Isolation

March 10

Isolation

I isolate from you, I isolate from others, I isolate from friends, isolate from G-d, I practice connecting by connecting with my sponsor, practice connecting with my friends, practice connecting with G-d, finally I am able to connect with you, the first thing I do is isolate us from them, my sponsor, my friends, my G-d, they are all now on the outside of the bubble of us and I must start again, only now I must try to maintain the you and me connection while at the same time connect with the rest.  Are we still us if I am connected with them?  Are we still us if we are in the midst of the crowd I think of, the crowd I call, them?  Just because they see us as us, refer to us as us, are we still us if we don’t feel like us to me?  If I don’t know us in the landscape of hordes are we still we?  Isolation is an attempt at preservation, how can we best be preserved without being pressed in a book or jarred or jammed?  You say let us be, and I say that’s how I got us; are you sure that’s how I keep us? And you hug me tight.

Bloom with or without a garden

*

THE WALL OF PLEASANT

How quickly I am protected by a sweet smile
A disarming countenance and gentle phrase
Save my skin and psyche.

No longer do I defend my reputation as a wit or critic
I let it all flow by.
The simpler I appear the more effective the facade.

The energy I conserve not fighting loosing battles
Is well spent in the company of like minded sober friends
In the pursuit of sober lives.

I stay out of the fray and behind this partition
It's insides are posted with announcements proclaiming my opinions
And the lunacy of the person on the other side.

The reading of these notices
Does not persuade me to dismantle the enclosure
But encourages me to keep it sound.

Many years of shelter behind this vine covered fortification
Allow restraint of my words spoken and written
To safeguard my sanity

When I am gifted with comment I am spared the desire for credit
Boundaries are a blessing
And living within them a saving grace.

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

In the Meadow

June 15

IN THE MEADOW

Being the only tree in the meadow often leaves me feeling lonely.  I tell myself of the camaraderie I imagine in the forest.  These images are more poetic than real.  I believe in community and support; I think of the woods as this place apart from the complications of my exposed life.  I shrug off the very real competition and struggle from sharing every inch of root space and the search for each square of sunlight.  There is much joy in being an individual.  An eco-system of diversity allows me to fully develop.  I can spread my branches and my roots.  I can offer shelter to those in need of my reaching and my shadow; tender flowers and tired birds find me a haven.  I have unique abilities in this field.  Space can feel lonely but it is full of possibilities.

Press up against your iron will.

*

Poe-etiquette

Cosmic questions cross the sky,

I wonder but don’t ask why

I pitch the tent, but don’t stay the night

I borrow money and don’t pay the rent

I sooth myself but can’t be content

I earn my keep though it is all been spent

The real true meanings are pushed away,

Has ready tragedy come to stay

Forever darkness, no more light of day

Cheerful greeting left to lay

All the poets bring their knives

For blood letting’s become their prize

Here I sit and tend the boat

Rocking dingy out to moor

I play the Raven, black and poor

I dare not speak it but in my mind sing

“Never more”

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 Meal

May 2

THE MEAL

Home cooking is the key.  I want to order in, have my life delivered to the door.  The takeout menus entice me.  From three courses on china to burgers handed through sliding windows, it all sounds good and I request all for take home.  But this is not the way.  I must light the flame and chop the veg.  I can’t have a life prepared by others.  I can share recipes and suggestions; this is help not displacement.  I can stand and cook with others and together make the feast.  I cannot sit and wait to be served.  I stand at the range while the sauce simmers and it comes clear; I am my own meal.

Nothingness won’t necessarily consume you but it does block the view.

*

 TWC

I wake early and watch the lazy rain

fall in slow fat random drops.

I view it with silent awe,

only part of my recently somnolent mind bewildered.

Dawn advances toward me and I register a new concept:

snow, it is snow; the sky had been,

too dark to allow me to see the white,

all I could comprehend was the fall.

The lighter the sky becomes

the more the precipitation behaves like snowfall.

I muse this to my sponsor and she laughed,

“Well, we all misname things in the dark,

Sweetie, lighten up and give yourself a break.”

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

In the Comfort of My Room

January 17

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 are 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 to 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?  With an open mind?  No!  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 sunlit today.

Make an anagram of your name, which empowers you.

*

Hades

There is strangeness to the dark.

A velvety comfort

when my paranoia is not alive

with ice crystals and contempt.

Cocoons of light create hives of life

in an otherwise isolating phenomena.

Pressing to my skin I can wear the night out

as a jewel, a talisman for the hope I dare not share.

Pixies and faeries inhabit dawn’s wee hours

but the black blank stretch of space

is home to things quite different.

Unspeakable in their face I allow them to pass.

Should I be carried off my return is eminent

for half the seeds remain.

Not wholly ransomed I live only part time in the sun.

When the shadows fall there is the oddness of home

I can neither embrace nor deny.

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

Desert Island

November 2

Desert Island

When I am left to amuse myself, more often than not I turn my wicked wit to redress those whose neglect, I sorely feel; this is childish.  This is pointless and yet I do it and do it well.  I am, too good at being alone and I resent it and resent every necessity for honing that skill set.  When in the past I have made my mind up to accept seclusion each overture is a slashing intrusion.  I am not a happy medium, though I do doubt if such a thing exists.  I am an attention seeker when I am not I am an isolation monger.  The wavering nature of human interaction is an uncertain sea for me, alternating downing me or leaving me washed- up on some remote shore.  Even amid those I love the most, I am a skinless writhing neonate, hyper-reactive and living on the edge.  I somehow know the answer is self-esteem or spiritual development, but when in the midst of this imprudent reaction the paths to these are lost.  I try to hold my breath when underwater, when on the beach I try not to breathe the sand.  If I survive today I may grow out of this tomorrow.

Make peace with your pillow before bedtime

*

DESERVING

Tender toes crushed by moving memories
Fresh pain from ancient injuries
Shock incurred from these lifeless reminiscence
Unhappy reconstructions slap inspecting faces.

The people who stood by
To let the chips fall where they may
Try to pretend innocent bystanders now
That shit is falling from the sky.

Unexposed skin will burn when the flames leap high
Idiotic excuses will not retard the fire
Of injustice coming to call
Too late tears carry no freight with the past recipients
Of the “It all runs down hill” award.

Cowards make themselves cripples
And fracture at the force of incoming reality
And deserve more than they get.

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

Charmed by Snow

July 31

Charmed by Snow

Warm weather snow falls in fat full flakes; I am living in a world of dreams and sweet peas.  Sudden dustings sparkle and surprise leaving as quickly as they came; yet the world is kinder now.  Beauty is an ambush of the heart.  My breath alters, accelerates, speeding me to a smile, an illustration of joy.  Crows walk the edge of the hedgerow, prattling on as they do; snow to their ankles and food on their minds.  I drive over the mountains discovering myself as the recipient, the receiver of all this great gift, this life.

Trek to the edge of your comfort zone and map it out

*

MORTIFICATION

Lime with envy I built a wall around.

Love and hate are enclosed, brick and stone.

Rigor of extremities, the discipline of ages falls so short.

I make no in-depth connections

I coat externals with glue

Stack reaction and let the bombs fly.

I mix and crush old habits and bad ideas, make a paste.

I am setting myself up again.

Abstinence becomes the pestle of bludgeoning and abasement.

I am hard and I am hollow

Wounded pride, I subjugate my soul

My life is reduced to a powder, I am mortified.

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

Eggshells and Bethlehem

June 6

Eggshells and Bethlehem

A stable is a place to keep a horse and in fairytales a place to birth a baby, but stable is the story I told myself about you.  Solid, a model of strength and here you are a tripod, upright only if the pressure is evenly applied.  I blame myself for lopsided need and try to find a way to keep this coupling standing.  Stripped down to minor contact I wonder if you actually remember me and then I wonder if I remember myself.  This is what is at stake, this is the trophy I lose when I fall for you and you fall down.  Where is the girl I worked so hard to create?  Broken eggshells litter the nest and I look for the chick I used to be.  I fear losing you, I cry at the thought of losing us, I die at the loss of me.

Graft beauty to stability

*

IN THE MEADOW

Being the only tree in the meadow often leaves me feeling lonely

I tell myself of the camaraderie I imagine in the forest

These images are more poetic than real.

I believe in community and support

I think of the woods as a place apart

From the complications of my exposed life.

I shrug off the very real competition and struggle

From sharing every inch of root space

And the search for each square of sunlight.

There is much joy in being an individual

An eco-system of diversity allows me to fully develop

I can spread my branches and my roots.

I can offer shelter to those in need of my reaching and my shadow

Tender flowers and tired birds find me a haven

I have unique abilities in this field

Space can feel lonely

But it is full of possibilities.

Bad Acting

March 16

Bad Acting

Because there never seems to be enough love in the world to fill the wound, my wounded self riots.  At times the debauchery seems good natured enough, flamboyant yet without harm, at other times the disturbance is apparently violent and the issuing tumult a crime.  All for want of wholeness and sanity I pursue shattered fractured activity just to keep from dwelling where I cannot live, where there is no air.  I want land beneath my feet and full, full lungs; on my own I find neither of these and little else of use.  Isolation even in a crowd is the tell tale sign that I am in the, me, myself and I mode of drowning in a teacup and require rescue. Little more than raising my hand above the surface and asking for help is needed though this is a Herculean effort as we all know.  Rowing up stream is a bigger battle then it ever looks and I know the river runs through me.

Turn, turn, turn then rest

*

UNNECESSARY WORDS

I've spent years trying to put names on the streets in my 12 th step map post.
Clear signs with monikers easy to remember, themed and progressive
But I have been wasting my time, the map is there, no doubt.

I have seen people follow it to varying degrees.
The names are unnecessary, like ants, we trail each others scent.
We track so closely as not to loose visual contact, we don't play with our survival.

Or we are bees standing in front of the meeting
Doing the dance, which describes the path to sobriety
With meaningful jokes, and well earned tears.

As I stand at the foot of a few twenty-fours
And see the evolution of my recovery
I realize the names in the placards are ever-changing.

Meaning and value pour through the kaleidoscope of time
And come out as indescribable gifts, Which I can only give through action.
I will no longer fritter away my time looking for tags and titles

Isolation

March 10

Isolation

I isolate from you, I isolate from others, I isolate from friends, isolate from G-d, I practice connecting by connecting with my sponsor, practice connecting with my friends, practice connecting with G-d, finally I am able to connect with you, the first thing I do is isolate us from them, my sponsor, my friends, my G-d, they are all now on the outside of the bubble of us and I must start again, only now I must try to maintain the you and me connection while at the same time connect with the rest.  Are we still us if I am connected with them?  Are we still us if we are in the midst of the crowd I think of, the crowd I call, them?  Just because they see us as us, refer to us as us, are we still us if we don’t feel like us to me?  If I don’t know us in the landscape of hordes are we still we?  Isolation is an attempt at preservation, how can we best be preserved without being pressed in a book or jarred or jammed?  You say let us be, and I say that’s how I got us; are you sure that’s how I keep us? And you hug me tight.

Bloom with or without a garden

*

THE WALL OF PLEASANT

How quickly I am protected by a sweet smile
A disarming countenance and gentle phrase
Save my skin and psyche.

No longer do I defend my reputation as a wit or critic
I let it all flow by.
The simpler I appear the more effective the facade.

The energy I conserve not fighting loosing battles
Is well spent in the company of like minded sober friends
In the pursuit of sober lives.

I stay out of the fray and behind this partition
It's insides are posted with announcements proclaiming my opinions
And the lunacy of the person on the other side.

The reading of these notices
Does not persuade me to dismantle the enclosure 

Rejection

October 15

REJECTION

Rejection is a game of endurance, a boundary enhancing process, a test of survival.  Rejection sought or unsought is a challenge.  Sometimes rejection is a flare lighting the need for a change of tactics or direction.  Though, it is hard to view rejection as a beacon rather than condemnation.  Rejection is also the counterbalance for acceptance.  Risk is nothing if rejection is not part of the equation.  I cannot value a yes if you could not say no.  Rejection is the safety valve when putting myself in situations where I don’t belong.  I get sent back to the world of possibilities when the kindness of rejection ejects me from the wrong choice.

Look at the keyhole then look at the key.

*

Autonomic

Alcoholics in isolation go no place good.

Isolation is too expensive to keep;

whether it is a bad habit or worse.

How I hold to a receding thing such as this?

I am amazed that I accomplish this difficult task

and fear my ability to do something simple like breathe.

I wonder often why destruction is so seductive when life is fine.

Yet, I hear the cloying whispers of lonely isle shores,

I must bind myself to friendship

and hold firm to companions for the water is no place for me,

I have forgone my once liquid life.

Future Tents

March 29

FUTURE TENTS

The future seeps in through the windows, like the dawn stealing across the sky. Once I inhale it, I am out of doors, only the lightest of canvas covering me. The opening flaps in the breeze. The wind of unbidden things echoes off the walls of people shut out from this adventure. I brace myself for the cutting current but am greeted by the softest of zephyrs. I duck out. I stand unfettered. Lonely whispers call but I am isolated. The scene is empty, serene and beautiful. There are other tents, other seekers standing on other hills but they see their own futures from the vantage of their own tents and thankfully I am left to see mine.

Tape a coin to the place you sleep.

*

Catalog of Growth

The right seed in the right season

grows a garden of miracles for me.

I get the food for my table

or the stores for winter.

Sometimes when I’m in a Jack like predicament,

right planted seeds can provide a bean stalk

of escape from my restricted life.

I have a role to play with these wonders.

I must sort the seeds from the pebbles.

I must let the kernels out of my pocket

and into the ground.

I water when I can

and harvest what comes to fruition.

Though the best by far

is the part when I get to share the seeds.

The Flock

January 4

THE FLOCK

Today I came to a place in the road covered with birds. The nearby fields, covered in birds, the trees covered. As I approached, the birds took wing. The flock responded to my presence; each bird flew, the sky darkened with their flight; wave upon wave, boundaries intact, taking action in the face of obstacle. The gift of instinct displayed for me as I fly to my meeting, my instinct rehab. I am learning my intuition; my sponsor spoons it to me from the steps. I suck it down never knowing what it is about this process that makes me better, anymore then I know how grain and bugs make birds fly. I have theories, things I roll in my fingers when I’m nervous. I get glimmers, things my Higher Power sparkles in my eyes for a treat. In truth, I don’t know ‘how’ I don’t need to know, any more than birds need to know lift to weight ratios.

When I respond to life events, when I spend less time self-concerned, I am so much closer to self.

“Aren’t we spiritually centered?” quips my sponsor.

“Yes,” I reply. “One day in a row, I’m going for the record.”

“That’s all the birds have; you’re doing as well as they,” she smiles and pats my back.

Say hello the next time a bee seeks you out

*

One Singular Crowd

Isolation among the isolators

is replete with metaphor and theme.

Expectation blithers loudly

but is drown by the palpable inevitability of the outcome.

I pirouette in a room filled with dancers

but we do not touch,

we just spin near one another full view but little contact.

Yet I hear my heart beating in my ear

and know that I am alive.

The flush of neighboring cheeks

attests to duplicate conditions there.

We are moving together sometimes in harmony

but other times in antipathy, dependent all the same.

We are the army of independent meanings.

Individual cases sharing one slender goal

but that’s all that we need.

Isolation

March 10

Isolation

I isolate from you, I isolate from others, I isolate from friends, isolate from G-d, I practice connecting by connecting with my sponsor, practice connecting with my friends, practice connecting with G-d, finally I am able to connect with you, the first thing I do is isolate us from them, my sponsor, my friends, my G-d, they are all now on the outside of the bubble of us and I must start again, only now I must try to maintain the you and me connection while at the same time connect with the rest. Are we still us if I am connected with them? Are we still us if we are in the midst of the crowd I think of, the crowd I call, them? Just because they see us as us, refer to us as us, are we still us if we don’t feel like us to me? If I don’t know us in the landscape of hordes are we still we? Isolation is an attempt at preservation, how can we best be preserved without being pressed in a book or jarred or jammed? You say let us be, and I say that’s how I got us; are you sure that’s how I keep us? And you hug me tight.

Bloom with or without a garden

*

THE WALL OF PLEASANT

How quickly I am protected by a sweet smile
A disarming countenance and gentle phrase
Save my skin and psyche.

No longer do I defend my reputation as a wit or critic
I let it all flow by.
The simpler I appear the more effective the facade.

The energy I conserve not fighting loosing battles
Is well spent in the company of like minded sober friends
In the pursuit of sober lives.

I stay out of the fray and behind this partition
It's insides are posted with announcements proclaiming my opinions
And the lunacy of the person on the other side.

The reading of these notices
Does not persuade me to dismantle the enclosure
But encourages me to keep it sound.

Many year of shelter behind this vine covered fortification
Allow restraint of my words spoken and written
To safeguard my sanity

When I am gifted with comment I am spared the desire for credit
Boundaries are a blessing
And living within them a saving grace.

One Singular Crowd

January 4

One Singular Crowd

Isolation among the isolators is replete with metaphor and theme. Expectation blithers loudly but is drown by the palpable inevitability of the outcome. I pirouette in a room filled with dancers but we do not touch, we just spin near one another full view but little contact. Yet I hear my heart beating in my ear and know that I am alive. The flush of neighboring cheeks attests to duplicate conditions there. We are moving together sometimes in harmony but other times in antipathy, dependant all the same. We are the army of independent meanings. Individual cases sharing one slender goal but that’s all that we need.

If you can’t find the grape try some jelly.

~

THE BOAT

On my ride home from work there's a boat stuck between two trees
In the middle of a horse pasture
Next to a riverbed so dry it's filled with grass.
I think the boat is me.

I feel for the boat every time I see it.
Turned on edge, waiting for a river which doesn't exist anymore
And may never exist again
Placed on edge for protection, not comfort.

Although having my bottom rot out
Well, let's just say, might be more uncomfortable
What good will I be even if the river runs again
Since I'm fenced in?

If my Higher Power has a plan
If it includes a river and a fence
If I'm in this plan, me, the row boat
I just don't see it.

Not seeing my purpose in life is a theme in my life
Truth is, I don't want to face the fact, I might float away
Even though I'm supported by two big trees
Even though there is a tall fence around me.

Completely in spite of the fact
THERE IS NO WATER
My Higher Power loves me.
I AM THE BOAT

Desert Island

November 2

Desert Island

When I am left to amuse myself, more often than not I turn my wicked wit to redress those whose neglect I sorely feel. This is childish. This is pointless and yet I do it and do it well. I am, too good at being alone and I resent it and resent every necessity for honing that skill set. When in the past I have made my mind up to accept seclusion each overture is a slashing intrusion. I am not a happy medium, though I do doubt if such a thing exists. I am an attention seeker when I am not I am an isolation monger. The wavering nature of human interaction is an uncertain sea for me, alternating downing me or leaving me washed- up on some remote shore. Even amid those I love the most, I am a skinless writhing neonate, hyper-reactive and living on the edge. I somehow know the answer is self-esteem or spiritual development, but when in the midst of this imprudent reaction the paths to these are lost. I try to hold my breath when underwater, when on the beach I try not to breathe the sand. If I survive today I may grow out of this tomorrow.

Make peace with your pillow before bedtime

*

DESERVING

Tender toes crushed by moving memories
Fresh pain from ancient injuries
Shock incurred from these lifeless reminiscence
Unhappy reconstructions slap inspecting faces.

The people who stood by
To let the chips fall where they may
Try to pretend innocent bystanders now
That shit is falling from the sky.

Unexposed skin will burn when the flames leap high
Idiotic excuses will not retard the fire
Of injustice coming to call
Too late tears carry no freight with the past recipients
Of the “It all runs down hill” award.

Cowards make themselves cripples
And fracture at the force of incoming reality
And deserve more than they get.

Autonomic

October 16

Autonomic

Alcoholics in isolation go no place good. Isolation is too expensive to keep; whether it is a bad habit or worse. How do I hold to a receding thing such as this? I am amazed that I accomplish this difficult task and fear my ability to do something simple like breathe. I wonder often why destruction is so seductive when life is fine. Yet, I hear the cloying whispers of lonely isle shores, I must bind myself to friendship and hold firm to companions for the water is no place for me, I have forgone my once liquid life.

Tell yourself a story about what you’ve learned

*

ARCHIMEDES PUT A BOULDER IN MY PATH

Place a lever under the boulder and press down.
Never so hard as to warp the lever.
Move the pivot and push under a new place.

Keep doing this until you have pushed deeply
And well from every aspect of the boulder in you path.
This works every time.

Not because it dislodges the boulder
But because it somehow changes me.
The path may also appear different.

Often the boulder drops from view.
It may not be gone but seems less irretraceable.
My life goes on.

I have found it important to retain my lever and pivot.
There is never just one boulder.