Never Let Go

August 14

NEVER LET GO

When it grows dark on one side of a transparency the other becomes reflective.  When addiction doesn’t hold a flame for me, I see the true face of its results.  Because I know now the destructive possibilities, I must print the picture and post it on the wall, for the day may come when addiction appears as a light for me and the mirror will be gone.  I need to keep clear the truth even when my eyes lie to me and my sensibilities catch on fire.  The glass can be the boundary or the tumbler.  The glare of day can be harsh or bright.  Light is forever shifting.  I cannot count on shadows for predictions.  I must know it when I see it, chant it to remember and hold hands and never let go.

Sort advice like laundry.

*

Participant Observer

Underneath it all I am more than naked;

I am hidden by exposure.

My body can never be as nude

as life with you in my thoughts.

My mind is a polygraph you wander through.

I have determined this is more than safe

and unlock the closets.

You are not my warden looking for contraband,

nor the janitor looking for trash,

you are here, you are my friend.

Having a better look around

simply to know me better

and to love me well.

Your unfamiliar stride is exciting,

I show off the places I long for you to see

and stand aside from the rest,

it is all yours to look through.

I do not resist.

You are my peaceful guardian;

I am your willing charge.

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

What I Give You

December 13

What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind, a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver, how do I go on in its absence?  Or does it ever leave me?  Is this more like an excision than segmentation?  Is it similar to how I carry you with me when I catch a resentment; only in a good way?  I don’t know that I can be truly divided up, but I do know that parts of me don’t belong exclusively to me anymore and I believe this is all for the better. 

Zoom up to anticipation

*

HEART HANDED

I pick up the pen in my heart hand
And the blood of my soul pours onto the page.
The words coalesce and clot into binding phrases
Sealed deals with my spirits punctuation.

Some days it is hard for my mind to keep up.
The current is swift and deeper than I expect.
The pulse of energy is amazing even to the mind it feeds
.
Like clouds racing the sky this power
Brings shade to some and rain to others.
The reaction of the moistened varies.
Some pull up hoods and scurry away

Others with up turned faces form a friendship with me.
At the level of electrons, we have a molecular bonding.
We are forever changed because I have picked up the pen
And they have picked up the page.

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

Participant Observer

August 14

Participant Observer

Underneath it all I am more than naked; I am hidden by exposure.  My body can never be as nude as life with you in my thoughts.  My mind is a polygraph you wander through.  I have determined this is more than safe and unlock the closets.  You are not my warden looking for contraband, nor the janitor looking for trash, you are here; you are my friend having a better look around simply to know me better and to love me well.  Your unfamiliar stride is exciting, I show off the places I long for you to see and stand aside from the rest; it is all yours to look through.  I do not resist.  You are my peaceful guardian; I am your willing charge.

Sit with impatience and sooth it

*

CAMPAIGN

Sobriety is the Santa Clause that brings delightful gifts

Which make me smile.

Recovery is the Gene

Which comes from staying out of bottles.

The Jin makes treasure possible

But doesn’t bring it to the door.

The ads and billboards of illusion built a world of booze

But no hope for a real life.

I have learned to turn from all the lies of picking up

And live in the possibilities which open

Only when I put down the drink and the thinking.

I don’t need to pin up stockings

Or rub lamps, just take direction

And make willingness my campaign.

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

Taking the Field

July 20

Taking the Field

Humor is an illustration; a joke, an explanation.  I learn far more from the smiles than the jeers.  Laughter carries me; an action, which tears can’t always accomplish.  It is hard to live with constant descent, but wit is a quick impassioned friend.  Thoughtless conformity is an evil companion I prefer the company of those who play.  Life is too hard from the sidelines; I would rather take the field.

Find a pit crew before you crash

*

DEFINITIONS

I am close to my Higher Power

But I have no words to describe It.

I have found it best to say nothing unless asked.

When I do speak it is always the path I took

Or the way I held my face.

I know the things, which changed

And the wind, which blew.

This is not the sketch most people seek.

My skin is brown and my smile broad.

This is not from over exposure to beams of light.

Closeness warms me, I glow from standing near.

I know the face and form is different for everyday

I must not stop for definitions.

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

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.

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.”