June 21



FABULOUS


“I don’t care what else is on the inventory. You still have to take responsibility for fabulous,” said my sponsor with a determined look on her face.
“But you don’t understand. The other things on the list make it impossible for me to be fabulous. You just can’t see how incapable I truly am,” I say as I collapse into a pathetic heap in the overstuffed chair.
“What you don’t comprehend is that fabulous is not affected by your other little grumbling. You can’t tarnish fabulous; it doesn’t wear away with burden or neglect. This is why no matter how far you bury it, or misname it, or even flatly deny it, fabulous shines like a beacon and you end up with every Todd, Nick and Martha on your doorstep expecting you to be who you are and let them warm in the glow. So, my cherub, you can fight it or live with it, but fabulous is here to stay.”
And this ladies and gentlemen is how my sponsor wins all the arguments.



Pour a rainbow into your dreams.
*



Do Not Enter

Putting all the mess
securely behind that door is no protection.
If the keys are changed will I be able to open it?

If the locks retumbled will I crack the combination?
Like a demon sealed within a womb
emergence is inevitable either upon this mortal plain
or cellularly encoded and reborn at a later date.

Prison is what holds captive the innocent,
evil is always at liberty.
Walling off my parts and pieces
severs limbs and destroys thinking.

Loads of cheesecloth is what I need; filter and refilter,
catching all debris. Putting the toxic things
to better use and making myself free.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

June 22


INVENTORY

“When you say ‘self’ who ever do you mean?” asked my sponsor. “Do you mean the lovely velvet child or the facade you built to show others?”
“Well, I wish I could answer you, I do,” my reply.
“I see the shrine you construct in your sobriety. I love that you made it. When you talk about ridding yourself of ‘self’ I doubt you mean this edifice. Do you speak of some creature in the past? Do you know of whom you speak? Are you parroting then assuming this thing exists solely for you to now dispose of it?”
“I thought ‘self’ was self-evident,” I feebly interject.
“I want names and locations. If you only suspect some of these entities please provide me with a full accounting of your suspicions. I also want, to the best of your ability, the origin of these individuals. I am unwilling to cosign their disposal without a proper bookkeeping. I see by the bright look on your face I have made myself clear,” she said with conviction.
“So, this is what you meant by self inventory,” I say and sigh.


Draw a maze of exit from a dilemma.
*


The Tide in Texas

I cannot tell you of my pain,
how the liars took me off my land,
how my heart lay shattered all around,
how I’m so foolish and left in town.

I cannot show you the big red ball,
which to me is a shame
or how it bobs and sways or how the tail of it hangs
out of reach and taunts me all the day.

But growing up to face the facts
and finding my strong legs
has put me to another tact
and sucks the mud away.

Sharing my disappointment and my grief
is like adding ballast to the boats.
It lifts us all instead of sinking me.
Not much of a price to pay.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

June 23

TOO FAR, TOO FAST


Balloons filled with hydrogen race the atmosphere and fly away. The effect is stunning, so much lift for just pennies. The easy way has no line, no waiting; fast dirty service is available. Risk assessment is counter-balanced with dramatic outcome, low initial cost and instant gratification. How can I not want to rise above the crowd? How can I not want it now? Hydrogen is quick and plentiful, volatile yes, but why should this bother me? I have a Higher Power to protect me. It’s not as if I were playing with fire. I am only tempting it.


Tell the tale of your life from the perspective of your thumb

*
For Want of Frith


I feel like I am standing on a trap door,
every flex in my footing triggers insecurity.
With my arms spread wide,
I think the wiser move might be
to hold them to my sides.

For if the little square did give way
my arms might be sheared off
with no time served for the tears I’ve cried
or the blood now shed sprinkled on the earth.

Step from this I tell myself
and do not make delay
for all the ground is not a trap
nor all the world a stage.

But is it not the trade in pain
that sticks me to this spot
and keeps me here for all my life
just waiting for the drop.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

June 24



WATER BABIES

Timeless babies bobble in their underwater positions. Voiceless cherubs bounce and wink the river of their wisdom streams to my feeble mind. The noise of silence wrinkles and tinkles as the waves crash soundlessly above. My head fills; I must surface but beg not to lose my connection when I break the tension of top-side sobriety; I turn these angels to screened-off faithfuls. I owe all I have to these aquatic infants. Every hope, all my fear is held to test in the face of swimming heroines and their embryonic grave.


Read a poem to a plant.


*
Living as a Megaphone


He whispers in my ear,
I part my lips and let it all run out.
Vacant tube of a thing,
his words pour through me
nothing to stem the flow,
He hides behind me, the bully that he is.

I stand with rings painted bright concentric, bold.
I am nothing;
I know it
and don’t need him to tell me,

My inactions speak louder than his words.
He is not the one who bore right through my core;
he is just the little worm who is living there secure.
I will have to purge him out to be his megaphone no more.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

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

June 26



ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE


Just because the crows fly away when I arrive doesn’t mean they are afraid, but they might be. The obvious answers are usually the correct ones; I must leave room for the unlikely answers, too. Sometimes a spade is a shovel and a gofer is occasionally a retriever. The world is a wonderful and fearful place where possibilities are endless if I am willing to allow the light to strike these sheltered doubts. Any day, anywhere, an alcoholic can stay drunk or get sober.


Practice your game face so you don’t have to play a game.
*

Chock Full of Nuts


I am not a coffee maker.
I come from a long line of non-coffee drinkers
and I don’t drink it myself.

I made the coffee for my home group once
and was asked not to do it again.
This is when I realized my service talents
must lay elsewhere, and they do.

I am a good sponsor for those who want what I have
or at least want to attempt what I am trying to get toward.
I am a good representative.
I can carry the wishes of my group to the district.

I am learning to share my story and carry the message
and hope to do it well.
So, my question to you is
to what service do you most naturally bend?



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

June 27



RECLAMATION ARTIST


I stand over the refuse can and peer in; I drive slowly past the piles of curbside discards. I have so much trouble accepting there is no reclaiming most of this ever-growing mass. There must be an alternate plan but I can’t see it yet. I surround myself with hopeful stacks and wishful trinkets. I want to make a new world from the old, save past relationships and make them somehow fresh. I don’t want to drown. I fear I can’t think fast enough to keep the wave from breaking over us all. I will maintain an open mind and be grateful my life was retrieved from the dustbin. I’ll steal peeks at what has been put out for lost. I was once lost, too.


Read your favorite book one page a day.

*


When I rise up and when I lay down

In order to be happy with you
I have to learn to be happy without you.
I gasp at the pain of it

I desperately wish that the above statement were not true,
but alas, you are gone in a way that I can never reclaim you
and to hold on to what of you is still tentatively available
I must release my frightened grasp.

A wisp of smoke is not the bonfire of our past,
but it is what remains and I breathe it in as best I can.
Immediately I realize I am holding on again.

I breathe you out, let you go.
I want to run screaming throwing you from my bonds,
yet another of my attempts at control.

So, now it’s time to pray.
Not a prayer to get my way, not a prayer to make you stay,
not a prayer to make you gone, just a prayer to live on my own.

God help me please to live my life,
Please guide me away from strife.
I am lost and cannot find my way,
Father, hold me till the light of day.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

June 28



ONIONS


“I heard people in meetings sharing about peeling onions. They said they peel layer after layer until it’s all gone! What the hell is that all about?" I demanded in the general direction of my sponsor.
“Zealotry, it’s about zealotry. I peel my onions too. I have many layers of dried up, paper-thin, rhetoric that I use to protect myself. I have to slit this papery husk and eject myself from the illusion to get at the living and vital usefulness underneath.”
“Then what?”
“Then I try to let God decide where is the best place to add my flavor. Stew is good but salad is a treat. I can go anywhere once the waste is stripped away.”
“What about the issues you haven’t worked out yet?" I bait my sponsor.
“Well, those are other onions,” is all she would say.


Allow a child to make you laugh.
*


Halfway Home


Too far to turn back to the origin,
not quite close enough to my destination;
I am halfway home.

I sometimes forget where I have come from,
forget too where I’m bound.
I gently remind myself I’m making progress
no matter what I know.

I am not where I started,
not where I am going,
but I am not without.

There is plenty to do and much to look forward to.
I lift my feet one at a time, left then right.
I try to keep the steps equally spaced,
to prevent past curves and circles.

Lost is not as bad as it sounds
though I do dream of clarity,
stone -free shoes
and a home cooked meal when I arrive.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

June 29



HEAT EXCHANGE



I stand in the shower and let the water run. The water carries away my temperature in exchange for its own. I leave the enclosure restored. Mentally, a meeting does this for me. I change hot topics for more moderate positions, cold indifference for warm regard. Stepping into a group of my fellows carts off my excess ego and flushes my pride. Isolation is taken and camaraderie left in its place. I am always changed by standing amid the rush of sober minds and faithful service. Balance comes from proximity and willingness. Everything is reduced to letting myself get wet.


Measure your growth on a doorpost.

*
Exercising Futility


Asking the confused for explanation
is like asking a blind man the color of the sea.
It isn’t that he couldn’t tell you,
but how could you be sure?

To exercise futility is more than just a game
or the words to a song
your mother sings when lost or far away.

To take the fish out of water
and train it on a bike is meaner than I need to be,
but isn’t it my right?

Just to do things because they can be done
or try them because they can’t
is more the worse for everyday a tragedy in pants.

Puzzle out the little things and practice when you can,
for putting on the frazzled mind
is cruel to the poor sweet-hearted sot.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

June 30



SMOG


When I burn out, the smoke affects everyone in the surrounding area. I forget to keep my wick trimmed and lamp full; I empty out and my light grows dim. I am responsible for maintenance and upkeep. If I don’t protect my own radiance I will lose it and the darkness will be felt throughout the neighborhood. I can’t risk the death of illumination or incur smoldering haze. Fortification of my sobriety is a simple task if I make proper use of resources. When I turn energy to obligation I am distracted and separated from my source, then the source I am to others is extinguished. I can only light the darkness where I am; I can’t illuminate someone else’s path. Nor should I pollute the way with smoke and vapor due to a lapse in my spiritual condition.


Place the period then write to it.
*





From Mind to Pen to Paper

What a relief to have exteriorized all the swirl of thought,
which normally swarms my mind,
waiting to take the stage and run through their numbers.

Then like deciphering a code
I was able to cross out all the irrelevant and redundant information,
leaving me with a clear answer.

Once there standing on its own;
it was obvious and easily explained
how two plus three is five.

I just love anything that can be explained all on one hand
and there it was tidy and neatly fitted in the nest of my palm,
easy to grasp hold of with my fingers or my mind.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

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

July 2


CURRENCY OF FEAR


Fear pays the way for my disease to enter. Once inside fear seats itself front and center. Fear is the currency that allows entry to the far reaches. The coinage is ancient and steeped in tradition. There is no time or place that hasn’t been moneyed with fear and its derivatives. I can’t hide from it so my job must be to educate fear. Fear is real and has a place as protector and warning. But fear expands with ignorance and devalues the purpose of caution. Fear cannot buy safety, though I can use it to pay the toll across the bridge to balance.



Speckle your tongue with new words.
*

Origins


At the root of it all is darkness.
The place from which I grow,
the structure that holds me fiercely upright,
is pressed on all sides by dirt.

When I get right down to it the ethereal leaves
and twigs, even the branches, do not exist,
except for my foundation in the composted death
and recycled life; the ground.

For is it God who rains down from the heavens
light and water or is God truly living
at the center of the earth,
warming my toes and securing me to what is real.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 3

LIBERTY HOPE?



If you had to choose, would it be liberty or hope? Liberty is highly recommended, but without hope, how would you know you were at liberty? Transversely if you have no liberty, how could you have hope? Removal of liberty removes the possibility of hope. So, why ask for a choice to be made? Well, that’s the joy of liberty. I am free to ask anything and you are free to imagine anything and hope for more.


Plan a diet for your fears.
*

Tyler’s Truth


The snow is dying,
pouring itself into the creeks and riverbeds.
sacrificing its crystalline structure and community
for the ubiquitous oneness of liquid.
drawn by the gravitational lure of the ocean.

Unity conquers the frozen individuated whole.
pulled from coast to coast the sun tempts the water’s life,
the sea gives up her soul to the sky
to be reborn as snow once more.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 4

RENTING JOY


I cannot buy happiness. No matter how much money I spend, how hard I work, I can never pay bliss off on lay away. The angles of escape for glee are phenomenal. I see runaway emotions and must concede ownership. When opportunities arise for satisfaction I pay the fare and take the trip. The boat isn’t mine to keep but the tour is forever in my heart. I can’t take it home to bury it in the yard. Like a wild thing I can leave joy where I find it. I never need to cage or bind it. I need to enjoy each measure while the music plays. I remunerate for time in proximity; delight arrives and stays as long as it likes. I linger at the table and enjoy my dessert. Leasing elation is an occasion of celebration. Living moment to moment has given me this chance. So, I take it.


Copy your favorite shape.

*

What is at the Eye of the Storm?


Serenity is the alignment of three knowledges

1. Knowing that I am not without skill, talent, gifts.
2.Knowing that I am not without community,
connection, comfort.
3.Knowing that I am not without God,
whether or not I believe God is able to intervene.

When I am in full or even partial possession of these three
I am safe from storm, or no, drought,
or no, fiery hairy pestilence.

Without this knowledge everything is
storm, drought and pestilence,
no matter what anyone else says or all evidence to the contrary.

I will make my own mess when bereft.
I will pay a large price for ignoring the facts
and the lion’s share of this loss is loss of my serenity



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 5

UTILITY OF EMOTION



I plug into the utility of my emotions. These utilities aid my life as all utilities do. The duel prong of anger serves to light me up and gives me strength to set good boundaries. The four-line clip cord of pain allows me to keep in touch with my Higher Power, my friends, and my fellows. I have nothing to share if I can’t stay real about my pain. Fear is hard to contain and is carefully piped. Explosions of fear can start so easily it’s a good thing its foul odor can be smelled in the air. The coaxial cable of joy screws neatly into the back of my mind and gives me endless delight, color and sound; these are the privileges of sobriety. Emotions are plainly utilitarian but they help me survive and make living into a life.


Touch all the letters in your name.
*

The Biggest Chicken

I love to be mystical,
but the only dragon in my life
is when I let things drag on and on.

Procrastination is the winged beast in my world
and when she is slain the sun comes out
and I can count my blessings and plan for my possibilities.

The deep ditch left by depression
is where the lizard lays; siphoning my time
and sucking clean the bones of my wasted talents.

I have lunged and poked, stabbed her with my steel
and blown holes in her with my revolver,
but not until I sever the tendon with which she holds me
in her grasp do I have any real chance to be rid of her claws.

Once free of her I must be forever vigilant
lest her smothering song lure me back to that evil nest
where I feel as helpless as her egg.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 6

OPTICAL ILLUSION


From the right angle a hatpin can appear taller than the Empire State Building. I can skew my perspective to such an extreme or let my disease do it for me. I can believe myself to be other than I am: the sweetest, kindest------smartest, quickest------smallest, slowest-------lowest, meanest. I can see myself as all this and more as long as I squint with one eye and look at only half of any issue. I can play the parts and act as if these things are true. I can even get others to play along. I can make fantasy fact if I lower the floor. I can die in the basement, many do. I can turn my face from science and be the center of all that spins..…OR….. I can climb the stairs to ground level. I can turn my mind to facts and fractions. Leave my better-than, less-than universe and see the height of everything and stand tall with both my eyes open.


Put a surprise in your pocket.
*


Keeping My Seat


I can sit through this. I can do it,
even when I don’t remember that I want to.
I will get through this no matter how it tweaks me
and I squirm in my seat.

In spite of the unfairness of it all,
I can do what is right, because that is what is best for me.
Acting out or giving up are options that I have.

I like me too much to choose so poorly.
When this is all settled I will still have me
no matter what else I gain or lose.

If I don’t like me anymore I have lost everything,
if I can hold my head up, proud of my behavior
this is the most valuable gain.

Love is only love
if I am still here to feel it,
so I will sit still.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 7

COLD AND FLU SEASON



The spiritual cold and flu season is upon me. I am awash in reaction and confusion. I have been overexposed to the dry thinking and barking orders of the cough so associated with this disability. My eyes swell and blur with my refusal to accept reality. The tickle of discomfort from inhaling disagreeable ideas is small in comparison with the nausea I suffer when I swallow every line of nonsense put forth from my dizzy and congested mind. There is no pill to dissuade my symptoms; I must raise the heat on this inertiac little bug. Parasites breed in the stagnant water of my paralysis. If I move in my sobriety, sweat a little and flush my system, I should be able to shake this insidious germ. Then I can reach my hand out to the people who caught the spiritual flu from me.


Write pretty words on pretty paper.
*


Tooth Fairies and Super Heroes

I never know who the tooth fairy is going to be.
Who might be the one person
who will know CPR in my hour of need.

Which unlikely friend will whisper to me
the secret code to my mental lock.
I have been caught off guard by the power
of the most unlikely wallflowers.

It is important for me not to prejudge,
but even more important to leave space for surprise
and the delightful aptitude of those around me

For that matter from strangers on the street.
it is good for me to remember there is change in my pocket
and a Resuscitation Certificate in my wallet.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

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

July 9



SHIMMER


The water ruffles over metallic sheen, lap after lap screen the view, and still the gilt reflection shines in my eyes. Hypnotic, the undulance pulls me near. I stand on the edge, gaze, then gawk; I follow the underwater movements and iridescent tremolo. I forget place and time. I lose sight of the facts. Gold isn’t the only thing that shimmers. Sometimes that glint is just a fish. Life is full of fins and fantasy. My sponsor suggests I stop looking for my life in a wishing well.



Think of all beans as magical in some way.

*

Special


Is it the wiring between my ears,
the size of the pump in my chest?
The difference which can be seen
when you look from me to the neighbors?

I know that you feel me to be special.
I feel me to be special, too,
just like you.

Defining that thing, that combination
which unlocks the mundane
is more than just an attempt to point a finger,
it’s a search for that little light.

Close and closer we pull together
and that is special but now I will whisper it,
tell you the secret truth is my ability to play.
Come play with me!


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

And now for something.....different
 

Comic Transformation

http://www.thefix.com/sites/default/...?itok=T32yorh1


http://www.thefix.com/content/introd...r-comedian2095

July 10

REGENERATION



When I am grabbed by the extremity of my thinking I drop my mind like a reptilian tail. My feet believe they are in no need of my brain in order to run; independent flight is the action of the day. Far from the time and place of my dissection I find regrowth the problem to be solved. Unlike a salamander’s toe, can I generate my wits to their former ability or must I live out my existence with a docked psyche? My desire curls like a python but dreams of becoming the phoenix.


Smile at your orange wedges.

*

Let God Do What?

I hesitate to let go to God because
I fear that God doesn’t like me, or likes me now,
but doesn’t like me all the time.

I think I got this belief from being the only child
of parents who don’t like children.
It never mattered how good I was,
how smart or thoughtful, well informed, helpful,
I always ended up being treated like I was a burden,
someone to be endured.

If only I was likeable, I would think to myself
and try recreating me to become….what?
Finally I settled on indispensable,
if I could make myself necessary,
then my life would be okay.
People would need me therefore they would want me.

What I discovered is that people who can’t live without me
end up resenting me, by the time I was so important to others
I was no longer important to me, so I didn’t need God’s help
because I didn’t need anything, I didn’t exist.

Over time what I have settled on are a few truths:
People who don’t like kids shouldn’t have them.
And I need God’s help to learn how to want to be here on this planet
since I was not brought to earth by people who wanted me.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 11



SPONTANEOUS GENERATION


Dust under the bed turns into bugs. My grandfather believed in these alchemies of myth. I thought myself free from the small witchcrafts of threat. The longer I stay sober, the more real is the insidious nature of my disease. Mental clutter does breed all manner of squirming and chattering vermin. Every intellectual closet I leave uncleaned is a brooding box of contempt, false pride and bloated ego. The synchronism of hatchling defects and nursing grudges, fairy tale thinking and firebrand action, mimic Grandpa’s bedbug rantings. I can never turn my back on unswept philosophy or the dross of assumptions I’ve left waiting in piles. Spiritual house cleaning is all that saves me from the transmigration of blood sucking, life-draining phantasm. Supernatural transformation needn’t plague me if I take right action. The difference between blessings and curses is the direction you are going.



Tiptoe into your heart for a peek.


*
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.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 12

NOUN, VERB, ADJECTIVE


Model Sobriety (mod`el so-bri`i te), n., v., adj., 1. model sobriety acts like clay. Durable and flexible it molds to any situation. 2. model sobriety is like a clotheshorse; everything you put on it fits and looks good. 3. model sobriety is the 24-hour version of a life-long process. 4. model sobriety is a set of axioms with which we interpret truth. 5. model sobriety is what we put in the window for other sufferers to see. 6. model sobriety is the mirror we use to learn what is natural. 7. model sobriety eliminates extremes in behavior and thinking. 8. model sobriety is the mode by which we become a channel. 9. model sobriety is the definition in and of my life. Noun, verb, and adjective.



Write an acrostic poem for a dog.

*

Old Nasty

My addiction is like a Percheron,
bigger and more powerful than I am,
but what I have learned is that if I treat this horse
with due respect and a guiding hand
from my recovery and my Higher Power
I can harness the energy of my illness
and use its’ force to make my life work.

I can never be the master of alcoholism,
but I can see it for what it is;
an overgrown instinct looking for an outlet.

When I am given my way out I take this beast with me
and when I value that partnership we are both safe.
When I have tried to lock it in a stall
and run far from the barn, it kicks my life down.

When I put my head in the yoke willingly,
together we are led and we do the work
which is fulfilling and rich.
I was meant to work in a team,
I am grateful to have a teammate.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 13


DISTILLATION


I came into these rooms with a mixed mental make-up and a polluted physical chemistry. I have been transformed but only into tiny droplets. The drops are not dramatic but the process is. Distillation of my thinking is a powerful thing. A volatile act of concentration takes place as my brain boils over and the sane is separated from the profane. Purity is a spiritual gift, the result of vaporizing my old thoughts. Many times the night distills the dew and I am quickly refreshed; other times I must cook for quite a while.



Exact a toll for crossed boundaries.
*



Wales



It is safe for the houses to sleep in the streets,
but not for me.
I cannot follow that which is so right and regular
for mundane things.
I am a jagged piece and it is hard for me
to find my place.

The sun comes though everyone’s windows
and peeks around the blinds left down.
I must mind my manners
and not be a nuisance or a bother;
draw no undue attention to my brightness
carry a basket to hide it in.

And while every river can drown its sorrows
in the rush of the downhill sweep to the sea.
I must stand here stock cold sober
and bear the pain appointed to me.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 14

KEY


I asked for the key to my problems. My expectation was a metal instrument with which to unbolt the lock to my desires. What I was given was a systematic explanation of the symbols on the plan of my life. This has been a wonderful gift and I have benefited greatly, but first I had to stop brooding about the loss of my wished for trinket. Putting names on my map helps me stay off cliffs and out of rivers. The code is broken; I can decipher direction and intent. The compositions of life’s offerings fit and harmonize in unimagined ways and create archways strong and unbending, giving me access to reefs of beauty and rest. I asked for the means to open a door but gained entry to the world.


Don’t lug excess baggage, ship it.
*


Sympathetic Strings


A guitar with 28 strings generates much sympathy
from the cords which were not strummed.
Pluck is contagious and inspires much harmony and verve
in the vicinity in which it shows face.

Sympathetic strings vibrate in response to the jangling
around them but are tuned to their own notes.
Much distortion adds to the depth of the sound
created by this throng.

Can you hear my life?
How a disturbance in my life rings
in the lives which surround me?
How I twitch and chime when things are twanged
in the lives of my neighbors, my friends, my kin.

We make the music of care,
the discord of reaction.
To every move there is a sound,
to every sympathy a harmony.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 15


THE RAINBOW


“What is with that look of concentration?” asked my sponsor.
“I am trying to see the gray.”
“The gray?” she queried.
“Yes, I heard at the meeting that between black and white there is a lot of gray.”
“Ah. Well, my darling, I don’t want you to have black and white thinking, but what lies between black and white are all the colors, the full spectrum.”
“What am I to do with this information? What do I do with all those colors?” I asked in shock and confusion.
“For right now, just remember that all the colors aren’t blue.”


Set out your clothes and plan their day.
*

Blocks or Points


The decision must be made; would I rather be criticized
for having done something that is imperfect
or be criticized for having done nothing at all.

Disapproval from others is not possible to prevent.
What I do in anticipation of it is in my control.
I can spend life running from trouble,
chasing peace through underachievement.

Or I can step-up knowing that gravity works
always to pull me down
and that this is neither gift nor burden,
it is simply fact.

I must choose when I will stop tripping
over stumbling blocks
and realize them to be turning points.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 16


MAGIC WAND

“Why are you wearing that hat and waving that star studded stick?" I asked my sponsor.
“Isn’t this what you want, a magic wand?” she replied.
“Whatever are you talking about? I don’t want you to play wizard.”
“Don’t you? You thought walking into your first meeting would------poof-----make you all better. When that didn’t work, you held your breath for 90 days. When that also proved a disappointment, you let the air out of your blue face and started the white-knuckle routine for one year. At the end of twelve months, you released your arthritic grip and started scheming for a new sponsor. But the new wicked witch sent you scurrying back to me. Then, it was a relationship with undying love that would break the spell you are under. Now tell me again how you don’t want me to use this magic wand on you?” said my sponsor with aplomb.
“I guess my behavior gave me away. Go ahead, say your incantation.” I closed my eyes and waited for her words.
“Show up and do the work. Keep an open mind,” she said as she waved the cudgel.
“That’s it?" I asked.
“Well, yes, but I have to come back every day,” she grinned.



Set the table for breakfast just before your midnight snack.
*



Rounder


Back again, yes, that I see,
but change is not the same as return.
What I know of you is your past.
I believe the past because I know it.

If there is a new you to meet
that remains to be seen.
Even a chameleon sheds its skin,
though I doubt its intrinsic nature
is altered much in the process.

So flash your smile and wind your words
into the thoughts of those with whom
you have no history.
I’ve been exposed before,
the virus doesn’t conquer me, I am immune.

Once bitten makes me wary
when you come around again.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 17


TIME TABLES


I know the train is coming and I want to read the schedule. I hear rumors that the convoy going to Feelings will arrive in two years. The five-year expedition to Getting My Brains Back seems unlikely but is often commented on in meetings. Excursions to far off destinations such as Functional and Reasonable have me on my feet in gleeful anticipation. Still I wish for a clear mapping of time. I feel I could leave off worrying about the how of it if only I could be sure of the when. This cavalcade of adventure would be so much more palatable with a well written itinerary.


Sell yourself but not short.
*


Horse Play


The sequestered equestrian rides alone through the night;
the wood is as quiet as she.
Passing no one;
speaking not a word,
she slips into the paddock without a nicker or a neigh.

I long to be just as she,
not silent sentinel,
but living a whist fleet life,
a power unto myself.

What stands between are my hurt feelings
and my longing to be loved.
I can’t blame myself for either,
but work to heal and grow.

Nagging need is a pestilence I will be well rid of;
the irredeemable past is luggage for a catalog,
not for hauling on my back.

I will mount up and ride my great round stead,
the night is mine when I am ready
the path is there I know.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 18



FAR OFF PLACES


Meetings too near home are unsatisfying to me. On smooth, simple days local meetings are fine; I catch a meeting, just slip it in. On rough days I yearn for an out of town meeting. After these many 24’s I’ve come to realize I need the ride as much as I need the meeting. Like a discontented baby I need more than just a trip around the block. The comfort of taking flight in my car is equaled by arriving at some far off AA. Fresh faces and new-takes-on-old-woes are an antidote to my colicky attitude. The drive back offers me a sense of triumphant homecoming. A good meeting can be had anywhere. Sometimes I just need a change of place or change of pace.


Keep a lock of your own hair.

*


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 you 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.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

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.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 20


IT’S MY PARTY

The party I was throwing for myself in addiction was nothing but a very long wake. There were no smiles, only murmurs of what might have been. I was filled with tears I couldn’t cry and mourned my death as I caused it. When I took off my little black dress and stepped from this shroud, I closed the bar, clicked the switch and the dirge stopped, the funeral ended prematurely. I walked into AA where I learned to be the life of the party.



Make a safe space for your radical tastes.


*

Taking the Field

Humor is an illustration;
a joke an explanation.
I learn far more from the smiles than the jeers.

Laughter carries me; an action,
which tears can’t always accomplish.
It is hard to live with constant descent,
but wit is a quick impassioned friend.

Thoughtless conformity is an evil companion
I prefer the company of those who play.
Life is too hard from the sidelines;
I would rather take the field.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 21

SYMPTOMATIC BOUQUET


My bouquet of symptoms took root in alcoholism. I displayed these blossoms to few. I thought I could keep these problem posies to myself. No need to worry, everyone has a bit of manure in their lives; mine will hardly seem strange. Planted in addiction, things grew in a dramatic way. Pruning became unworkable; drastic measures were required. Uprooted and exposed, these virulent stalks created the need for help from better gardeners than I. Thinned and repotted, these character traits have fruited with many a lovely harvest, none of which could have happened had I been left in the family plot.


Make your mind a womb you can return to.
*



Rules

There are rules about breaking rules.
You can do it this way, but must not that way.
Cross this line and you get dragons;
cross that line you get a good natured slap on the wrist.

Beneath the reflective surface of law
I have found many shoals and sandbars;
rocks and outcroppings,
layer upon layer of blue depth I can only partly chart.

I also find inquiries in this matter meet with the
same reaction as asking about: yeti, crop circles,
or what was kept in Uncle Author’s spare room.

Those willing to talk about it I often fear to hear from
and the reluctant to speak I fear to pursue.
You see this investigation is just another thing
from under that sea.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 22



HOLD THE LINE


Relax is not the same as give up. Unwind is not fray. Let go doesn’t mean never grab hold. It is important to have moderation in all things including moderation. Exuberance and enthusiasm 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 that you sing more than one song in your life. Change, interest and excitement are vital to my existence. Like my sponsor says, “if you take all the spikes and ridges out of your life-line, it means you’re dead.”


Give allowance to yourself.

*

The Landscape of Words

Paint takes time to dry;
I work with words.
I say azure and you are there with me,
even if I am far from this mortal coil.

My pigments stay fresh as long as you know blue,
as long as you can hear me, read me, see me.
I paint 6X8 cell and we are imprisoned together,
trapped,
till I tell you of the key I slipped into your shoe.

I love the flow of watercolor,
adore the mushy paste of oil,
but nothing beats the world we paint
and repaint here on this page.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 23

QUICK------SAND!!!


“Don’t ask me how deep the quicksand is,” said my sponsor, “it’s your job to get out of it, not to quantify it.”
“I’m not sure how to get out. Will you come and get me?” I ask her.
“No, Darling. If I get in we will both be down for the count. The only chance we have for me to help you is if I stay out of the morass with my feet planted firmly on solid ground.”
“What if you can’t get me out?” I cry.
“I will go get more help.”
“What if all of AA can’t get me out?”
“Angel, my hope is, that if there was no way out, you wouldn’t even know you were stuck.”


Limit your limits.
*

Before Ophelia

Young women drown themselves before Shakespeare
immortalized, memorialized Ophelia.
But having a poster child changes us.

Cautionary tale or rallying cry,
Ophelia is a hand to hold on dark cold days
when the light is hard to find
and everything seems bent toward destruction.

Not that I think she solved anything
with her despondent act
just that she stands in the familiar frame
I find myself in from time to time.

When I imagine I’ve invented the wheel
it makes it harder to step down and walk.
Ophelia’s fate makes it easier to get off depression’s bus
and find my way back home.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 24



WAKE


Don’t worry that you might spoil the procession by getting out of your coffin. You don’t need to lie there waiting for the lid to close. People will walk past saying, “so sad,” and “too bad,” but don’t lie in state to keep them from feeling their trip was a waste. Just because the crypt has been purchased doesn’t mean you are ready to go. There are still opportunities to dance. Don’t die for love, glory or pride. Don’t die before your time. Death is only an honor if you lived every preceding second.


Learn to use your appliances well.

*

Speak!


Are there songs a bird must not sing
while communing with the flock?
Do fish learn to restrain their expressions
while schooling?

Or are we the only animal
versed in the language of taboo?
I wonder when I hear the cows
lowing in the night are they giving whispered voice
to things they longed to moo about all day.

I know what to keep inside,
things too flamboyant for out of doors.
I understand to keep body and soul together
I must keep down and hush,

But when I complain to my pup
does she comprehend or is it
just blah, blah, blah,
in her world of, ‘speak it like it is?’



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 25


THE LIVING DREAM

Throwing yourself into the river in pieces drowns you as crumbs. Casting aside love and longing makes you less in your heart, and your soul stops beating. Pitching your tent with critics and complainers leaves you out in the cold on warm summer evenings. Crest the hill to meet the rising sun; orbit the constellations without hesitation. Petit-point the pictures in your mind, then set them to music. The world is your dream. Live it into reality.


Picture your voice.
*


God

I need help.
I need help availing myself of the help
You have provided me.

I am embarrassed to lack the ability
to complete all the steps necessary
for achieving the goals you have set before me.

I see now that it is always my turn with you
and I can stop standing aside
believing that I have had your attention
and must now do without.

I do not want to ask for more;
I don’t want to seem greedy.
I forget that you know my heart
and that you trust me.

I am going to make that a two-way street,
maybe a four-lane highway.
I need help,
thank you for being help full.

Love,

Sherrie


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 26

TO SLOOP

When I was a tanker I carried such a heavy load. The diesel cycle ran, combustion occurred at regular intervals and my internal temperature was terrific. The fuel sprayed and things went round and round; the cost was high. Now my principal means of propulsion is the wind in my sails. Conversion was difficult, and though I found the rigging and mast a fascination, the ballast was a heavy load to bear. The price of stability is responsibility. Cargo is something short-lived, to be cast off at the next port. Incumbent discretion is welded to my keel and will go with me to every harbor. As a tankard, liquid was transported or consumed; as a cutter, dependability keeps me tacking into the wind. Now, my outlay is low and my rewards are high. I carry only what I need. I am free, a sloop upon the sea.


Map your body.
*

Keds

If I gave a child a pair of sneakers
would I refuse to help them to tie them on?
Would I want this kid to wear them open,
tongues hanging out, laces dangling and dangerous?

Or worse would I want the child
to have to lug the sneakers around;
the kid feeling the need to treasure the gift
and protect it from use or wear?

I hope that I would not be this sick,
misguided or deranged.
I have to say that I have given up believing
in a crazy God.

But this doesn’t mean that I can’t
drive God crazy with my insane behavior.
I have to stick my feet inside my shoes
and lift my foot for help.

I must open my mouth to ask,
then pay close attention so I can learn
to do it on my own;
all the while not beating myself up
that I can’t do it already.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 27


GRAFT


The bottom has been cut out, my underpinnings stripped from me. Budding ambition whittled down, transplanted, saddled onto the rock like stock of other people’s sobriety. Taped to the leg of my sponsor I heal and grow. I splice my thinking with the rich ideas of improved living. I cling to the cleft; divisions made from the people, places and things of my past leave me split, primed for fresh growth and opportunity. Never again do I need return to the sordid acquisition of power or control. There is no gain when I am bolted to position and influence. Graft is graft for good or bad. I don’t have to grow where I was planted.


Subtract your assets from your defects.

*
Un-imbedded

This week I have decided to be braver
about where I invest my time, not all of it mind you
but a portion of my diligent yet strangely unproductive time.

I have to say I am realizing that I hide
in pretty much every area of my life
and that is no way to live
and a really bad example to offer.

The worst thing about hiding is it doesn't keep me safe;
it just subjects me to different evils.
It reminds me of that poor reporter
who was imbedded in a tank.

He died from not moving, his blood pooling and dehydration,
so the tank kept him from getting his head shot off,
but killed him in a different way,
so in the end he wasn't safe and neither am I.

I believe in prudence as a good policy, I do,
but there is much that could make me
stronger, happier, better,
if I lift my head a bit and reach out my hand.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 28

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 on to this tale with my heart. I slipped the gravitational bonds of crazy one night by the glow of the ready button on the coffeepot. 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.


Put a leaf on your tongue just for fun.

*
Clap

I know how to put my hands together,
but I am unable to clap.
It’s not that my palms can’t locate each other;
it’s that I cannot find the beat.

I sing; lilting rhythms rolling from my tongue.
I keep time and drum the tattoo of jingle dress dance songs,
but when my hand comes against its mate something is off.

Faltering nuance plays havoc with my exuberant desire.
I want to join the crowd in syncopated applause,
yet my brain drops out.

Because the gap is too far to leap
I must walk around to the other side
and by then I’ve lost the moment,
the world has moved on without me.

I used to think I needed to run my routine a little faster,
but now I realize I need to learn to leap the gap
and trust the beat to find me.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

July 29



2 CHAIRS

Math is the language that moves closest to the speed of my brain. The language of recovery slows my thinking so I am more than numbers and clicks. I need not race my mind in an effort to win. I am my prize; the victory is mine if I can embrace who I am. I can use numbers to figure whether I am more or less, but owning who I am must be given to the talk of the soul and heart. My nashamah is not an astral projection to be theorized but the seat of my emotions. The only way to discover myself is through deep and loving conversation, so I had best pull up two chairs.


Play colors like music.
*

The Regulator


Face to face the clock stares me down.
I nearly dare the mismatched hands
to beat me at my part.
Their never-ending round-house
drops me to the ground.

My foot work is no equal for eternity.
Fancy days and star lit nights distract me
from the fight I’m losing,
directing my thoughts to what I gain.

If I turn with the hours,
dwelling in the moments,
the clock and I are friends,
no more mad-dogging, no time to lose.

Time is with me till the end,
it is not the death of me;
it’s the time of my life.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault