Lie

January 1

Lie

Yes, a lie is just a lie, but the truth also has problems.  I relay the facts and the words take on a life of their own, leave out the backdoor and walk on down the road. They move to another town and never find time to come back for a visit even though, I am their mother.  And woe to the woman who grows attached to credit or recognition for her ideas.  These kidnapped prodigies are never ransomed but sold outright and their DNA not questioned or tested.

So, my advice is to love your words in secret and raise your notions behind high walls.  If you are ever called upon to share your wisdom, lie.  For even if you’re caught the risk is tolerable.  Exposure is awkward but then again no one is looking, so, what is there to lose.  A lie is just a lie but it stays home with you at night.

Tie a string to the moon

~

THE COWS ARE HIGHER THAN THE HOUSE

I got sober only to end up living in a house
where the cows are higher than the house.
I mean next to my house there is a hill
The hill is surrounded by a fence
The cows are pastured inside the fence
Standing on the hill the cows are taller than the house.

I didn't expect to live in a house where the cows were higher.
I expected normal
I didn't expect the cows at all.
I expected the house but not this house
It's at the end of the lane
It's the one with the rose colored shutters.

My sponsor wants to know why rose colored shutters
Are OK but cows overlooking the house aren't?
I can't answer her
It's just wrong - that's all!
I don't know why she can't understand this
It seems perfectly clear to me.

My sponsor says I am powerless over the cows
And my life is not unmanageable but my thinking is.
She tells me to paint purple cows.
To write stories about worse places for the cows to be
I tell her the tub.
She says write it down.
She's no fun.

I heard in a meeting I should pray for the people
And things I am upset about.
I pray for the cows
My sponsor says the cows see how I live my life
And she is sure the cows pray for me.

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/mvzU3AmU2J4

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

Change in Menu

December 22

CHANGE IN MENU

If God is drunk we pray for spiritual sobriety and strong sponsorship.  If God is sober we ask for these things on God’s behalf and glory in answered prayer.  It is amazing that the rain comes down if I dance for it or not.  I can get this wonderful recovery just like the rest of ‘we agnostics’, I don’t have to shake your hand, wink my eye or say some special bit of poetry to have it.  Just the same way that weather is and changes and deepens so too is my spiritual condition.  It is there as I tread this path.  I don’t have to mark the rows in my garden for the plants to grow.  I wish for God a salad with two forks, we no longer need to share a bottle.

Dance with your skeletons.

*

Harriet Powers

Like a creature with a long tale

told in a hushed voice.

The whispers tell the story

with inflection and innuendo.

I slink away from the mirror

and the disembodied voices it engenders.

Thirty versions of my past spin away from me

in the eddies of time gone and misremembered.

I gather my fragments and tatters;

I thread my needle

and sit to quilt me into the present.

The odd assortment left from all which has worn out

or been pulled apart fit in a pinwheel pattern

and turn toward a better day.

The night is warmer for now I have it covered,

settled and safe, perhaps now I might even sleep.

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/ojIx1wut2qY

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 Seduction of Sobriety

August 20

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.

Raise the ceiling on optimism.

*

Blind Man’s Bluff

Turning your head to see

doesn’t help when you have a blind eye.

All the rotation in the world won’t restore your sight.

Addressing life problems with a solution

involving spin is counter productive

and sometimes counter clockwise to boot.

If I find I just can’t see, then maybe

it’s time to listen better and compensate

for my shortcoming through some other action.

Turning away doesn’t help and walking away is worse.

When I am blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other

stepping up to the plate may not be an option,

but I still need to find a way to stay in the game.

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

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

The Poodle

July 1

THE POODLE

Those pointed toes, slender legs carry her across my outstretched mid.  What a blessing to be sober long enough to have never done any unseemly or frightful thing which might have caused apprehension in this firefly of a dog.  I read until she lays her neck over my mouth for her kisses and ear rubs.  She is the center of the universe and I needn’t compete.  I am content to serve as resting place and nursemaid.  I no longer look to be everyone’s pet.  I can pamper and indulge this little one.  She has the whole stage to herself.  I can be her faithful audience having given up my farce.

Carry a picture of you in your wallet.

*

Trouble with Geometry

You are not allowed to get into trouble on purpose,

that’s the rule and if you do

you will get no sympathy that’s the corollary.

Life is too hard to go looking for trouble.

Running toward danger,

whining about self-inflicted pain.

The unspoken law of risk taking

is that failure is dealt with in silence.

Writhing on the ground

after sticking your head in a hornet’s nest,

leaves me and the world I know

to be speechless in your presence.

I know you desire consolation from me.

All I know to say is that your actions

are incongruent with your life.

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

Alone in a New Way

June 25

ALONE IN A NEW WAY

I am restored.  I have my sanity like a spring coat.  I am not sure I need it but it’s nice to have nevertheless.  I prayed for this state of reason believing it would give me entry to a world where I was a late arrival.  Much to my chagrin I have found myself obscenely early to a party I am no longer sure will ever take place.  I stand in the entrance hall and practice new dance steps.  I search the space for prospective partners but rarely see anyone who is swaying to the same beat.  I am grateful for my sanity even if I have to enjoy it alone.

Write a sassy letter and let it dance.

*

I am Not an Island

Upon finding myself alive

I decided to throw my life back into the sea.

I was not living on this dry and sandy shore.

The baking sun does nothing to improve me.

I was belched forth onto the beach,

but never belonged there.

I tried to see myself as evolving,

tried desperately to sprout some legs.

Sucked air through my gills and attempted to sing.

I am not ready for this today.

Perhaps this is my future,

the way the current will carry me that I cannot  tell.

I do know I need the water on my scales

and pressure in my lungs right now.

I do not know what tomorrow brings

Or what I am capable of

just that I will not fault myself

for not having been born a dove.

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

Really Raining

May 3

REALLY RAINING

“Why do people ask if someone is really sober?”

“They’re checking for the winners, I guess,” responded my sponsor.

“But what does that mean?”

“Well, when the clouds roll in and the next thing you know it’s really raining, you can clearly discern the difference between that and just a shower.  The commitment of water saturates the atmosphere and the rain is the undeniable certainty.  That is what people are looking for and they ask to discover if the person even comprehends the concept.”

“What do they do if the person is really sober?”

“Stand next to them and soak it all in.”

Have double paned windows to insulate you from cosmic rays or constant criticism.

*

With and Without

With my sponsor-

Without my drinking buddies

With my Big Book-

Without my contrived dogma

With my home group-

Without my dysfunctional family

With my step work-

Without my mental masturbation

With my sobriety-

Without my insanity

With all this I can live-

Without all that

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

Voluntary Mute

March 10

VOLUNTARY MUTE

I have learned I don’t have to answer just because someone asks.  I have learned to change subjects.  I have learned it is better to say nothing.  Repeating the phrase, ‘it’s just my opinion,’ followed with, ‘I could be wrong,’ has proven insufficient.  Somehow things frequently turn out worse than I expected but, as of yet, none have turned out better; this upsets.  People become angry when I am correct; they are less angry when I’m silent.  I tell the truth and trouble follows.  I didn’t get sober to lie.  So, I keep my mouth shut.  There is no reason to distress folks, and reality has a way of doing that.  Silence is my new defense.  I hide inside of it and find my new freedom.  Unless it concerns my sponsor, my sponsee, or my cherished friend, battening down the hatches saves me from a tempest and spares others their outbursts.

Persuade yourself to breathe.

*

Conception 2

My active voice is the elixir of fire

my addiction would have me snuff

in order to keep us hidden from each other,

me hidden from you, you hidden from me

and no one noticing you or I pouring the drinks.

Minus my active voice

I slip easily into unconsciousness,

my effectiveness doused.

My active voice is the light in my room

the candle in my window,

the glow within me,

which illuminates my days as well as my nights.

Moving ever forward the gyroscopic precision

of this voice never fails me

if I keep my “listening ears” turned on and tuned in.

My active voice is and will always be

the live wire connection of my Higher Power

uniting with me through people, places and things.

My effective conscience

is everything that results from this bond.

I run at an unfathomable rate of efficiency

when my active voice is on,

my feet fail to touch the ground as I fly to right action,

The nature of my effective conscience

is just that, nature,

as natural as if I were not carrying a fatal malady,

but instead possessed the secret to serenity,

which in fact I do: sobriety.

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

Five Fingers that Gobble

November 27

FIVE FINGERS THAT GOBBLE

It only takes five crayons to turn a tracing of my hand into a turkey and it only takes a few things to change my drunken life into my sober life.  Looking back I am amazed how little it has actually taken to transform my life.  My drunkenness looks about as much like my sobriety as my hand looks like a turkey but the transformation has taken place.  The red, the yellow, the brown, the meetings, the steps, the sponsor, these basics are the bulk.  Sometimes it’s the small extras that help push this work of art into the realm of believability. Accents of green, up and down the fingers, or a few bonus phone calls to women outside my network.  Anything can be the thing that kicks it over into a plausible and convincing reality.  I can never be more than I am, a drunk is always a drunk and a hand is still just a hand, but within each of these things are unimagined possibilities waiting to be explored.  Michelangelo believed that sculptures lurked in chunks of stone.  I have come to see that a sober woman prowled inside this drunk and every Thanksgiving my hand yearns to put on feathers once again.

Read your own palm

*

ELECTRIC CONNECTIONS

I step into a room and take its currency.
Is the flow good, steady, the pulse even and strong?
Where are the power brokers
And are they sharing the time
Or using their magnetic personalities
To draw the current off others.

I check the complement of resisters.
Examine their stripes and access the possibilities.
I pump energy when I can and take when it is available.
I keep in mind we are all transformers
And change is possible for everyone
As long as we make the connections.

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

The First We

October 10

The First We

Before powerlessness can be dealt with, before unmanageability can be faced, it is imperative that the “WE” is embraced.  It is the first and last job of sobriety. Initially the human “we” is faced and finally the I and Thee, but the full spectrum of “we” is there to allow the creation of possibilities in my life. As the human body is 97% water the recovering alcoholic is 97% “We”.   What I could never do on my own; we do with ease.  On my own I might not be much but together we are everything!

Obligation is part of the equation not the sum and total

*

ARABIAN DAYS

There are days I feel like Scherazade
And could spin a thousand tales.
Other days I feel my brain grab for its satchel
And exit my ear.

I find it hard to be a hospitable host to all of me
But when I stretch or strain my elbow or knee
I think, oh well, they go out, they go out
But if my brain runs off and leaves me
I am in a serious mess.

I try to be a lover of my mind for when I don’t
I grow small in my heart.
I scent the mental bath water
And lite the little lights
I sing sweet songs.

I wait for a response
I smile broadly to hear
The quick report of Rimsky-Korsakov

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

Cicatrix and Love

July 18

Cicatrix and Love

The mark left by injury is indelible though it may heal, the consequence remains.  This is also true of love.  I am branded and changed by your affection.  The improvement wrought in me does not leave when you do.  If you stop loving me, can no longer remember my name, my face, my sigh; I am better for having had your love if only for a short time.  Good medicine offers lasting results; the miracle of your love is my health.  The blush in my cheek, the revitalization I feel is traceable to you, to the days you held me in your heart and the nights you held me in your arms.  And though I want you back in my world the best of you lives on in my life.

Slice time with your thoughts and peer through the pieces

*

JUXTAPOSITION

Right next to this world is the globe that I came from.

The landmarks are similar but these spheres have little in common

The angle of refraction illuminates the place of my origin

The source of this light is legend.

On my home planet, the existence of sobriety is cast off as myth.

I held onto this tale with my heart.

I slipped the gravitational bonds of Crazy one night

By the glow of the ready button on the coffee pot.

Here and there intersect at only one point

A room with some chairs and a circle with a triangle.

The meeting was on step one

And it was a good place to jump in.

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

Hard Time

September 3

HARD TIME

Sometimes I pack the earth down so hard that weeds can’t even grow up through. I try to make nature inert.  I try to kill my alcoholism.  I confine my disease to this tiny path of compacted dirt and wear blinders as to warn off distractions.  I forget there is a garden to be grown in the fertile ground of my recovering mind.  Losing the compulsion to drink is a gift; stopping my mind from thinking is soul murder.  I can sink my toes in the good brown soil and look to the lilies and the Queen Anne’s lace for inspiration.  I can stop giving myself such a hard time.

Let art talk.

*

FIVE FINGERS THAT GOBBLE

It only takes five crayons

to turn a tracing of my hand into a turkey

and it only takes a few things to change

my drunken life into my sober life.

Looking back I am amazed

how little it has actually taken to transform my life.

My drunkenness looks about as much like my sobriety

as my hand looks like a turkey

but the transformation has taken place.

The red, the yellow, the brown,

the meetings, the steps, the sponsor, these basics are the bulk.

Sometimes it’s the small extras

that help push this work of art into the realm of believability.

Accents of green, up and down the fingers,

or a few bonus phone calls to women outside my network.

Anything can be the thing that kicks it over

into a plausible and convincing reality.

I can never be more than I am, a drunk is always a drunk

and a hand is still just a hand,

but within each of these things are unimagined

possibilities waiting to be explored.

Michelangelo believed that sculptures lurked in chunks of stone.

I have come to see that a sober woman

prowled inside this drunk

and every Thanksgiving my hand yearns to put on feathers once again.

The Water You Drink

July 19

THE WATER YOU DRINK

“Anyone who has to be dragged to water doesn’t deserve a drink,” said my sponsor.

“What about raising the bottom?” I questioned.

“I’m not talking about that.  I am discussing people you try to convince into recovery.  The folks you try to accommodate.  The ones you attempt to bend reality for.  These are the type who will piss in your well.  Let me be clear, I am not concerned with the individuals who piss in the pool, which is rude and disgusting but basically not life threatening.  When your well is defiled, when the place you draw your drinking water from is used as a chamber pot, your life is at risk.  Don’t ever pull your pants down over someone’s fresh water.  Don’t let anyone squat with their bare ass over your sobriety.”

Play in your play clothes.

*

Rings of Color against Butterflies

Resistance I can accomplish directly;

impedance requires magnetism from an alternating world.

I can drag my heels and live life in a sandpaper shack

making everything a chore,

What it takes to throw furniture in the path of progress,

slamming doors and turning off the lights

that is more than I can do on my own.

This takes the cooperation of my disease and me,

the monkey-hoop, which is effort and clever repartee.

Look how well we do it, too.

Distracting possibilities, staving off humanity and the humane,

may not sound like much, but it takes up our whole day;

Goodness is such a persistent little grub.

It takes a concerted effort to prevent it from chrysalis

and failing that, still more determination to make sure it doesn’t fly.

correction Yesterday's actual post today

June 18

CLONING DAYS

The novelty of sobriety causing sweet days wore to gauze and I attempted control.  I cut, pasted and sutured elements of good living in an effort to make 24 hours of personal perfection.  I was so sure I could replicate these jewel like days.  I would make perfect spheres, everything round and even, one after another like a string of pearls.  The more I tried the harder God laughed.  Days are their own planets; Saturn is different from Mars and today will have just as little to do with tomorrow if I let it all work out.  Perfection is a thing, which is born to live, not a thing I can craft in a dish or a test tube.  Life must will-out or chaos will prevail.

Take two words and make a seesaw in your mind.

*

Who is Who

Remake the bed for the restless child in you

who sleeps better if attention is paid to the small kindnesses.

Placating her saves you the sound of her plaintive cry.

If you teach yourself

or allow yourself to grow fond of her, this child you,

these simple chores will seem light, refreshing, natural.

If you fight her she will grow strong

and you will grow weak.

Don’t resist nature.

Don’t resist your nature.

Take a hug to share

as you would take an apple divided

on a walk in the woods with a companion.

Share emotional embraces,

let your thoughts surround her

when you make plans and do deals.

If you treat her as if she is the best of you,

you will become the best of her.

Streatching

May 20

STRETCHING

Stretching is not equivalent to change.  Limbering is nice and warms the muscles, body and soul.  Over-reaching, over-compensation is trauma; it distorts the symmetry and breeds erroneous thinking.  Extension beyond the bounds sets me up for a fall.  I misinterpret touching with fingertips with a firm and able grasp.  I don’t step forward because I believe I have a hand on things, failing to see how this is different from an embrace.  The sinew tears and the fabric of my life is destroyed.  I lean forward but I go nowhere.

Open an old letter and read it with a fresh mind.

*

Inspection

My disease paid a discourtesy call on my bourgeoning sobriety.

Peeked in to look for cracks in my foundation,

weaknesses to exploit.

I recognized the patch job I had toyed with

would have made the easiest of targets for this eroding thug.

I am ever so grateful that I cleaned off all the bricks

and made new mortar.

Built on bedrock my re-laid block

will withstand the indignity of the pounding prodding sickness

which used to inhabit this once dilapidated space.

I can keep the villain at bay

and live my cozy life thanks to a true level

and the handsome turn of my trough.

Really Raining

May 3

REALLY RAINING

“Why do people ask if someone is really sober?”

“They’re checking for the winners, I guess,” responded my sponsor.

“But what does that mean?”

“Well, when the clouds roll in and the next thing you know it’s really raining, you can clearly discern the difference between that and just a shower.  The commitment of water saturates the atmosphere and the rain is the undeniable certainty.  That is what people are looking for and they ask to discover if the person even comprehends the concept.”

“What do they do if the person is really sober?”

“Stand next to them and soak it all in.”

Have double paned windows to insulate you from cosmic rays or constant criticism.

*

With and Without

With my sponsor-

Without my drinking buddies

With my Big Book-

Without my contrived dogma

With my home group-

Without my dysfunctional family

With my step work-

Without my mental masturbation

With my sobriety-

Without my insanity

With all this I can live-

Without all that

Because

January 20

BECAUSE

Because I am my father’s child, I make my attendance at meetings frequent and regular. Having looked deeply in the genetic mirror, I see so many bitter days. I’ve run from the implications and sheltered in the steps. The humility that saved my life is the understanding I am no different from my family. And, since this is a progressive disease we all have, I will just get there faster. Knowing who I can be helps me turn my will over and keeps me grasping my Higher Power’s belt loop. All I am turns in every direction and can pull or push, lift or fall. I know my assets and I know their power and their limitations. All my hope is placed on a plan to use these resources. I follow the only lead which has never promised more than it can deliver.

Be your own loving parent.

*

What Is A Sheep To Do?

Things are bad out there.

I see the trouble as I circle within the flock.

Many of us whisper to each other as we pass.

How can I create lasting change?

Is there something helpful

that will not separate me from my precious life,

something that will not make me prey

to the vultures before I even realize that I’m dead?

How can I live and strive

while the wolves hold the hilltops?

Is the choice merely, one death or the other?

Is there an as yet unseen path?

Can I find it

while maintaining my place in this congregation?

What is a sheep to do?

Harriet Powers

December 27

Harriet Powers

Like a creature with a long tale told in a hushed voice. The whispers tell the story with inflection and innuendo. I slink away from the mirror and the disembodied voices it engenders. Thirty versions of my past spin away from me in the eddies of time gone and misremembered. I gather my fragments and tatters; I thread my needle and sit to quilt me into the present. The odd assortment left from all which has worn out or been pulled apart fit in a pinwheel pattern and turn toward a better day. The night is warmer for now I have it covered, settled and safe, perhaps now I might even sleep.

Use a crutch if you have to but move

*

Best so Far

Being the best so far doesn’t mean so awful much

Makes you the current standard bearer is all

Not even keeper of the watch.

I can’t give you a torch to hold

Certainly not a title either of Daddy or of Din

You will find your way through this morass

Keep your courage if not your cast

But this is a hard thing my dear, dear friend

Because the old tricks they don’t work no more

And the new tools ain’t broke in.

And lest I should forget

Just because you say you have a sense of humor about yourself

Doesn’t mean you have it

And when you try to take me to hand

It doesn’t mean you ken it

And all the days that dreams drift by

It doesn’t mean they’re yours and mine

For time must play its evil trick

And leave good things to pass by us

But this doesn’t mean that hope is lost

Or even that I’ve found it

Only that peace is a thing which seeps

And pressing will confound it

So maybe when you are pushing seventy

And are sober nearly as I am now

I will read this to you

And we will laugh

For by then being the best so far

Will matter a little more and hurt a little less.

Five Fingers that Gobble

November 27

FIVE FINGERS THAT GOBBLE

It only takes five crayons to turn a tracing of my hand into a turkey and it only takes a few things to change my drunken life into my sober life. Looking back I am amazed how little it has actually taken to transform my life. My drunkenness looks about as much like my sobriety as my hand looks like a turkey but the transformation has taken place. The red, the yellow, the brown, the meetings, the steps, the sponsor, these basics are the bulk. Sometimes it’s the small extras that help push this work of art into the realm of believability. Accents of green, up and down the fingers, or a few bonus phone calls to women outside my network. Anything can be the thing that kicks it over into a plausible and convincing reality. I can never be more than I am, a drunk is always a drunk and a hand is still just a hand, but within each of these things are unimagined possibilities waiting to be explored. Michelangelo believed that sculptures lurked in chunks of stone. I have come to see that a sober woman prowled inside this drunk and every Thanksgiving my hand yearns to put on feathers once again.

Read your own palm

*

ELECTRIC CONNECTIONS

I step into a room and take its currency.
Is the flow good, steady, the pulse even and strong?
Where are the power brokers
And are they sharing the time
Or using their magnetic personalities
To draw the current off others.

I check the complement of resisters.
Examine their stripes and access the possibilities.
I pump energy when I can and take when it is available.
I keep in mind we are all transformers
And change is possible for everyone
As long as we make the connections.