Wee Hours

September 30

WEE HOURS

In the wee hours I hear the high pitched wail, the tiny pest whining in my ear, the onset of my thin stretched nerves reaching their end.  A few more hours are required of me tonight.  I rally my spirit and lift the edges of my willing resolve.  Long slow nights carry me to the far corners of my mind.  I am more average than I had imagined or hoped for.  The commonness of four AM brings the base to disclosure, the charmed exposure of predawn wakefulness.  The fuzzy vibrations in my brain make me feel deep and real, vulnerable to all the normal limitations of nature and caprice.  The sun will rise, ending this night.  My sentry over, I will fall to earth, and rest, and bed.

Change everything, change yourself.

*

No Substitute for Fire

I wanted alcohol to do better for me than burning did.

I was constantly disappointed, yet I kept trying.

I was not to find pleasure in that bottle

though I had no problem finding addiction there.

This is how I came to believe

that there is not an upside to everything.

Booze took me to surprising destinations,

but never the ones I desired.

I sought release,

the release I got from a wildfire spreading across my skin

and this might have been mine

had I poured the liquor on rather than in.

But in me it did no good,

it never let me exhale

the way that the “right” kind of pain did.

What I got from alcohol drove me though;

Fear rode me roughshod and I found my way home,

it was a bumpy road,

but once there we doused the flames

and I live the upside I had come to doubt,

because fire is no substitute for life.

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 Worm

June 12

THE WORM

Because there is never enough punishment for those who inflict hurt, I punish myself.  Only I can tell if the depth of the pain is a match; only I can judge when enough is enough.  This is the turn of the drunken worm who lives in my brain.  The belief that what began in pain must end there, too.  Even now in recovery, I persist in hurting myself a thousand tiny ways. setting trap after trap to catch the perpetrators,  I make my heart a mine field, a place unfit for me to live.  I must sober the worm and let myself off the hook.

Dip intentions into action and let them firm up.

*

Circular Needles

I react badly when I find a loose thread

because I never know what might be unraveling.

I have knit my heart out;

have dropped an occasional stitch to be sure.

Unbeknown to me these little holes in my logic

wait for the stress of overextension

to run through the length of my life, untying earnest work.

If I could catch these unsecured thoughts

before it all goes too far ,

I might have a chance to hook back into the main fabric

and prevent this unfurling of collateral.

When the cord is cut and the line flaps freely real panic ensues.

Even if capture of both ends is possible,

knots are awkward, unseemly and gauche.

I was planning a seamless life, smooth and beyond reproach.

My fear of reprisal flares

before the ever-burning coals of abject self-doubt

have a chance to be felt.

This banked inferno generates the things which bake and fry my nerves,

burn my threads and disintegrate my mantle.

I need to put out the fire before I re-knit my world.

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

Soot

May 22

SOOT

I diligently work to remove the soot, the residue from the last time I tried to hot wire my brain.  When I attempted the short circuit of my safety-thinking, I caught my life on fire and the flames, though brief, were spectacular.  Electric fires are very jarring, the burning insulation toxic.  It leaves bare, stuttering lines crossing and recrossing.  My stable base, the method I once used to keep sane, is shot.  All because I wanted to go joy riding in my thoughts.  Suspended reality sounds so good but always bursts into flame, leaving me with soot removal as a hobby.

Add all the numbers of your phone number.

*

The Delano’s

Indifference is the backbone of power.

It is a state of faithlessness,

not infidelity but rank apathy,

saving every ounce of ardor for the prize you seek.

I thought I was the prize and I am;

I’m just no longer yours.

Cast aside for the leviathan and the miscreants

I wonder what I could have done to hold your attention

The answer is nothing.

Nothing could be done.

Blinded by the ambition of heroism

the struggle is the goal

No gem no matter its brilliance

can check your drive toward a place in the epic narrative.

Tis the hero’s lament to save every life except your own.

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

Feeding Squirrels on a One Lane Bridge

January 16

 FEEDING SQUIRRELS ON A ONE LANE BRIDGE

Cattle corn spread on the single Lane Bridge---the trap.  Food or safety?  There are plenty of other choices; my disease sees none of them.  Gluttony and danger the perfect combination.  How can I resist?  Why would I resist?  I have to have more.  I cannot depend on my nature, the ability God gave me to survive in my environs.  Help must come from outside, and must be wild and dramatic.  Inward help is boring, subtle, tiresome.  Where’s my image?  My excitement?

How am I going to prove my God worthy without too much, without perilous risk and rescue?  I can’t.  I can’t prove my God, and my God doesn’t need to prove anything to me.  I can find my way, off the beaten path, away from the prying eyes of rubberneckers.  No cheers from the crowd are necessary.  I have the equipment.  It came standard.  If I look at the controls and follow the twelve step tutorial, I should be able to manage just fine.  No Mack truck in my face, as I stuff myself with ill-gotten grain.

Look deeply into a glass of water searching for mermaids.

*

Bon

Comfort or motivation

these are the two major reasons for building a fire.

Sometimes I set it before me

other times under me.

The warmth can be soothing

and the light dazzling,

but licking flames move me

off the spot like nothing else.

Fuel and surrounds contribute to the effect.

Mental state and personal company

provide dampening or air.

How high the flames rise or how long they burn

varies widely inspiring my passions,

my thoughts, my fears

The conflagration is an apt tool

as long as I don’t go up in smoke.

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 Substitute for Fire

October 1

No Substitute for Fire

I wanted alcohol to do better for me than burning did.  I was constantly disappointed, yet I kept trying.  I was not to find pleasure in that bottle though I had no problem finding addiction there.  This is how I came to believe that there is not an upside to everything.  Booze took me to surprising destinations, but never the ones I desired.  I sought release, the release I got from a wildfire spreading across my skin and this might have been mine had I poured the liquor on rather than in.  But in me it did no good, it never let me exhale the way that the “right” kind of pain did. What I got from alcohol drove me though; fear rode me roughshod and I found my way home, it was a bumpy road, but once there we doused the flames and I live the upside I had come to doubt, because fire is no substitute for life.

Randomize the alphabet, then write

*

MY MOON

I anticipate the crowning of your face

As you birth the sky.

Your rhythmic visitation sates me.

The gravity of my need keeps you close.

The tide of my heart pulls you from shore to shore.

We live in the sweet ecstasy of tethered love

Our souls slingshoting across the open palm of heaven

Your empathy for me transforms these shards of ice

To a tender heart satelliteing

I orbit you

Empowered by your kindness

You are my moon.

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

Circular Needles

June 14

Circular Needles

I react badly when I find a loose thread because I never know what might be unraveling.  I have knit my heart out; have dropped an occasional stitch to be sure.  Unbeknown to me these little holes in my logic wait for the stress of overextension to run through the length of my life, untying earnest work.  If I could catch these unsecured thoughts before it all goes too far, I might have a chance to hook back into the main fabric and prevent this unfurling of collateral.  When the cord is cut and the line flaps freely real panic ensues.  Even if capture of both ends is possible, knots are awkward, unseemly and gauche.  I was planning a seamless life, smooth and beyond reproach.  My fear of reprisal flares before the ever-burning coals of abject self-doubt have a chance to be felt. This banked inferno generates the things which bake and fry my nerves, burn my threads and disintegrate my mantle.  I need to put out the fire before I re-knit my world.

Teach desire to breathe

*

TOO FAR, TOO FAST

Balloons filled with hydrogen

Race the atmosphere and fly away

The effect is stunning

So much lift for just pennies

The easy way has no line, no waiting

Fast dirty service is available

Risk assessment is counter-balanced

With dramatic outcome

Low initial cost and instant gratification.

How can I not want to rise above the crowd?

How can I not want it now?

Hydrogen is quick and plentiful,

Volatile, yes but why should this bother me?

I have a Higher Power to protect me

It’s not as if I were playing with fire,

I am only tempting it!

Bon

January 16

Bon

Comfort or motivation these are the two major reasons for building a fire.  Sometimes I set it before me other times under me.  The warmth can be soothing and the light dazzling, but licking flames move me off the spot like nothing else.  Fuel and surrounds contribute to the effect.  Mental state and personal company provide dampening or air. How high the flames rise or how long they burn varies widely. Inspiring my passions, my thoughts, my fears the conflagration is an apt tool as long as I don’t go up in smoke.

Try to go sometimes with the grain and others against it.

*

IN THE COMFORT OF MY ROOM

I sit and panic concerning the future.
I have come through Hell
Built a safe and satisfying life
But it will all end soon, I can feel it.

The tide rises in my soul.
The blood red tide of self-doubt and degradation.
I fail to see my strength or intelligence
Hell, I can't even remember the sheer willingness which has carried me this far.

All I see is shreds.
Tattered little bits of my hopes and dreams
Scattered by the breeze of fate.

What is the point of me being in this sweet space
If I'm going to intellectually turn it into a dungeon?
Why set out fluffy pillows
Only to frighten myself daily
With thoughts of their removal?

How can I pray for safety and practice personal terrorism?
My mind is closed to the double-side of life.
I know the destruction but forget the glory.

I have washed ashore in the land of love and support
I need not drag my mind and spirit to the nether world of hopelessness
I've been to the dark places
My task is to warm in the sunlight today.

Wee Hours

September 30

WEE HOURS

In the wee hours I hear the high pitched wail, the tiny pest whining in my ear, the onset of my thin stretched nerves reaching their end.  A few more hours are required of me tonight.  I rally my spirit and lift the edges of my willing resolve.  Long slow nights carry me to the far corners of my mind.  I am more average than I had imagined or hoped for.  The commonness of four AM brings the base to disclosure, the charmed exposure of predawn wakefulness.  The fuzzy vibrations in my brain make me feel deep and real, vulnerable to all the normal limitations of nature and caprice.  The sun will rise, ending this night.  My sentry over, I will fall to earth, and rest, and bed.

Change everything, change yourself.

*

No Substitute for Fire

I wanted alcohol to do better for me than burning did.

I was constantly disappointed, yet I kept trying.

I was not to find pleasure in that bottle

though I had no problem finding addiction there.

This is how I came to believe

that there is not an upside to everything.

Booze took me to surprising destinations,

but never the ones I desired.

I sought release,

the release I got from a wildfire spreading across my skin

and this might have been mine

had I poured the liquor on rather than in.

But in me it did no good,

it never let me exhale

the way that the “right” kind of pain did.

What I got from alcohol drove me though;

Fear rode me roughshod and I found my way home,

it was a bumpy road,

but once there we doused the flames

and I live the upside I had come to doubt,

because fire is no substitute for life.

Bon

January 16

Bon

Comfort or motivation these are the two major reasons for building a fire. Sometimes I set it before me other times under me. The warmth can be soothing and the light dazzling, but licking flames move me off the spot like nothing else. Fuel and surrounds contribute to the effect. Mental state and personal company provide dampening or air. How high the flames rise or how long they burn varies widely. Inspiring my passions, my thoughts, my fears the conflagration is an apt tool as long as I don’t go up in smoke.

Try to go sometimes with the grain and others against it.

*

IN THE COMFORT OF MY ROOM

I sit and panic concerning the future.
I have come through Hell
Built a safe and satisfying life
But it will all end soon, I can feel it.

The tide rises in my soul.
The blood red tide of self-doubt and degradation.
I fail to see my strength or intelligence
Hell, I can't even remember the sheer willingness which has carried me this far.

All I see is shreds.
Tattered little bits of my hopes and dreams
Scattered by the breeze of fate.

What is the point of me being in this sweet space
If I'm going to intellectually turn it into a dungeon?
Why set out fluffy pillows
Only to frighten myself daily
With thoughts of their removal?

How can I pray for safety and practice personal terrorism?
My mind is closed to the double-side of life.
I know the destruction but forget the glory.

I have washed ashore in the land of love and support
I need not drag my mind and spirit to the nether world of hopelessness
I've been to the dark places
My task is to warm in the sunlight today.

No Substitute for Fire

October 1

No Substitute for Fire

I wanted alcohol to do better for me than burning did. I was constantly disappointed, yet I kept trying. I was not to find pleasure in that bottle though I had no problem finding addiction there. This is how I came to believe that there is not an upside to everything. Booze took me to surprising destinations, but never the ones I desired. I sought release, the release I got from a wildfire spreading across my skin and this might have been mine had I poured the liquor on rather than in. But in me it did no good, it never let me exhale the way that the “right” kind of pain did. What I got from alcohol drove me though; fear rode me roughshod and I found my way home, it was a bumpy road, but once there we doused the flames and I live the upside I had come to doubt, because fire is no substitute for life.

Randomize the alphabet, then write

*

MY MOON

I anticipate the crowning of your face

As you birth the sky.

Your rhythmic visitation sates me.

The gravity of my need keeps you close.

The tide of my heart pulls you from shore to shore.

We live in sweet ecstasy of tethered love

Our souls slingshoting across the open palm of heaven

Your empathy for me transforms these shards of ice

To a tender heart satelliteing

I orbit you

Empowered by your kindness

You are my moon.