Creed

March 12

Creed           

We have a long standing family tradition of viewing miracles as tragedy; this custom has afforded us many a fine escape from the unknown.  Most things in life are bad; people, places, things, this belief is protective though useless. Ultimately I feel this belief is not what colors the dynastic impression of the miraculous, but the apprehension is due to the limited nature of the thing.  I come from a line of dissatisfaction; miracles are provided when what is desired is panacea.  If everything is not imperially resolved then it is all for naught because the same psyche which cannot begin a process without a guaranteed outcome can’t pickup the slack after a triumphant start. Give it all to me tied with a bow, I will begin the critique from there though I will accept, offer me a beginning fraught with uncertainty and I will decline. A secure entrenchment is preferred to inexact risk.  I will die with my boots on, but I mustn’t leave the house.

Respect your age

*

FRIENDS

My sweet, dear, funny friend
Steeped in beat
Whose hand I can no longer hold.

I yearn for the wildly flying words, like feathers in a snow
The shock of hair and glinting eyes I see so clearly
In my shivering mind.
I must let go.
I miss all the friends who for reason or no
Have traveled down the yellow brick spiral to who knows where.
My arms feel open and starved
But there is no way for me to retain myself
And follow them.
Some are lost, altogether
Some are lost only to me
But my arms remain empty nonetheless.
My ruined heart is sore and sad
But chasing this friend or that
Will not heal it.
The lonely path before me is the answer for me.
Possibly only for me among our former group
And will the paths cross later in this day or next?
I don't know and am better not knowing.
My path requires me to release outcomes
As well a kindred.
I must travel with my arms open
Some fall out of them
And others find their way in.

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 Resentment of an Acorn

February 26

The Resentment of an Acorn

Because no one believed that I was a giant oak inside, I had to prove it and drop my little cap and leave my shell behind.  Now I stand big and tall, alone, board feet to the sky.  I have lost my portability in my quest for the recognition of my potential.  My amazing growth painful due to its cause; poor mental health is a bitter road to achievement.   As I stand head and shoulders above the undulating canopy reflection comes on a sweet breeze.  Am I sorry I’m here, it could have been worse, could have been eaten by a squirrel or glued endlessly to a third-grade art project “my walk through the woods”  bugs could have gotten me, though that looms even now.  I could have disintegrated, lost my power and integrity.  Whatever the driver I am appreciative of the destination, there were many darker roads on that map.  It’s good to be here.  It’s good to be anywhere sober.

Shade your honest attempts

*

BELIEVE

Listening to what people say
Is a half waste of time.
Believing it is a full waste of time.
Truth wills out in behavior.

No matter what is said
What is done is the real deal.
What is done over time
Is the final test.

The things that are repeated
Resounding from one generation to the next
Are to be counted on.

Believing in told truths
Is a snare and a delusion
The trap of all traps.

If your sponsor has a sponsor
You may sleep at night.
If your sponsor works with that sponsor
You can sleep soundly.

Doing the right things.
Doing them over and over again
Doing them with others,
Your group, your friends, your sponsees

That will make you believable
I can think of nothing else that will.

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

Friends

March 13

FRIENDS

My sweet, dear, funny friend, steeped in Beat, whose hand I can no longer hold.  I yearn for the wildly flying words, like feathers in a snow.  The shock of hair and glinting eyes I see so clearly in my shivering mind.  I must let go.  I miss all the friends who for reason or no have traveled down the yellow brick spiral to who knows where.  My arms feel open and starved but there is no way for me to retain myself and follow them.  Some are lost all together; some are lost only to me but my arms remain empty nonetheless.  My ruined heart is sore and sad but chasing this friend or that will not heal it.  The lonely path before me is the answer for me, possibly only for me among our former group.  And will the paths cross later in this day or the next?  I don’t know and am better not knowing.  My path requires me to release outcomes as well as kindred.  I must travel with my arms open; some fall out of them and others find their way in.

Organize a loophole and escape through it.

*

Three Card Monty

When I learn to excel at the good games

and learn to leave the bad ones alone

I think I will be alright.

Simple enough to do when I can take off this blindfold

and see the long term consequences of my pursuits.

Engage this pastime and have no future;

abandon that play and squander hope.

Eyes open wide, I see what there is to see,

but around the corner I am lost for anticipatory sight

and must guess at destinations, let alone intention.

Tricky, tricky, is this life which toys with me.  I

I think I have the bow in hand,

though as life rubs me wrong then right,

I see I am played upon as much and as often as I play.

I take up the reins, but must also be led,

I can lay out the deal,

but sometimes I just have to roll the dice.

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

Thin Ice

February 18

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 can not 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.

Remember your genius.

*

Hiding

“Defeat is what you make of it,” says my sponsor.

“Fighting a thousand secret battles

when you claim that you want peace is not right.

The agony of defeat is when you keep on fighting.

There is no honor in waving the white flag,

but never laying down your arms.”

“I can’t just give them up

they have been in the family for years,”

my whining retort.

“I’m sure they have, darling, I’m sure they have,

and haven’t done any of you a lick of good either,”

her smug reply.

“They are good for sabotage,”

I begin my running start at her.

“Sabotage is something you only do to yourself,

because who else can you really sabotage?

Who do you really hate enough other than you?”

“My hobby is denying that you know.”

“Yes, and sweet lot of good it does you,

The war rages within you

and outside you say it’s harmony,

no matter all the signs of discord.”

“And if I were to really give up.  If, I were really tired enough,

how can I insure my safety?”

I asked with my hands nearly in the air.

“Tell the truth, even if it’s only to yourself.

Put space between you and weapons of mass destruction.

Oh, and make sure you surrender to a friend.”

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

Crazy Time

December 19

Crazy Time

Picking the right time to be crazy seems to be the key to getting away with it.  Wanting to get away with it slants the field a tad.  What crazy is changes from place to place, which puts all the more emphasis on the timing.  The surrounding company and barometric pressure play parts and put on airs.  Lighting, lighting must also be involved, I assure you I don’t know how and can’t calculate the Ohms, but I flip the switches in case it helps.  I have mapped for you a fair amount more than I know.  I wish you well on your attempt, for crazy is a kindred club, I would hate for you to feel inept.

Admire your friends

*

THE FIRST FATHER

The rest of what I have to say
I will slip under your gravestone.
If I have time after I buy the red dress.

To say I hate you is an overstatement.
I only detest what I know of you
The rest I leave to other people
Who might have the misfortune to cross your path.

Your unavailability can protect you
From anything I could ever do to you.
Your hurt and arrogance is far worse punishment.
If I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt.

Having to be you every day must make it hard
To leave the bed in the morning.
I know I couldn’t do it if I had to
Drag your baggage around all day.

The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage.
You might think it’s armor
But your misnaming of everything
Is just another of the things I never miss about you.

Which is why although I pray every day
For your wellbeing for the sake of mine
If I never see you again
It might just be long enough.

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

Who Rang?

May 19

Who Rang?

Examine the instillation of your buttons as a process of discovery for disabling them.  Pay attention to the wiring but also to the hardware.  Sometimes the advertising is the thing which keeps alive something better off put to rest.  Many things are rooted in other pots and have a lifeline from outside of the current host.  All the connections and housing should be explored as well as what work the mechanism does once pressed.  Is there a gong, tinkling bells?  Does it release the wolves from their den or tiger from his lair? Information is a tool which never fails to help me in disassembling the traps and their triggers I must not shy from the gathering.

If you reframe the past don’t crop reality

*

NETWORKS

Testing my sponsor when I’m hurt

Is like probing for gas with a lit cigar in my mouth

If I can’t find a way to douse the cheroot before posing my questions

It’s guaranteed I will get an explosive response

I need a network

They follow me with sand

Snatch from me my burning pacifier

And save me from sticking my smoldering end where it doesn’t belong

We all need a little excitement in our lives

But don’t have to become an incendiary device to fill the need

I forget that boring isn’t the same as death

It just feels that way

Some days distance prevents disaster

A good support system carries me away

To face it on another day.

Who to Ask

April 14

Who to Ask

“You ask good questions and you ask the right people,” said my sponsor.

“I ask questions because I need answers,” my reply.

“Do you know how many people need answers and never ask?” she quipped.

“I ask my friends, no stroke of genius there,” I continue.

“You ask your playmates, you ask the people you trust enough to have fun with.  You don’t realize how clever that is.  You know lots of folks who work hard and you could ask your questions of these, but instead you save them for those diligent ones who still know how to play and that, Sweetie Pie is proof that you are no dummy.”

You may mute your horn, but don’t soap your bow

*

CRUMPLED PETALS IN MY POCKET

I can't bring back the bloom

Cohesion, lost ripeness

Is left only to memory

I carry home the parts

Folded, petite, fragrant bedding

For my wistful desires

I put these colored remnants into a jar of salt

I make an aromatic rub

For the sweetest wounds

Transforming the parts to useful duty

Doesn't restore the flower

It doesn't pay tribute to the past, it is survival

I have a mind filled with roses but I must make hay

Today I live, today the rose is dead

Its pieces in my pocket

I don't die with the blossom

Though my head blows in the wind

The rose runs its course, I run mine.

Creed

March 12

Creed           

We have a long standing family tradition of viewing miracles as tragedy; this custom has afforded us many a fine escape from the unknown.  Most things in life are bad; people, places, things, this belief is protective though useless. Ultimately I feel this belief is not what colors the dynastic impression of the miraculous, but the apprehension is due to the limited nature of the thing.  I come from a line of dissatisfaction; miracles are provided when what is desired is panacea.  If everything is not imperially resolved then it is all for naught because the same psyche which cannot begin a process without a guaranteed outcome can’t pickup the slack after a triumphant start. Give it all to me tied with a bow, I will begin the critique from there though I will accept, offer me a beginning fraught with uncertainty and I will decline. A secure entrenchment is preferred to inexact risk.  I will die with my boots on, but I mustn’t leave the house.

Respect your age

*

FRIENDS

My sweet, dear, funny friend
Steeped in beat
Whose hand I can no longer hold.

I yearn for the wildly flying words, like feathers in a snow
The shock of hair and glinting eyes I see so clearly
In my shivering mind.
I must let go.
I miss all the friends who for reason or no
Have traveled down the yellow brick spiral to who knows where.
My arms feel open and starved
But there is no way for me to retain myself
And follow them.
Some are lost, altogether
Some are lost only to me
But my arms remain empty nonetheless.
My ruined heart is sore and sad
But chasing this friend or that
Will not heal it.
The lonely path before me is the answer for me.
Possibly only for me among our former group
And will the paths cross later in this day or next?
I don't know and am better not knowing.
My path requires me to release outcomes
As well a kindred.
I must travel with my arms open
Some fall out of them
And others find their way in.

Joy is not Enough

October 12

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 consisting of 690-some words and the final consisting of only four.  Joy is not enough.  That’s it.  The whole thing.  Today my life is unmanageable due to the fact, 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, every day 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, so I can’t do that for them.  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 abuse.

Joy is not enough, but it’s a hell of a start.

Lend your assets; keep your defects home.

*

Matching

“Matching calamity for serenity,”

is a task requiring attentive diligence.

Each tragedy has its unique blast pattern

and necessitates a precisely cut cure.

Coverage is one concern and depth is another,

the weight of the healing atmosphere

must equal the corrosive depletion caused by ruin.

I have to make available the wound

in order to receive the remedy;

anytime I camouflage or barricade my injury

I have eliminated the opportunity for a corresponding solution.

Knowing this fact

and answering it with right action is the job of a lifetime,

but I cannot think of a more productive use of my time.

Friends

March 13

FRIENDS

My sweet, dear, funny friend, steeped in Beat, whose hand I can no longer hold. I yearn for the wildly flying words, like feathers in a snow. The shock of hair and glinting eyes I see so clearly in my shivering mind. I must let go. I miss all the friends who for reason or no have traveled down the yellow brick spiral to who knows where. My arms feel open and starved but there is no way for me to retain myself and follow them. Some are lost all together; some are lost only to me but my arms remain empty nonetheless. My ruined heart is sore and sad but chasing this friend or that will not heal it. The lonely path before me is the answer for me, possibly only for me among our former group. And will the paths cross later in this day or the next? I don’t know and am better not knowing. My path requires me to release outcomes as well as kindred. I must travel with my arms open; some fall out of them and others find their way in.

Organize a loophole and escape through it.

*

Three Card Monty

When I learn to excel at the good games

and learn to leave the bad ones alone

I think I will be alright.

Simple enough to do when I can take off this blindfold

and see the long term consequences of my pursuits.

Engage this pastime and have no future;

abandon that play and squander hope.

Eyes open wide, I see what there is to see,

but around the corner I am lost for anticipatory sight

and must guess at destinations, let alone intention.

Tricky, tricky, is this life which toys with me. I

I think I have the bow in hand,

though as life rubs me wrong then right,

I see I am played upon as much and as often as I play.

I take up the reins, but must also be led,

I can lay out the deal,

but sometimes I just have to roll the dice.