Hold Card

May 1

HOLD CARD

My bottom pulled my hold card to the table top.  I turned it over and found I have a bit of value.  Each time I turned over my will, my value increased.  After many spins, the face cards appear; I’m the Jack, the Queen, the King.  I revel in the time and practice it has taken to get here.  I play my hand and take my chances.  I have been privileged to pair with wonderful sober partners who turn themselves over and transform before my eyes.  The years raise the ante and I play close to my chest.  The stakes are high and if I turn in the wrong direction, I can be the Joker once again.

Smell your meals before you eat them.

*

Leap Day

When winter is almost at an end it becomes beautiful;

a theoretical thing, which though it may hurt you,

can not hurt you for long,

therefore is safely appreciated by mere mortals.

You don't have to beg for God's own protection,

Time has become a friend and winter only a show.

I will soon wake from this chilling fright,

will in fact thaw from it in short order

and needn’t fret though chilblains

still catch at me now and then.

I can stand at the window

admiring frost and ice formed lace;

intricate patterns whose beauty will soon be lost to me,

Put away in favor of crocus and daffodil.

The terrible loveliness of soon to pass trauma

is not lost on my hyper-vigilance

I grasp it, I just can’t seem to let it rest.

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

Walking Joy Home

October 20

WALKING JOY HOME

I make sure to walk joy home not because I doubt her ability to find it alone, rather because it gives me extra time with her.  I used to fear joy, that I would be intoxicated by her presence and lose my well-hardened grasp on realism.  Now I see that without joy in my life there is no realism, that it was only cynicism masquerading in its place.  Joy is simple and unassuming.  I often confuse her with ecstasy and scoot away in shy terror.  Joy is nice to have around.  She is not just a party animal; sometimes I invite her over for a cup of tea.  When we are done I take the winding path to savor every step up to her door.

If you can’t lay down your burden move it from hand to hand.

*

Resilience

When I experience trauma or drama

my heart and soul return to the toddler state;

I feel the urge to stay up and push forward.

I resist help and rest.

I try to override animal need in favor of intellectual prowess.

Bleary eyed and red-faced, I soldier on,

only managing to make my life  into a ceaseless fight.

My charm and wit wear thin; then wear out.

I need to recharge my batteries,

need to hit reset and restore my default settings.

It is hard for me to accept that I must lie down

in order to get up again.

Restoration is impossible to achieve from my battle stance.

Resilience is a bouncing ball.

What I want to rise I must first throw down.

Sleep Tight

August 4

Sleep Tight

Did you dream? Sleep the sleep of faultless souls? Or twist the sheets as in that Gilbert & Sullivan treatment? Are night time wrestlings an indication of decadent day- time activity? Or is it all simply a matter of happenstance? Possibly something I ate? Thought? Wished for? I think to myself I should not have gotten into that unmade bed, should have made it up; the bed and my mind, should have straighten out the crumpled mass of discarded dreams from yesterday and started fresh, but instead I climbed in with it all tumbled and tossed, lumpy and coarse, no smooth sailing in this tangled sea. What time I save by leveling the playing field and plumping the pillows. All is not lost, there is always tonight. Sweet dreams straight ahead.

Throw the ball even if you can’t pitch it

*

NEVER LET GO

When it grows dark on one side of 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 one 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.