things, which lay outside my Higher Power’s area of expertise and I must turn to help beyond our little circle of two.  This is not easy at first.  We both feel awkward in the attempt, but Suzy Q lives two houses down and her mother still has her hook shot from college and since my mom’s experience of basketball is that it’s the court you walk through to go play tennis, I ask Mrs. Q with help making the three point shots.  I don’t have to understand Suzy Q’s mother, I leave that to Suzy.  I just have to ask for help, learn the jump and go home when I’m done.  It’s nice to be able to slam dunk, but there is no place like home.

Recommend earnestness

*

THIN ICE

The ice is brittle, transparent and breaking away.
I brace for destruction, turmoil and frigid descent.
I am stuck in my topside thinking
And cannot realize the chance for freedom the cracking expanse promises.

I am an oceanic creature.
I can escape my watery bonds with the splitting of the ice.
Trapped in a hole I keep open only through the friction of my unrest
I am kept from the community of life to which I belong.

My reflection mixes with my view of the sky
And I forget my place, forget my name,
Forget how I have come to be trapped here.

The pining after what is not mine to have
Has brought me to this thin edge.
I must break through to be who I am.
In doing so I shatter the illusion of who I thought I was.

Zeal to zenith
I must move away from the phantasm and mockery
And take refuge in what I am

Jacks

October 23

Jacks

Born crazy, is that better than becoming deranged? Do birth affects excuse my unrepentant glee? Does irrepressible sardonic wit explain the order of restless exposition? Can you count on Cicadic enthusiasm to carry me, or flightless fancy to keep me down? I am beyond redemption, beyond reception, beyond device. I arrived riddled with chaotic cracks, but I am more than just a glaze and deep down I’m more than sound, so walk with my wild side and your thoughts I’ll rearrange.

When you can’t fill the void, wallpaper

*

BEFORE THE END OF THE ROAD

Before the end of the road tiny stone lay on the side
Freshly painted lines glimmer in this twilight trance.
Walking the macadam, the crunch underfoot
Changes my perspective.

No steering wheel or accelerator
This is ankle express all the way.
Walking the road , step by step, on my own
I am part of the soft and growing world.
Progressing on a plan of separate integrity

Moist, lush wonder, is missed
By the motor speedway I let rule my life
Honeyed sweetness covers the vegetation
Swaying in the undulating air born pulse.

I am tempted to lie down and have a roll
But my role tonight is to reach the end of the road.
When my goal is achieved I may choose
A woodland life or an urban endeavor.

Seeing the end of this path is job enough for now.
Decisions anticipated prior to arrival
Are foolish diversions.
I need to stay, not stray with the dancers in the wind.