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 12th 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

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 Prairie

August 17

IN THE PRAIRIE

In the prairie, there are small fenced cemeteries, family plots.  The flat expanse of land opens to the eye; hand carved monuments stand in testimony to love and service.  In these places grow the wild flowers… bluebells, paintbrush, lupines, and all manner of reedy grasses… these places cordoned off from mechanization and  Agra-business.  Held in trust are the bones of loved ones and the soul of nature.  Deep inside me is a place like this.  The place I have buried my young---the little ones who died of shame, neglect, and hurt.  And I must return, not to exhume the dead, but to pay tribute.  To return with honor and love, harvest the daisies and buttercups, grow them in the garden of my heart.  I can tend the flowers that spring from destruction.  I can mingle them with the growth of my sober life; restore my prairie to a splendor it has never known.  I can enjoy the bounty of saving the seeds worth saving, and planting my Higher Power’s will for me. 

Make a list of decoys.

*

Endlessly Moving Maps

I try to survive by memorizing the chaos.

I do well up to five layers deep

and then lose it, as the details become too great.

I am staking my life on my ability to track the patterns

in a storm while at the same time treading water.

I think this skill kept life and breathe in me for many years.

Now I fear I’ll drown in this roiling mass.

I must touch down my tender toes

and learn to walk this twisting path

and keep a pace with this spinning world.

Everything moves and I am overwhelmed.

I have forgotten my flesh and blood nature;

have mistaken myself for a stone, one which dare not roll,

one which has no part in this endlessly moving map.

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

Key

July 14

KEY

I asked for the key to my problems.  My expectation was a metal instrument with which to unbolt the lock to my desires. What I was given was a systematic explanation of the symbols on the plan of my life.  This has been a wonderful gift and I have benefited greatly, but first I had to stop brooding about the loss of my wished for trinket.  Putting names on my map helps me stay off cliffs and out of rivers.  The code is broken; I can decipher direction and intent.  The compositions of life’s offerings fit and harmonize in unimagined ways and create archways strong and unbending, giving me access to reefs of beauty and rest.  I asked for the means to open a door but gained entry to the world.

Don’t lug excess baggage, ship it.

*

Sympathetic Strings

A guitar with 28 strings generates much sympathy

from the cords which were not strummed.

Pluck is contagious and inspires much harmony and verve

in the vicinity in which it shows face.

Sympathetic strings vibrate in response to the jangling

around them but are tuned to their own notes.

Much distortion adds to the depth of the sound

created by this throng.

Can you hear my life?

How a disturbance in my life rings

in the lives which surround me?

How I twitch and chime when things are twanged

in the lives of my neighbors, my friends, my kin.

We make the music of care,

the discord of reaction.

To every move there is a sound,

to every sympathy a harmony.

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

Unnecessary Words

March 17

UNNECESSARY WORDS

I’ve spent years trying to put names on the streets in my twelfth 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, and I have seen people follow it to varying degrees.  The names are unnecessary.  Like ants, we trail each other’s scent.  We track closely so as not to lose 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.

Rename your problems.

*

Malaria

Flailing, reaching, screaming;

hiding, avoiding, misdirecting,

theses are subsets in a list of extremes

whose commonality is lacking, lacking humility.

I fall to pieces just thinking of standing exposed,

imperfect and unprotected.

I’m not sure what I think will happen to me

in this posture; instantaneous death?

Couldn’t be, I’m not that lucky,

nor am I foolish enough to think that I am that lucky.

Possibly, I fear rancorous humiliation,

but really who is powerful enough to do that to me?

I know and like myself well enough

to deflect obvious flying nonsense,

so what is it that I do flee?

I think it is the endless grinding inelegance of life,

the stinging nettled nature of things,

my inability to weave my way around

my weakness and slip into the open unpoisoned.

I fear exchanging peace for failure.

Humility is when I know I cannot fail.

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 Maps

January 15

NO MAPS

Maps have existed longer than I have.  By the time of my birth, aerial photography had made pinpoint accuracy the norm.  I can be tracked by satellite on my daily commute.  I can get a Trip Tik and travel to the far reaches of this continent.

"So what’s your problem?” asks my sponsor.

There is no map for where we’ve been going.  There are the twelve steps but after that, it is all uncharted territory, except, of course for my family’s warnings about dragons.

“Those critters stay to home mostly.  You have bigger things to worry about.”

So, where’s the map?  I need to know where to go.

“No map.  We go through this together.  The pitfalls are similar: sex and money.  There are a few others.  What each of us finds on this journey is unchartable, plus if you spend your time looking down, you will miss the view.  We prop each other up as we step off into the unknown, and reel each other back if we start falling off the beam.”

How do I know if I’m doing it right?

“Are you still sober?”

Yes, but I’m unsure.  Lots of people are sober right up until the time they’re drunk.

“So true.  It’s all about motive, and it’s difficult to chart your heart.  Do you have willingness?”

Yes, you know I do.

“I have found that is the vehicle to everywhere, Honey.  Learn to enjoy the ride.”

Write silly verse.

*

Comparison Shopping

Cost analysis of the yeas and nays

requires a savvy consumer.

Every word has a variable price

dependent on whom it is spoken to

and when it is said.

Some words charge compound interest

and others pay dividends.

Timing and delivery is of the utmost importance.

Knowledge of the markets requires constant assessment.

The risk to benefit ratio varies widely

and the short term verses the long term price

can flip the market from profit to loss.

Hold my tongue, speak my mind,

these must be weighed;

the clock consulted and inventories taken.

What I say and when

can be less a matter of bull or bear

than whether or not I can afford to be a sheep.

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

Endlessly Moving Map

August 19

Endlessly Moving Maps

I try to survive by memorizing the chaos.  I do well up to five layers deep and then lose it, as the details become too great.  I am staking my life on my ability to track the patterns in a storm while at the same time treading water.  I think this skill kept life and breathe in me for many years, but now I fear I’ll drown in this roiling mass.   I must touch down my tender toes and learn to walk this twisting path and keep a pace with this spinning world.  Everything moves and I am overwhelmed.  I have forgotten my flesh and blood nature; have mistaken myself for a stone, one which dare not roll, one which has no part in this endlessly moving map.

Be honest with your toes

*

SATISFACTION

Satisfaction is like a marble in my pocket.

Formed when correctness was still red hot

And my sponsor rolled my mind until I was whole.

I sigh and square my shoulders

I know I am up to any task.

I am skilled with my tools and know well the talents

Of my intimates and helpmates.

I am not invincible but I am capable.

I value who and what I am today.

I sleep the sleep of a person

Not a hostage or captor, I am me.

I have a marble in my pocket

And it reminds me of the world.

I have a world within me

Knowing how to live with that

Is a great satisfaction.

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

Specks

January 14

Specks

Spectacles are for specks; tiny things that must be watched.  Commotion is nothing but a congregation of minutia with an audience. How many small things do I strain my eyes to see; then seek help to pursue further?  Some of these are put on display fishing for voyeurs.  Others are secreted away only to be ferreted out through magnification.  Whether curiosity or contempt drives me to these pinpoints I must search my motives before I scan the plain.  For truly if I am not careful I, myself will end up either speck or spectacle.

Let old wood and old women inhabit the shoreline of your mind.

*

NO MAPS

Maps have existed longer than I have
By the time of my birth there was aerial photography
Which had made pinpoint accuracy the norm.

I can be tracked by satellite on my daily commute
I can get a trip tic
And travel to the far reaches of this continent

"So what is your problem?" Asks my sponsor
There is no map for where we've been going
There are only the twelve steps, but after that-

It is all uncharted territory except of course-
For my families warnings about dragons
'Those critters stay to home mostly."  She says

"You have bigger things to worry about."
So where's the map
I need to know where to go.

No Map, we go through this together
The pitfalls are similar, sex and money
There are a few others

What each of us finds on this journey is uncharted
Plus if you spend your time looking down
You will miss the view.

We prop each other up as we step off into the unknown
And reel each other back
If we start falling off the beam.

How do I know if I'm doing it right
"Are you still sober?"
Yes, but I'm unsure.

Lots of people are sober
Right up until the time they're drunk
"So true, it's all about motive."

It's difficult to chart a heart
"Do you have willingness?"
Yes, you know I do.       

I have found that is the vehicle
To everywhere, So.,
Learn to enjoy the ride.

Key

July 14

KEY

I asked for the key to my problems.  My expectation was a metal instrument with which to unbolt the lock to my desires. What I was given was a systematic explanation of the symbols on the plan of my life.  This has been a wonderful gift and I have benefited greatly, but first I had to stop brooding about the loss of my wished for trinket.  Putting names on my map helps me stay off cliffs and out of rivers.  The code is broken; I can decipher direction and intent.  The compositions of life’s offerings fit and harmonize in unimagined ways and create archways strong and unbending, giving me access to reefs of beauty and rest.  I asked for the means to open a door but gained entry to the world.

Don’t lug excess baggage, ship it.

*

Sympathetic Strings

A guitar with 28 strings generates much sympathy

from the cords which were not strummed.

Pluck is contagious and inspires much harmony and verve

in the vicinity in which it shows face.

Sympathetic strings vibrate in response to the jangling

around them but are tuned to their own notes.

Much distortion adds to the depth of the sound

created by this throng.

Can you hear my life?

How a disturbance in my life rings

in the lives which surround me?

How I twitch and chime when things are twanged

in the lives of my neighbors, my friends, my kin.

We make the music of care,

the discord of reaction.

To every move there is a sound,

to every sympathy a harmony.

Unnecessary Words

March 17

UNNECESSARY WORDS

I’ve spent years trying to put names on the streets in my twelfth 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, and I have seen people follow it to varying degrees. The names are unnecessary. Like ants, we trail each other’s scent. We track closely so as not to lose 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.

Rename your problems.

*

Malaria

Flailing, reaching, screaming;

hiding, avoiding, misdirecting,

theses are subsets in a list of extremes

whose commonality is lacking, lacking humility.

I fall to pieces just thinking of standing exposed,

imperfect and unprotected.

I’m not sure what I think will happen to me

in this posture; instantaneous death?

Couldn’t be, I’m not that lucky,

nor am I foolish enough to think that I am that lucky.

Possibly, I fear rancorous humiliation,

but really who is powerful enough to do that to me?

I know and like myself well enough

to deflect obvious flying nonsense,

so what is it that I do flee?

I think it is the endless grinding inelegance of life,

the stinging nettled nature of things,

my inability to weave my way around

my weakness and slip into the open unpoisoned.

I fear exchanging peace for failure.

Humility is when I know I cannot fail.

Endlessly Moving Maps

August 19

Endlessly Moving Maps

I try to survive by memorizing the chaos. I do well up to five layers deep and then lose it, as the details become too great. I am staking my life on my ability to track the patterns in a storm while at the same time treading water. I think this skill kept life and breathe in me for many years, but now I fear I’ll drown in this roiling mass. I must touch down my tender toes and learn to walk this twisting path and keep a pace with this spinning world. Everything moves and I am overwhelmed. I have forgotten my flesh and blood nature; have mistaken myself for a stone, one which dare not roll, one which has no part in this endlessly moving map.

Be honest with your toes

*

SATISFACTION

Satisfaction is like a marble in my pocket.

Formed when correctness was still red hot

And my sponsor rolled my mind until I was whole.

I sigh and square my shoulders

I know I am up to any task.

I am skilled with my tools and know well the talents

Of my intimates and helpmates.

I am not invincible but I am capable.

I value who and what I am today.

I sleep the sleep of a person

Not a hostage or captor, I am me.

I have a marble in my pocket

And it reminds me of the world.

I have a world within me

Knowing how to live with that

Is a great satisfaction.