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

On a Half-Shell in Front of Tiffany's

October 30

On a Half-shell in Front of Tiffany’s

Pretty petty pearls wait in oysters more perturbed than annoyed.  I string my tears for the sake of posterity leaving the dreams to fend for themselves.  I am nothing if not splendidly prepared for a life less steeped in wishes than realism.  Opening volleys tell a tale of round irritation, but I am not finished just yet.  Joy comes from surpassing obstacles and wearing healed grief as precious gems around my neck.

Pick a retirement home for your critics

*

EIGHT MISTAKES CLOSER

I am eight mistakes closer to perfection.
As long as I fall forward, progress is being made.
I fail meticulously toward my goal
More cannot be asked.

Loss, pain, frustration are strong teachers and motivators.
I suck each splinter for knowledge,
Extracting juice from every fragment for information.
In spite of sprains and strains I have stretched
Attaining almost my full height.

Growth is a wonderful thing though cost is always involved.
Mistakes are an unavoidable price
But well worth the expense.
They are an expense which pays dividends
Dividends that move me towards perfection.

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

Box-a-week Tao

May 12

Box-a-week Tao

I am going through so many changes surrounding the cleaning out and getting rid of process.  The flat sided panic that I experience while even attempting the smallest disposal seems impossible.  I would deny it if I didn't have the repetition of this experiment to prove it as fact.  I have now moved into the part of the illness where I compulsively clean the things that I have emptied in order to avoid facing the next step, the next box, the next mess.  This is a two part trap: part 1. If cleaning can absorb all the time I will not be able to do anything else.  Part 2.  If I can't keep it clean enough then I have an excuse to give up and not empty the next space.  I am trying to keep moving without being mean to myself.  Because mean is worse than mess.

Try not to lose things you never had

*

CHOICE

Growth is my decision

I don’t need conflict or catastrophe to bring me to change

I choose each day, come what may, to roll out the refuse

I am not tempted to leave it in to rot just because the sun is shining

Good days are good times to improve

How could integrity be retarded by joy?

I am not punished into recovery

I will never accept a Higher Power who set up a system like that

And give wide birth to people who claim their Higher Power did

My bottom may have been an inducement to start

But choice keeps me coming back.

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.