Conception 2

March 11

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. 

Try not to confuse available with empty

*

SPIRITUALITY

The bedpan of spirituality
Was shoved under my ass
Early in sobriety

It kept me from increasing the mess
With which I surround myself.
The cold smack of enamel got my attention.

The old timers showed me there is a place for my shit
It was not any of the places
I had been using.

My side, your side, all sides were strewn with my waste
Fragments, tatters and fearful reminders
Were all there for me to clean up.

Amends as the shovel
And willingness as its handle
Is what I use to clear my past.

Sweat is refreshing when progress is being made
I've made inroads, paths of travel help me more easily
From the past to the present without regret.

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

Spirituality

March 12

SPIRITUALITY

The bedpan of spirituality was shoved under my ass in early sobriety.  It kept me from increasing the mess with which I surround myself.  The cold smack of enamel got my attention.  The old timers showed me there is a place for my shit; it was not any of the places I had been using.  Discretion is the better part of everything.  I needn’t show my backside everywhere I go.  My side, your side, all sides were strewn with my waste.  Fragments, tatters and fearful reminders were all there for me to clean up.  Amends as the shovel and willingness as its handle are what I use to clear my past.  Sweat is refreshing when progress is being made.  I’ve made inroads; paths of travel help me move easily from the past to the present without regret.

Write directions to your heart.

*

Wax On

“Sometimes a dish is just a dish,” I said to my sponsor.

“Yes and sometimes it is the world away,

which you hold in your hand,” her reply.

I stand at the sink and try to wash the dishes

when I am washing the dishes.

I try to drive the car when I drive the car.

These simple acts of concentration

focus and sooth the jagged mental sutures

where I am supposed to be coming together,

but ultimately come apart.

Anything to break my frenetic gyrations is a blessing,

anything to cut away to a closer view

and a clearer understanding of where I really am;

Anything to derail the speeding blur

of a life of my creation, is good.

What I do and who I am are secrets and mysteries

when I don’t know how to pay attention

and ironies when I do.

And if you doubt me, just go ask Arnold.

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

In Training

April 18

In Training

Like a faithful dog that was hard to train, patience is a thing hoped for yet peevish during the breaking in.  Stanch companionability is hard won, but worth the cost of acquisition.  And what is the price I truly paid in the end; whatever I gave in the pursuit of patience was a cheap babysitter and kept me from far worse reformation.  For what would I do in this late day and age as a tempest torn toddler, no bottle to sooth my woes and bothers.  Strictly speaking this is a world ill suited to the edgy intolerant masses and only seems to fit those who can mark time and bend.

Be careful what you do with idols

*

SERVICE & SACRIFICE

The difference between life and death in my recovery

Is the equal difference between service and sacrifice

If I offer you what is in my hand, fine

If I also give you my fingertips, I am lost.

Service lightens the load in my heart

Sacrifice removes my tools for living

When I go into debt for your existence

The cheer and optimism is sucked from my awareness

My eyes go dead and soon I follow

The cingulotomy of obligation crucifies my future

And murders true hope and love

Service feeds my heart and yours

Renovating makes space

It builds the muscles for joy and contentment

Pumping and refilling

My plate with spirituality.

Conception 2

March 11

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. 

Try not to confuse available with empty

*

SPIRITUALITY

The bedpan of spirituality
Was shoved under my ass
Early in sobriety

It kept me from increasing the mess
With which I surround myself.
The cold smack of enamel got my attention.

The old timers showed me there is a place for my shit
It was not any of the places
I had been using.

My side, your side, all sides were strewn with my waste
Fragments, tatters and fearful reminders
Were all there for me to clean up.

Amends as the shovel
And willingness as its handle
Is what I use to clear my past.

Sweat is refreshing when progress is being made
I've made inroads, paths of travel help me more easily
From the past to the present without regret.

Queen's Continence

May 13

QUEEN’S COUNTENANCE

I know the 7 P’s of preparation.  I set the table for those I know.  The unexpected arrive clothed in time and tradition.  They seat themselves at the table with the naked.  They become mute.  We prattle and pose, rarely glimpsing the goals sitting at the unset seats.  What we need to become is far from what we are.  I can not even call it other.  It is within when we make room and ether when we won’t.  I can wait and try but the juice is deep with the pulp.  I get myself in line for the future and wait for the clothes offered by my guests.  I sit the emperor and rise the queen.

Hear the sweetness in your own voice; taste the salt in your own tears.

*

Madame Alexander

I am, too naïve;

if you show me kindness I will believe you,

follow you, obey you, so, I have rules.

These rules do not protect me,

but they do make a box for me to seal myself inside.

Where I will ship myself, stack myself, hide myself,

well, that I do not know.

I pull the flaps down

and pray not to have to make any real decisions.

I fold my arms and close my mind

Believing I could never adequately open it enough

to safely live in the world outside of this closet.

Here I sit wondering what to write on this label

in order to be left alone

All the while longing for true love

a thing never given to a quivering china doll

shut up in a carton at the bottom of a wardrobe.

Spirituality

March 12

SPIRITUALITY

The bedpan of spirituality was shoved under my ass in early sobriety. It kept me from increasing the mess with which I surround myself. The cold smack of enamel got my attention. The old timers showed me there is a place for my shit; it was not any of the places I had been using. Discretion is the better part of everything. I needn’t show my backside everywhere I go. My side, your side, all sides were strewn with my waste. Fragments, tatters and fearful reminders were all there for me to clean up. Amends as the shovel and willingness as its handle are what I use to clear my past. Sweat is refreshing when progress is being made. I’ve made inroads; paths of travel help me move easily from the past to the present without regret.

Write directions to your heart.

*

Wax On

“Sometimes a dish is just a dish,” I said to my sponsor.

“Yes and sometimes it is the world away,

which you hold in your hand,” her reply.

I stand at the sink and try to wash the dishes

when I am washing the dishes.

I try to drive the car when I drive the car.

These simple acts of concentration

focus and sooth the jagged mental sutures

where I am supposed to be coming together,

but ultimately come apart.

Anything to break my frenetic gyrations is a blessing,

anything to cut away to a closer view

and a clearer understanding of where I really am;

Anything to derail the speeding blur

of a life of my creation, is good.

What I do and who I am are secrets and mysteries

when I don’t know how to pay attention

and ironies when I do.

And if you doubt me, just go ask Arnold.