Pastry

July 8

PASTRY

Like French pastry, sobriety gets richer with each layer.  As I investigate these layers I approach the buttery center.  The fat seeps through the years, makes boundaries crisp and intimacy velvety.  Ingredients, which ordinarily wouldn’t mix, somehow blend and counterpoint one another in a flaky shell.  Fruit and nuts improve every bite. Though there are times which are a bit crumbly, most of the structure is strong and the invention skillful. Pastry and sobriety are compositions of strength and brilliance, which are meant to be taken internally.

Juggle solutions.

*

Night Clothes and Bed Clothes

Is there any indulgence

quite like that of clean sleepwear

warm from the laundry?

Pulling on jammies over squeaky clean skin

and the little shutter that goes with tired hedonism

is a pleasure without formed words,

left for grateful sounds and little moans.

Hard work creates more than stability,

more than cash flow, more than mere exhaustion,

hard work changes my mind about delight.

It allows me to see it in the most obvious,

most subtle of places.

My bed has become haven, hospital, refuge

and I am tucked up in my nest, safely out of my mind.

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

If I had a Screwdriver

March 2

IF I HAD A SCREWDRIVER

If I had anything other than this hammer, possibly, I would discontinue pounding this helix into the side of my universe.  The slot is unused; the flat head of my sledge slams.  A wide void is punched into my abyss as the threads are pummeled not turned.  If I had picked up the right tools, if they had been displayed within my reach, if my granny had five wheels she might yet be a wagon. 

I have picked up new tools but, having never seen them used, I bang with them.  Watching others twisting the wrist and angling the elbow, I try to wrap my mind around the posture.  Muscles I have never used, laminated to mental configurations unthought of, improvement in workmanship is slow.  Many a fine toolbox has remained full and untouched, the mind lacking the dexterity to grasp the in-workings, the body ill-equipped for the outer.  If I had a screwdriver, I pray I could bring to it the flexibility of sinew and the nimbleness of wit.

Remember the minutes; they belong to you.

*

Reality and Desire

“I know the difference between desire and reality,”

I whisper to my new found friend.

Who I am and what I am,

are a reality unto themselves,

Your recognition of that

and how you handle said recognition

are for you and God.

The vastness of the true you;

I hope to spend a lifetime surveying;

but not sampling.

What you want and your reality

are not mine to mind or mend.

If you are driving that train this is on you

If HP is the driver all the more incentive

for me to be still, enjoy the ride and await the outcome.

For in the end the question is never,

will you be mine, but what will I be to you.

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 Deals I've Made

February 16

THE DEALS I’VE MADE

Because they are deals and not resentments or secrets, these circular schemes did not come out in my fourth step.  They didn’t come out in the wash; they come out whenever they are broken.  If the deal is don’t eat pickled herring and you won’t have to remember X, the deal will get broken when pickled herring is served to me at some social gathering.  As I get healthier, the breaks connect ever more deeply.  What in early sobriety would have given me unexplained discomfort now gives me full-blown flashbacks.  And I watch the deal unravel… you weren’t supposed to eat this because this is what was on the plate when… but now that it’s on the plate here, now you have to face this ugly roiling mess.  The deals saved my life, but unless they are handled with care and honesty, they can cost me the life I have now.  I must choose a safe person and place to share these broken shards, living alone with this will not work and making it public fodder is a set up as well.  In every one of these deals there is a back door to a drink and therefore We have to go out the front door together.

Pick three color words and use them all day.

*

The Long Dark Ride

Are fear and ignorance one thing

that looks like itself

or terrifying twins who feed one another?

Can they be separated

and if they can will it kill them?

And if they die

what will spring from their remains?

Will it be better or worse?

Can I tell what better is?

Should I tell if it turns out to be worse?

Is there ever an end to either fear or ignorance?

If there is, how deep is that well

and will I survive a trip to the bottom?

Do you know and do you care?

Will you go with me if I find the way?

Will you take me if you find it first?

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

Button Box

January 26

BUTTON BOX

I go to my button box to sort out my life.  I lay out matching sets, the various sizes, shapes and colors.  Coat buttons are commanding but unsuitable for the delicate places.  The tiny pearl buttons with shanks pull my attention but work well only on silk.  The metal, shell, and horn buttons come from such far off places and all end up here crossing my table, as I try to see clearly how to stick with the winners. 

I know the people represented in this box, the strong, the loud, the beautiful.  I know the weak, the unique, the ones of special circumstances and occasion.  I come to the realization the simple ones, the buttons sewn on the inside, the ones who silently give strength and support to the large and small alike, the ones which come in every shade and size, which match their ability to the service they can render others, these are my favorites.  They make secure all the things I love and trust in sobriety.  Flat and unobtrusive, these buttons hold fast the fabric of my life.

Name your pens and pencils.

*

Responding to Response

Thankfully I’m not in charge

of what is so freely given in this program.

I want it to be available,

but I want gratitude to be the universal response.

At first I thought I couldn’t understand

how anyone could hold this gift in their hands

and not feel grateful,

truth is I know exactly how that’s done

and I don’t want to look at that ugly thing.

“Cunning, Baffling, Powerful”

But they left out how repulsive it is,

maybe they didn’t want to see it either,

or thought it was self-explanatory.

No matter which,

I’m glad I am not the arbiter

of the flowing fount that is recovery,

I might have been tempted to cap and meter it,

killing all the beauty and wild randomness

that makes it real and true.

I despair that others don’t recover as I recover

and yet I am relieved that I didn’t have to drink as they drank.

I have to see those around me well enough

to stay out of their traps or follow their leads,

whichever is appropriate,

but I don’t have to adjudicate their reply.

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

One Street off Amory

September 27

One Street off Amory

Apology holds change at arms length.  Apology is the thing I was taught to wait for as a sign that things will improve, but apology is not a harbinger of change it is quite the opposite it is the guarantor of business as usual; no amendment need occur, apology has been made and life goes on with no alteration.  Without variation we all stay sick and apologizing for that won’t get us better.  Restitution, amends, revelation, revolution these are the things which make the world bright, apology is just a scrap with which to wipe your ass.

Put down your bat, skip your rope

*

ALSO A GIFT

Sadness is as life affirming as joy

But in the same way that people eat together

But defecate alone, joy is encouraged in public

And sadness is a private matter.

Happiness is embraced and discouragement relegated

Even though personal experience shows disappointment

Is often a point of growth.

What beauty and change stem from disillusion

But still it is hard to look directly

At grief and not flinch away.

The temptation to fain pleasure

And leave sadness swept under the carpet is strong.

It is an unwelcome job to be the defender of grief

A job which should be unnecessary to defend

We are not giants who can step

From one mountaintop to the next.

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

Michal Rovner

August 10

Michal Rovner

I have numbered all the blocks in my ancestral walls.  This has enabled me to recreate them stone by stone everywhere I go.  It all fits to create the tomb I now have to learn to leave.  I must change the equation and reorder the numbers allowing these rocks to be recycled and find a wonderful useful life as a stairway out of this pit of despair.  What was once an edifice to lives unlived is now able to facilitate elevation, a restoration of a level playing field.  It was not wrong for me to catalog the stones and there was no way for me to leave them behind, but nothing matches the satisfaction of using them to build a life, except for the ability to live in it.

Take a look at yourself from a distance

*

THE SEDUCTION OF SOBRIETY

I was seduced away from my duties

As an alcoholic by the promise of sobriety,

Allegiance to my disease was sidelined.

Alluring stability and beguiling integrity

Curried favor with my desperate heart,

Pulling me from the arranged marriage of addiction.

How could I cling to the corpse of dependence

When sanity shimmered just out of reach,

Then not out of reach but within my grasp.

I couldn’t resist the golden flicker of life.

I had been bound to death

Unable to see an alternative.

My loyalty to loss and grief slipped from me

And I limped into the daylight,

Like the widow of the night.

I have been lured to my senses

By a love like no other,

The love of life.

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

A Year For Me

July 12

A Year for Me

The world is my mollusk and I am its pennyweight paragon, witty girl that I am.  I have spent enough time surrounded by wet feet and confining shells, all held at the bottom of the sea.  This is a year for me.  I am going to climb over the rim of my briny brink and try myself against the fearsome winds of chance.  Although souse is buoyant I feel strong enough to stand my ground.  Time has come for life, open and raw, but I shall leave the clams to the casino.

Allow ticklish issues to make you laugh

*

HOLD THE LINE

Relax is not the same as give up.

Unwind is not fray.

Letting go doesn’t mean never grab hold.

It is important to have moderation in all things

Including moderation, exuberance and enthusiasm,

These are wonderful in their season

Too much and I could get an adrenaline addiction.

Make sure your song has more than one note

And make sure you sing more than one song in your life.

Change, interest and excitement are vital to my existence

If you take all the spikes and ridges

Out of your life line

It means you’re Dead.

Soul Chiggers

June 3

Soul Chiggers

If you can seed apprehension deeply in a generation, you can reap disillusionment for a hundred years.  Bent foresight twists hindsight.  Admiring ignorance, signs death’s warrant.  Evil splintered to a thousand slivers burrows under the skin without killing their host.  Death delayed spreads destruction along with melancholy; a septic contagion if ever there was one.  And how do we fight this systemic blight?  It is embedded in the water, the air, the mind, and try what I might; I can’t seem to live without any of these. Chiggers of the soul feed and breed no matter how I scratch and chew.  I am raw, but still infested.  How do I kill what is in me without killing the me?

Step up to indecision

*

THE WORM

Because there is never enough punishment

For those who inflict pain, I punish myself

Only I can tell if the depth of the pain is a match

Only I can judge when enough is enough.

This is the turn of the drunken worm--

Who lives in my brain

The belief that what began in pain

Must end there too.

Even now in recovery I persist in hurting myself

In a thousand tiny ways, setting trap after trap,

To catch the perpetrators, making my heart a mine field

A place unfit for me to live

I must sober the worm

And let myself off the hook.

Life Events in Burlap

May 16

Life Events in Burlap

Two left feet in a gunnysack allows no forward motion and creates only a windmill that screws us into the ground.  There is more perspective, front and back, more view, but nothing to do with it, nowhere to go.  We are better off as book ends than this awkward foolish pairing.  You go your way and I go mine works fine if we are cut lose, if any one person can be free of any other.  You offer to change your perspective if I change mine.  I smile, almost laugh at the idea of two right feet in a gunnysack and no improvement in sight.  This is not grade school, not field day, I must turn to you or you to me and nothing else, no fair is fair, no turn taking. Because my past is not your future and your future is not my past.  Face forward on both accounts and then we run the race.

Allow your imagination to put on a slideshow for your resistance

*

THREE ROOSTERS

The three roosters came to the meeting

To hear themselves crow.

The membership purely spectators

In the longest, lowest, loudest sobriety competition.

Those of us in the fray, we are like picked-on puppies

Who learn slowly not to put our heads up

To spare our eyes and hearts.

The same noise comes repeatedly

Suspicion is never aroused

The heads nod at all the right places

Orchestrated for ego and nothing else.

The meeting is closed with a momentary prayer

For the still suffering, in and out of the room

I pray that will be enough.

More than a Fedora

May 10

More Than a Fedora

I have no explanations only expletives, I wish I had something to say that you wished to hear, but that is not current events; foul humored broadcasts are what fill the air this day.  Bad temper is tempting, but I can no longer be satisfied in this way nor is this a performance that you care to witness.  I will play FCC to my ruminations curtailing this colorful darkness for my benefit and the clearing of the air.  I have never shied from dramatic vocabulary and I do not now, but throwing out words is waste and I am learning to conserve.  I don’t have to leak my power I can cover my head and close my mouth. 

Know what you are holding on to

*

URBAN LANDSCAPE

I am taking this giraffe to the penthouse,

Do you suggest the elevator or the stairs?

Why do you chose these complicated tasks

To fill your days asked my sponsor?

You think this is beyond my abilities?

I didn’t say that, I do believe either you or the giraffe

Are likely to get bent out of shape

But that is the most obvious of observations

What if I told you being disproportionate

Is both of our natural states, I asked?

I know that too, my darling little lamb.

You may be a contrast to the multitude

But why make it harder?

Why not a ranch with a cathedral ceiling

Bay doors even?

You are taking out the spirit of adventure, I say

Baby, you may have confused frustration

With excitement, says my sponsor

Yes, but you have forgotten the view.

why is it so hard to be me?

April 1

Why is it so hard to be me?

I have everything I could wish for.  I have love and friendship, I have talent and ability.  What more could I want?  I don’t want more, I want to learn how to overcome fear and live with disappointment.  Abundance is ever at the door, but I have no room for plenty.  Reassurance is the thing I chase after, yearn for, pine about, but it is an illusive thing like taking hold of smoke.  Allusion is the gift-wrap of reality the unwrapping often puts me off the contents; regaining my composure and reestablishing willingness is a difficult job requiring dedication and fortitude.  The barrier before the carefree me is thought the strongest of all substance.  I must heal the calcifications of my mind and resist rigidity.  My thinking is what makes being me problematic without it I am nothing at all. 

Free fun from the shackles of expectation

*

ACCEPTANCE, ACTION, CHANGE

Acceptance equals action
Without action, acceptance is a death sentence
Action puts me in the hands of my Higher power
Inaction puts me at the mercy of others or worse self-justification
For acceptance to glow with life it must be moving

Action equals change
Action without change is repetition
The moon does not change
It orbits flat on it's face, forever dark on one side
And a mere reflection on the other

Change equals acceptance
Change sparks possibilities in mundane endeavor
Change without acceptance is a walk off a cliff
For change to endure, agreement is necessary
A one-sided argument is fascism and fraudulence

The heart of change is acceptance
Beating the blood of hope to the extremities
Whether we circle the heavens
Or the bowl depends on the cohesion of
Acceptance, Action and Change

Bent, Spindled, Mutilated

March 20

Bent, Spindled, Mutilated

Injury changes memory, not just the memory of the individual trauma, but the very nature of the mind.  The hooks and loops distort and I can’t hold on as I once did.  The misses and disconnects become more frequent, then they become expected.  Emotional fluff-ups do not suffice, the hardware is damaged and a positive attitude is advisable but the pliers are a necessity.  Some things are easier to break than to repair, in fact most things are easier to break, no skill required, though some take it on as skill, most destruction is ignorant or accidental, nothing personal just a part of a pain filled landscape.  Direct intervention is not the same as hands-free degradation, though both have their cost.  Redemption, restoration, is sought from all comers.  Possibilities and probabilities stack; action is a relief, whether or not it is a fix.  I take a breath to face the final blow, for when the cost adds up and I look for recompense all I hear is the check is in the mail.  

Line the bin so the ick won’t stick

*

20 CART PILEUP

What's the problem here?
Asks my sponsor, as she approaches my apparent impasse.
Well, I've been trying to get these carts lined up
What do you think of my progress?
How many carts do you have here?
A few, quite a few, why?
And how many horses? She asks
Just the one, the same as everyone else, I answer.
And where is this poor animal?
Back here.
Behind the carts
OK, we have a twofold problem here.
First, one horse can handle only one cart.
So pick ONE
Second, that sad creature needs to be in the proper position
To do any good at all.
You had best figure out a way to get him in front
Or you will remain stuck
Even after you whittle down your burden.
I was stunned
She went to her cart
Climbed to the seat
And took the reins
How long did it take you to get yours like that? I ask
Honey it takes every day.
Don't kid yourself
I wake up every morning with the same train wreck
Your standing in now.
Learn to sort faster
And you'll have the rest of today
You can start over
With us tomorrow.

Recognition

February 10

Recognition

All I have are these two hands; I can not lift the world

All I have are these two legs; I can not flee the hoards

All I have is this one heart though need and want prevail

All that’s left is this one mind to try to tell this tale.

Everything in this bright orb is there for me to see

Everything laid out before me all that I can be

Everything that I perceive as wrong and know it in my heart

Everything I think to touch and change believing it’s my art

Once I take the giant reins acceptance escapes the scene

Once the fates are in my grasp chaos is the theme

Once the sight of my right place is lost from in my mind

Once I try to fill the great big shoes is the day that I go blind.

Prune expectation with open-mindedness

*

DON'T BE A FRAUD

Fake it till you make it is like saying,
Keep drinking till you get sober, complains my sponsor.
But what about the things I can't do yet?
You work on them, that's all, you work.

You adjust your attitude.
Practice the steps.
Carry your behind to meetings,
And talk to me and others in your network.

Yeah, that sounds like a breeze.
It's easier than staying sober while lying.
In this program we try to stay honest
And in the moment.

Pretending to feel differently than you do
Defeats your ability to be present
And makes it hard for people to trust you.
But it's so awkward, I grumble.

Which is why we of the alcoholic persuasion,
Try to find short cuts but don't get sucked into them.
Tell the truth and do the hard work of sobriety and
Stay away from people who try to sell you a Softer Way.

The Inside Half

February 2

The Inside Half

I have drunk deeply from the glass set before me.  I’m not entirely sure that I am half way through, but I am into it a goodly bit.  I would be happy to have another 19 years; nineteen more hours would be a gift, too.  That glass might be half empty but I am at least half full and I am amazed!  I am regularly stunned by the prodigies this half trek has born to term; equally dazzled by how quickly the generations compound in this painstaking construction.  Development both internal and assembled surpasses my wildest imaginings.  Amazement is my most constant companion, more than gratitude and as of late even outstripping willingness my most trusted ally.  Shock has been replace by wonder, bewilderment with surprise, I am fortified with these feeling realities and look happily to finishing the rest of what is in that glass.

Turn left into your right mind

*

DUCK TONGUE

Trying to get out of myself, I travel to an Asian fish market and grocery
I had heard has very fresh fish.
Greeted at the door by thirty large and lively tilapia
Swimming in their tank,
I felt my mood lift.

The captured beauty gave me pause.
Shiny and silvery, the faces banged at the glass
As they tried to get a better look at my entrance.
Like passengers packed on a subway car,
The fish jockeyed for position near the glass.

Further inside, I see the wonders we have extracted from the sea,
Cuttlefish, conch, squid, mussels, clams,
Whole fish of every stripe.
My belief in a power of diversity strengthens
And I smile.

Leaving the seafood section, I head forward,
To the refrigerated cases of other types of meat.
Frozen pigs tail, fowl with feet on, the novel variety pleasing.
When I approach the trays neatly filled with rows of chicken feet
I break out in a grin.

Thoughts of soup and days gone by flutter through my mind.
Finding formed foam piled with layer after layer
Of ducks tongues was my limit
Spinning in my mind,
Who? Why? Oh no!

But in the end I came to care
About how these minuscule flaps of leather
Were placed.
The person whose job is done well
And to the fact people are just people.

We do what we do.
For reasons unimagined to the rest
And we do it,
With full faith
And hopeful breath.

And Gratitude

January 31

Principles before Personalities............and gratitude!

As with everything I have to be careful of how I infer meaning.  You say ‘Principles before Personalities’ and I hear, Their principles and Their personalities, immediately I’m on a tear.  How different if I think of ‘my’ principles and ‘my’ personality.  When I face it this way it is reflexive; I embrace my principles and my personality falls into step.  I am safe and sane therefore gratitude follows just as the topic suggests.  Good orderly direction is elegant when I don’t reverse direction.  There is an obvious way to pet the cat when I accept that we get along fine, when I don’t………well, need I say more?

Books open minds, music opens hearts

*

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

I'm sure it will come soon
A time I can be carefree, innocent.
Worn and weary, I slog through the painful
Over awareness of what was considered my childhood.
What can I do but hope things will get simpler as I age.

My sobriety takes years from my face.
Lines slip from me and I feel the weight lift from my shoulders.
My tender branches twisted with the constant force of wind
Bud and flower in the shelter of recovery
Holding them in their own embrace.

Colors seep to the windows of my mind
Forming pictures and carrying me to a new world.
Limpid pools, a place I dive, as I look to the mirror.
Serenity a rebounding of life fills me
And I am the gentle girl I missed so long.

Longing for my loveliness, I cry at the sight of my baby one.
I have not yet taken my place on the swing
But I have been down to the edge of the playground
And run barefoot in the sand.
I will be who I was to be, it's late but it's better.

I know well enough
To enjoy it as it comes
Treasure it for every sweetness.
I will come into my youth

Hand Me Down Pain

January 6

Hand Me Down Pain

You have sent a cold thing into my heart it causes my feet to move me away from you.  It need not be spoken of this is a thing of ice and lead.  Words are no help here action is the only cure.  Eternity can be spent with a soul bisected by slivers.  Stepping the willing way to joy and freedom seems so unlikely from this frosty local.  Make my mind up I must.  Close my eyes and move forward.  I will leave your pain behind me I hope not to have to leave you.

Kiss tiny pebbles and roll them away

~

HELP FROM STRANGE SOURCES

I cannot get my mind wrapped around the places I find help.
I struggle with believing I have been helped.
I struggle with disbelief at my own resistance.
I am helped daily by many tiny things seen and unseen.
I realize now I was injured by the same tiny things.
When I was misaligned with my Higher Power
The sun rising, the tiny star I circle in this great nothingness
It makes my whole day.
The air hanging around just in case I need it,
Which I often do.
The people who live with me, a mean feat.
The people who work with me.
Those who exist here with me keep my ship on course,
How sweet of them to do mostly right everyday of their lives,
What a help that is.
The whole ecosystem and all the weather
What would I do without it?
But this is on a good day,
On a bad day, the sun is in my eyes and scorching my skin,
The air is too still, or well, the wind is always a problem.
And people, people are an endless plight,
People do things to hurt, annoy and irritate me,
Full intent, targeted to me, my life, my wants destroyed.
Bugs seek me and I am followed by the darkest cloud,
Everyday, all day, lurking.

I AM SO THANKFUL FOR A SPONSOR AND A TENTH STEP

Alconaut

December  25

ALCONAUT

Want to learn it fast but not deep?  Just go to meetings and listen with half an ear.  Call your sponsor only for her birthday and anniversary and tell her about all the things you are not doing anymore but none of the things you are.  Skim the books for good quotes that sound impressive when they pass your lips but whose meaning has no chance of passing your heart.  Find playmates and cliques, not a home group, and surely not a service commitment.  Things fall out of orbit when they run out of juice and you will too.  This program is not an air lock on the way to worlds unknown; it is a way to live in the world you know.  There is no question that you have the right stuff.  The question is, do you want what we have?

Hug your feelings, pat their heads, then let them go.

*

Einstein’s Apple

Time is a player in every play,

forever running forward

even as I try to claw my way into the past.

If I don’t provide a role,

time writes itself in

without regard for my intended plotline.

Like the weather,

time is by turns gentle and fierce.

I must pay attention lest I run afoul of it

and lose my life and limb.

Though time is an arc I see swinging in my mind

it is still the arrow shot

and I am simply the fool with the apple.

The Way I Do It

December 8

THE WAY I DO IT

Cooking by smell, parking by ear, recovering by touch.  The latter has to be done this way; I cannot see into the black-box technology, which keeps me sober.  Feel through the resentments, pain, sadness, joy; find myself under a pile of rags with a match in my hand.  The many times the steps have saved me from becoming a human torch are balanced by the weight of the rope, woven from these same rags, that together we use to drag one another to safety.  The savory scent of a meal, or the glee of front row parking can’t compare with the tender sense of a sober heart.

Write bad advice on tissue and wipe with it.

*

Master Mind

I was taught that it was my job to master fear;

raised in a religion swearing they could master death.

I used to spend all I had trying to create a master plan,

while trying to keep secure using a Master lock.

I have seen Master & Commander

and do not long for that burden;

in fact mastery is so much a snare and illusion.

Life is quite improved

when we each have an oar and we all row on.

Mosaic

December 6

MOSAIC

I couldn’t prevent this plate from shattering, so I saved all the pieces, losing none.  I laid them edge-to-edge and made a design, secured it with thin-set.  Pieces of pattern framed with grout are seen, as they never could be when this dish was whole.  I am part of this construction more than just handing china onto the table.  Integrity has been lost but replaced with fractured openness.  The plate has lost personal unity to become an ingrained part of my personal archeology.

Fly your kite in the wind.

*

The Way West

The sun reflected in the windows

winks at me as I fly over.

The plane climbs higher

and the reflected light no longer reaches me.

I slip from my eastern bonds.

I am west coast bound.

The carpet of snow was laid down

to quiet the passage.

Clouds take over the task,

then part to reveal the patchwork

of the middle ground.

We cross the Stateline without a sound;

a few more miles then touchdown.

There are only 23 more shopping days left till my nervous break down

December 2

There are only 23 more shopping days left till my nervous break down

Shoppers beware: I have a careful plan!  I can juggle these thirty things, keep these twenty people happy, dig around in the dirt at these three excavation sites and hold on to my sanity for twenty-three more days.  

My sponsor says having a plan like that means I’m already crazy.  My sponsor says I don’t have to please anyone but myself, my Higher Power and her.  That can’t be right.  What is the point of sobriety if I can’t do it all? 

She says I don’t even have to please her or myself.  What does that mean?  How can I tell if I’m pleasing my Higher Power? 

She says, “Shut up and you’ll find out.” Great!  What a plan.  I like my countdown better.  Of course I do, it’s mine.  My countdown, my life, mine, mine, mine. 

Maybe my sponsor is not all wrong.  OK, quiet......da,da,da.....da,da.  OK, quiet for real.  Hmmm.  I don’t, don’t know.  This isn’t working.  I can’t do this.  Why would I need to stop being me in order to get better?

“Who are you?” she asks.  She thinks she’s so smart.  I’m the one in the middle.  She says the eye of the storm is empty and I need to get a life of my own.

Endurance lets you live in the house you built.

*

Anti-Forfeit Activity

I don’t want to write

bad, forced, poor, weak, care-worn poems,

but I won’t write any good ones if I don’t lift this pen.

The embarrassment I might feel for lackluster lines

is far less than the shame of empty notebooks.

I don’t always like what flows when I open the gates,

but I am sure glad the current is live and so am I.