August 18

DON’T BE


Don’t be stupid.
Don’t be crazy.
Don’t be anything out of the ordinary.
Don’t be angry.
Don’t be hateful.
Just don’t be that way.
Don’t be sad.
Don’t be mopey.
Smile for the camera.
And pretend for everyone.
I wondered often why I felt like dying and it took me years to understand why.
Don’t be equals death.
Don’t feel.
Don’t cry.
Don’t love.
Life is about action, presence and content. You’re wrong if you break the rules and dead if you keep them. So, please be you and don’t be them. Look back when you have to but step out of the grave.



Learn followership too.
*



Single Serving Sterling


When the menu of life feels vast
I must focus on my teaspoon;
a simple tool that fits well in my hand,
whose use I well understand.

The possibilities conceived
when I ponder the intangibles
conspire to suck me down the rabbit-hole
where all that’s left to me is a drug.

When I come back to stir my tea
and lick the spoon clean
the world revolves around me
and without need of my completed unified theory.

Need looms, loss stacks,
salvation keeps a steady distance,
my only hope is to drink my tea,
I shan’t even sharpen my spoon;

I can and need to stay out of my fear built prison
and off the streets of hell.
My task is at hand and the size of the scoop
is a reminder to take all of life in small doses.


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

August 19

COMFORT AND WILLINGNESS



Closer than comfort is willingness. Comfort is at the skin but willingness is under it. I can live without comfort but not without willingness. Both are unseen but felt deeply. Willingness drives to the destination and comfort settles me in once there. Comfort is a gift like warmth; willingness is a gift like breath. I have been tempted to let go of willingness to hold on to comfort. True willingness brings true comfort; never the other way around. No matter where I have to go, willingness will take me there; I hope comfort will follow.


Draw satisfaction on the wall of your brain.
*

Go Where it’s Warm

The intangible rightness of cohesion is difficult to explain.
What is it that makes a group congregating into a congregation?
What makes a rag tag tousle into a home group?

It is the thing I yearn for, but dare not chase.
I know this too makes a grub into a butterfly,
yet private transformation seems necessary,
where the change of masses is gratuitous.

A thousand geese fly overhead;
arrows of individual miracles,
pointing the way to the meaning of it all.



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

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

August 21



HOW EVER YOU CAN


I heard, “let go with love.”
“You know how to do that?” asked my sponsor.
“No, that’s why I’m here to see you, but it sure sounds like something I should do.”
“Well, in a perfect world maybe we can all do it that way, but for now let go with a mean look in your eye. Let go with rage in your heart. Let go with words boiling on your tongue. Let go with the butter knife up to its hilt in the jelly jar. Let go standing at the sink wishing for some other life. Let go as a reflex. Let go as an anthem, as a prayer, as a declaration. Let go even when you don’t feel you are holding on any more. At the same time hold on to what’s important: your recovery, your Higher Power and your sense of humor."




Fly in your dreams.
*


Hang on or Dance


Because I felt ‘outcomes’ slipping through my fingertips
I dug in with my nails, I schemed, plotted, worried, whined.
Lack of power was my problem I thought,
but what it came down to was, failure to acknowledge… accept…
failure to surrender to the reality of powerlessness.

The only thing I learned from resistance
was an intimate knowledge of futility.
When I embraced truth… the facts…
when I live with the gravity of masses not fight against it;

I began to enjoy the weather,
knowing I did not pull the clouds or push the storm.
I’m back in the dance of people moving about me,
all keeping with the time, it is not mine to keep.



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

August 22

FOREVER IS NOT AS LONG AS IT USED TO BE


What time gives in permanence it takes in fluctuation. The relationships I stand on to reach, with tippy-toed grasp, the light of heaven flutter like flounder disturbed from their sandy bed. My mind probes the past looking for the shroud lines to hold up the sails of hope. Togetherness, the banner of life, bonds to strength, protection from outside and within. I yearn for a life of love, unbending and calm. I am met with the tug of war, which ends in mud. Days stretch into years but years are no protection from terminus. Forever rings in my head. Promises I have made to myself, promises I have made to others, promises made to me are nothing in the face of the promise of tomorrow. Time flows like air over a row of seedlings, fresh and challenging, sustaining life and carrying away familiarity. Forever is not as long as it used to be. I can live with that, have to live with it. I can shake my fist to the sky but it won’t make love last. It will not keep my heart from loving again. Sails, which have filled before, will fill again.


Love yourself green or blue or pink.
*


Up to Date

The future is a prison I escape by staying in today.
The tiny windows which open to strange foreknowledge
have barbs rather than bars and inflict painful wounds
when I attempt too close examination.

My business is here and now; the currency like manna,
good only for the duration of the day and nothing further.
Pretty dreams and colossal disaster float as baubles on the horizon
but I need to take down my focus from such far off vistas;
adjusting the optics for a clear view of where I am standing.

Circumscription is what the destiny becomes
when I try to live in it too soon.
Novelty is what it is to be living in the very moment
I am currently breathing in.



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

August 23

MEETING INVENTORY



The manicurist at the meeting sits and does her nails; the discussion goes on around her as she files away. Cell phones go off for the people who can’t put their lives on hold for their sobriety. The knitter knits and the dissenters descend; with the chatting chickens and the grumbling grouse, all these populate the meeting. It has taken the first half of the hour to take everyone else’s inventory. I have the remaining 30 to take my own.


Let your evenings reflect your mornings like the sea reflects the sky.
*


Carrion


The trouble with not burying my dead issues
is that in very short order they begin to smell
and not, too long after that they start to attract vultures.

When I am able to drain all the juice out of these botherations
and they become freeze-dried decorations
like Roy Rodger’s Trigger,
I find that I can still climb aboard
but they just don’t take me anywhere.

I have found, just for me,
that I prefer visiting the grave of a past problem
far better than having to live with its corpse,
but then I am funny like that.

I have never been one for hanging on to crucifixion,
other’s or my own.




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

August 24

CAMPAIGN


Sobriety is the Santa Claus, bringing delightful gifts, which make me smile. Recovery is the Genie, which comes from staying out of bottles. This Jin makes treasure possible but doesn’t bring it to my door. The ads and billboards of illusion built a world of booze but no hope for a real life. I have learned to turn from all the lies of picking up, and live in the possibilities, which open only when I put down the drinking and the thinking. I don’t need to pin up stockings or rub lamps, just take direction and make willingness my campaign.


Store thoughts, plant seeds.
*

Just Say NO to Bushel Baskets


Spending my life under a bushel basket
kept me from realizing who I am.
I thought because of the close quarters
I knew myself better than those free
to explore the world, yet, alas, no.

I am unaware of the world outside and inside the bin;
this woven covering served to sever
all true communications.
Even in places where my candle burned through,
it couldn’t allow sufficient light, in or out,
for as much as an SOS or a night light.

Here I am, not knowing my abilities…
my possibilities…. or my worth
and there is the world standing,
a startled stranger from me,
for I only know it as the circle
around my feet and nothing more.

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

August 25


AUTUMN



The falling leaves slap my hand as I ride the road at fifty miles per, my arm dangling
The trees are shedding their masquerade
Exposed they stand stark, stripped
Naked to the soul
The growth of this year's yearning waves on the fringe
I can follow this lead
Remove pretense not clothing
Stand before all who have an interest in seeing me
Unashamed of my wants
And the things I reach for
I can cast off the uniform of evolution
And enjoy a long winter of truth


Do what you do.
*



Echidna’s Child



The difference between perplexed paranoia
and procrastination is sometimes a subtle distinction.
The confusion which swirls,
confounding me along my trudge,
gets the name of procrastinator.

I am not at all sure I should continue to call it by that name.
I believe that quite possibly I am an internal chimera,
a blend of creatures, both mythic and fantastic,
striving to live as one functioning specter,
in a world too hard for a disparate visage as myself.

When I am most myself,
when the goal is pure and true, I work with a will.
When I am making deadly compromise
and risking my soul for social ease or the approval of the keepers,
my dragon heart rebels and I am struggling
against the fire in my stomach and fear screaming in my head.

I don’t know how to eliminate the conflict,
but for now I will attempt to stop calling myself names.



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

August 26

NATURAL LAW



Gravity is always in effect, but invoke the laws of lift and you can make a stone fly. I have no gills but strap on a tank and rebreather; I can share space with sharks. Given enough willingness and step work I can walk through the world sober though every cell of my body is alcoholic. The laws of nature are fluid. When I flow with them I can keep my goals. Instant gratification is often my stumbling block. Gaining access to my far-flung desires is not impossible but it is also not immediate.


Make little plans with salt and big plans with sugar.
*


Make Use of Brown Soap



When I have death in my pocket
it makes it easy to cross the street without a glance.
A little arsenic in my in my veins
allows me to swallow the rest with no thought beyond want.

Twist the screws tight enough in my brain
and no other pressure seems problematic.
All of the trouble in the world can beat a path to my door
when I carry within me the seeds of destruction.

I have to check myself for stow-away devastation.
Ruin begins in tiny droplets but will wash me down the drain
if not wiped immediately from my skin.

Vigilant acknowledgement of the power of small burdens
protects me from the mind blown ravages of the ensuing cyclone.
Microbes cause mayhem,
so I must watch where I touch and wash before I eat.



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

August 27

THE DREAMER


“What about the dreamer?”
“What about her?” responds my sponsor. “You ask me about her like I was the one who pushed her off the cliff.”
“Are you saying I pushed her?” I questioned my sponsor.
“Yes, that is just what I am saying. Do you need me to sing it? You wanted the dreamer to fly off to safety and happiness and wanted her to take you with her. In an attempt to grab hold of her ankles and propel her to heaven you threw her from the precipice. Now she is broken and bleeding far from your sight. Your dreamer is damaged and you ask me what about her. Do you want to know what you did and how to remedy it or were you looking to duck responsibly?”
“Quack.”


Run before you fly.
*



Defining the Indefinable

What is Alcoholism?
What is a Hurricane?
What is a Cataclysm?

I know I look for the root cause,
look to predict the outcome,
look to prevention and preservation.

This thing which comes pouring
from the four winds
to land in my yard
and knock on my screen door.

What it shows me today,
the furious winds,
the slanting rain,
may not be how it presents tomorrow,

I must keep in mind it is all the same storm
and must be regarded with the same respect
and treated with the same care and diligence.

Whether it’s the thirst or the thinking,
a jail cell or my mental mouse trap,
alcoholism is an umbrella term for the tsunami,
which came to collect me,
but no definition will convey the devastation it has wrought.



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

August 28

PUBLIC PRIVACY



My public privacy is protected by my smile not my scowl. Maintaining boundaries as I travel the common areas of life is more readily accomplished by a pleasant demeanor than a dark stare. I have used negative attitude and found myself outside of my own protection. The buoyancy of my manner keeps surface tension a natural and acceptable reality. Hooded behavior drags every interaction into suspicion. When I make part of my business to put others at ease, it is easier for me to preserve my business as my own.


Put clothes on ambition.
*


The Slick Nature of Grace



The higher I climb the more severe the fall;
the sweeter my life the more brittle my blood sugar.
I must be more careful as I get better.

I thought being sober would make my life free from care,
but I think it is a freedom from fretting
that might be more accurate.

I must still climb and take in all the sweetness
which comes my way,
but always I must vigilantly keep my balance.
Hold on tighter; eat more protein.

Grace is a glorious thing
and I am the consecrated recipient
who knows the slickness of the slopes
and the cunning of the glucose.

Daring to be sober is an athletic endeavor
I must tighten my cleats
and sharpen my sweet tooth.




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

August 29

SATISFACTION



Satisfaction is like a marble in my pocket. Formed when correctness was still red hot and my sponsor rolled my mind until I was whole. I sigh and square my shoulders. I know I am up to any task. I am skilled with my tools and know well the talents of my intimates and helpmates. I am not invincible but I am capable. I value who and what I am today. I sleep the sleep of a person not a hostage or a captor. I am me. I have a marble in my pocket and it reminds me of the world. I have a world within me; knowing how to live with that is a great satisfaction.


Listen clearly to angry words but don’t repeat them.

*
Even at the Bottom


Why is it that I feel God leads me to the path,
but expects me to travel it alone?
In all honesty it feels more like God leads me
to the stairs and I fall down them on my own.

I lay in a heap at the bottom
filled with self-reproach for the landing.
I forget that a power which draws me forward
can also endure.

I did not come here alone,
I will not leave here alone;
I am never alone,
even at the bottom of the stairs.



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

August 30

THE CALL

Within the sound of your voice
I sing
In the beat of your heart
I heal
I feel in your touch
And dance when your toe starts to tap
I see myself in your beauty
I warm inside your embrace
Your thoughts are my inspiration
Your lungs breathe me in and blow me out
I soar in your flight
And dream in your waking
I ring in your ears
Fall with your tears
I’m lost in you
Found in you
Travel and lounge in you
I share all your rantings
And hide in your secrets
You hear and caress me
My darling
You know who I am


Return to an old joy for a visit.
*



Rex

Hungry dogs who love me anyway,
dance around waiting to be fed.
If they didn’t love they
would take bloody bites and I don’t forget it.
These puppies have teeth,
like cigarettes I want to smoke but don’t.
And meanwhile back on the farm
I seek to quiet the whines and barking
of the unfed, malnourished familiarity
which writhes at my ankles and jumps at my knees.

I can no longer pat my disquiet on the head
and expect it to stay or heal.
I must hunt down the beast which bothers me
and feed the meat of it to the pups.

I must not leave the lopers to quarry my burden
if I want to remain master
and leave them to be pet.



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

Birthday night tonight! I do hate going up to the podium to speak, I get so nervous and feel like I sound stupid! I better prepare something to say! I know I have to do this for my family, AA friends, but most of all for the newcomer so they know that the program works. And miracles do happen! I can stay sober and overcome the wreckage of my past, anyone can! Hey, there's my speech! :nailbitin:

August 31

CHANNELING


It’s a full feeling to be a channel. Only an empty feeling when it’s blocked at the base of my spine and God can’t go to my head. The river flows through me and my banks will hold. Excuses dam me up and leave a dry and lifeless basin, with tributaries taxed for usefulness. Staying in the groove conveys my Higher Power’s will without need of my furrowed brow. A hose with no water running is a place for spiders to spin. If I shut off to service, I am a breeding ground for creeping sadness and shocking misery. Compliance allows me the view of flowing strength and rushing joy, the greatest of which is living with intent.


Repeat until you chant.
*


Shadow of Doubt


The long dark cast covers my face,
my thoughts…….. my life;
it is the light blocked by my skepticism.

To tear down the obstruction
means a profound change of my internal architecture;
walls will have to be knocked down, windows installed.

The poor mouthed structure
takes better to the steamroller than I wish it would.
I fear the loss of my hideout,
panic at the thought of a life in the sun.

Skepticism builds a paper world;
opaque, weak yet frightening to tear apart.



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

We keep what we have by giving it away.
 

September 1

ORIGAMI


I fold my reality like origami, each day a shape to suit my whim. A dog when I feel like begging. A horse when I want to trot away. A pot to brew up some potion. A penguin when I feel cold and I stand on my egg all day. I can bend and flex, change my image, but in the end I am truly flat and lifeless, a construct of imagination, but soulless and boring. Reality cannot be my creation made in the accordion of my mind. Truth and breath come like the wind and I need to let them change direction and change me, too.


Turn right both ways.
*


Here Kitty kitty

Litter training the lynx seems like a good idea
until it is accomplished
and all concerned are less for the accomplishment.

Domesticity is a transparent cage,
which has a presence felt by all
whether loved or hated.

The air is changed and the cat stifles,
everyone is safer, so it is said,
but what are we safer from?

And what is a broken lynx,
certainly not a house cat?




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

September 2

PROMISE BROKEN


If promise shatters without anyone touching it, if it pops like a floating soap bubble that lost its cohesion, what do I do? Name names? I can’t even take fingerprints. Sometimes dreams just end. No fault or blame is attached. The ice breaks under its own weight and nothing can be done. I am more than just holding on. I am alive even if all the promises melt away. I can accept the unexpected and the unasked for and still know this doesn’t affect my worth. My value is intact regardless of disappointment or discontent. I have learned that anticipation is mere amusement; promises are pleasantries. I am made of stronger stuff. I am not broken by words, ideas or hope. Promise can be broken but it doesn’t break me.


Open the mental crayon box.
*


Where’s Your Chair?


Is the ring more unnatural for the tamer or the lion?
One the trapped, the other the trapper.
Who is the more in danger;
the one with loss of freedom
or the one with possible loss of life?

And while this question is still in play
the next question is begged. Why is there a ring?
What is worth the price paid
by the whip holder or the whipped?

Spectacle is a thing whose cost
reaches from the forest to the trees;
can take you from the highest rung
down to your knees.

All this lost for some Owwe’s and Ah’s
from people needing diversion
from the ring they turn tricks in.



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

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.



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

September 4

WATERLINE



The interface of water and land is compelling. Soothing but dramatic; I’m drawn to this transition. I stand and watch the lap, lap, lapping of the liquid to the land. The gift of one place to another calls me. Change and transition exhilarate my senses. Whether it is rock or sand, river or sea I feel the pull to watch life in response. Boundaries are beautiful. Borders allow safety and recreation, not just risk. When I embrace this in life I embrace it in me.


Do it twice, once with the pattern and once without.
*



The Naked Not the Dead


Because comfort is sometimes no comfort
I can shave my hair and walk bare in the naked world.
Removing pretense helps in unexpected ways.

Foolish action becomes formulaic
when you are scared or hurt.
I lived through the summers of blood;
the winter is not enough to stem the tide or heal the wound.

I have no want to raise the dead,
but how to save the living?
Poverty is the inheritance of so much misguided lethargy
and I must shear off the illusion of maturity
and let the children speak.



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

September 5

DO NOT BE A FRAUD

“Fake it ‘til you make it" is like saying "keep drinking ‘til you get sober,” complains my sponsor.
“But what about the things I can’t do yet?" I ask.
“You work on them; that’s all. You work. You adjust your attitude, practice the steps, carry your behind to meetings and talk with me and the other people in your network.”
"Yeah, that sounds like a breeze."
“Easier than staying sober while lying. In this program we try to stay in the moment and be honest. Pretending to feel differently than you do at any given time defeats your ability to be present and makes it hard for people to trust you.”
“But it’s so awkward,” I grumble.
“Which is why we of the alcoholic persuasion try to find short cuts, but don’t get sucked into them. Tell the truth and do the hard work of sobriety, and stay away from the persons who try to sell you a softer way.”


Let people give advice to you, never take it from them.
*

No Reason

Reason falls through,
where it lands is a place of unknown
seascape and unrelenting tides.

The roar in my ears furthers the disorienting effect of relocation.
At first it seems easier to let go of reason
but when I descend into madness I scramble for purchase;
looking for sanity like a cleft in a cliff.

Loss of skin and blood is nothing to compare to the loss of my mind.
I believe I could be more easily separated from a limb or two
than to lose rein on my brain.

Reason falls through;
I must follow even though the terrain is arduous
and my heart is sometimes faint,
for without reason there is no reason
and without reason there is no life.



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

September 6

FUNK AND WAGNALL’S BACK PORCH



Bottoms come sealed in envelopes from unknown accountants. Amazing how many nominees and how few winners! The audience, filled with past recipients, holds its collective breath and prays for this year's finalists, and prays a bigger prayer of thanks to this year's donors, the ones who prove with their lives that it hasn’t gotten better out there. The speeches are the same, a gratitude list and maybe a punch line, the smiles and tears fresh but familiar. And when the lights go out on this night, the days of diligence begin once again so no one need lose their seat and we can all celebrate here, next year, together.


Open even though the hinges are hidden.
*

Nightcrawlers and Nightingales



I wriggle blind eyed through the dirt;
friction, my friend giving me something to push against,
resistance aiding my travels.

I worm my way through life
and believed that was all there was; having never seen the sky.
I traveled far and wide once I had taken to the air.

Open eyed I push against a thing I cannot see
and peer down on the dirt I left behind.
I soar rather than struggle
and go the distance leaving my mind open to the next frontier.



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

September 7


THE FRUIT BOWL


Meetings are living and precious fruit. I must squeeze every drop from them, even the lemons. I am privileged to be among the succulent growth and pungent fragrance of determined hearts and minds. The infusion of strength, the vitality received from the essence of truth gives and gives to me. I am refreshed by exposure to raw talent, revived by action and growth. The diversity of shape and flavor cheer and inspire me. The contrast from bowl to chalice is dramatic, ever a reminder to stay where it’s fresh.


An offer is better than a gift.

*

Genius



I am often bonded to a self which thinks I know everything
and when in doubt believes I should know even if I don’t.
Freeing me of this requires the constant support
of friends and neighbors’ assuring me that in a capricious world
willingness is a more practical resource;
it packs neatly and handles most jobs with aplomb.

Staying consistently free from the bondage of self
requires truckloads of willingness
and the spirit of humility and sometimes even forgiveness.
I am freer when I like myself,
for the true bondage of self is the hatred of self.



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

September 8

WILL YOU GET TO THE OTHER SIDE?



Chickens stand together on the edge of the road pecking and scratching; people make fun. People tell jokes but it’s not so funny when we are the ones playing on the tracks. We forget that all the excuses about longing for excitement and not wanting to be cut off from the world sound like so much cackling to the ears of people who value their lives. Life in the pasture or the backyard is fulfilling if you want it. That kind of life is no adrenaline rush, but then again isn’t adrenaline just another drug?


Tell the truth as if it were the weather.
*


Helping Hands?


Why would you go to a rattler for a snakebite remedy?
It feels so much like the hair of the dog that bit me.
The truth is I must, must stay away from the quick answers.

I am a slow healer, but I do heal if I allow myself to do so
unencumbered by poison or untruth.
When I am returning to the vomit of my past
it is incumbent upon me to search for the old lies
and/or the new ones, either or both will get me drunk;
do I even need the help of a prescription pad?



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

September 9

HARVEST TIMING


The harvest fits in the growing season and the oak fits inside the acorn. My sober mind fits right in my sober time. The soul of everything rubs across the hind leg of a cricket to sing. The infinite machinery of the universe spins but you stand there questioning the existence of a Higher Power. Well, that’s who you are, but I have only one question for you. Who else could have made all the best tomatoes come from Jersey?


Catch rain on your face.
*


Barnum, Bailey & Me


When I wake to find a whip and a chair by the side of my bed
I know I am in for a circus of a day
and the tears of this clown will not change a thing.

I ready myself for the tightrope walk
and watch out for stray elephants.
All the trained poodles in the world
can’t make this into a day in the park.

Painted ponies prance through their paces;
I try to stick to my own act,
meanwhile remembering that no matter how difficult
these routines may be it still beats a seat in the stands.



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

September 10

DO YOU HEAR THAT SOUND?



I was running on empty and thought I was getting along that way but the smoke gave me away. My life had caught on fire and I burned it to the ground. I thought nothing had been apparent until it all lay in ashes. My sponsor said, “No, we all knew when your tank ran dry. The sucking sound could be heard for miles around.”
I asked her, if that were true, why I hadn’t heard it myself?
She said, she guessed I had my denial turned up too loud.


Box a gift to be set free at a later date.

*

Oh the Wells Fargo Wagon


Tying myself to one rail of a set of railroad tracks
gets me the same results as tying myself to the other.
Swapping one chemical fix for another
is like changing my socks in a rainstorm,
nothing dry will come of it.

Not seeing potential harm does not eliminate the harm.
Like a child with my hands pressed firmly over my eyes I yell,
“You can’t see me,” and run headlong into disaster.

Whether the train comes and makes a mess or not
I make my own soup Ducky
and must get on track by staying off the rails.



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

September 11

YES, THAT TOO



When kindness becomes a weakness, when mental agility becomes emotional instability, it’s time to reassess everything. I cannot leave any thing off my inventory because my grandma, or society or the preacher says it’s a good thing to be. Every blessing can be a curse; all my characteristics have their dark side. I have to list the entirety of my cargo and keep a watchful eye. I have to moderate my investment in all my abilities or I could lose myself. Warmth is nice but I don’t want Death Valley. Integrity requires balance or depraved indifference will be the outcome. Weak and strong, right and wrong, it all goes on the scale.


Be generous with yourself, then others.

*


Louet


Consolidating fuzz into yarn
makes me a friend to sheep everywhere.
Spinning the filaments of truth into cables of life
does not impress the mutton in anyway,
but sure does my mental health a world of good.

Free floating fiber is bad for my lungs
and piles lint all around.
Giving things a firm twist
pulls together what used to be fluff
and keeps me warm and dry.


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

September 12

WHY NOT HOME?



Power is not production and production is not art. I have to keep pulling the car over to the side of the road so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living. But I still want to go home. I will never give up these roadside excursions into the river of thought, though I do wonder why the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel? Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed? The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere as long as it’s at least five miles away. Power is not production and production is not art. I let it pour through me; it’s not mine to sort.


Learn to read God’s handwriting.

*

Hypothetical


Is my inability to understand what creates mystery?
If I were brighter, swifter, keener,
would life be free of unknown communion?

Would comprehension eliminate revelation?
Would I lose perceptual apprehension
by arming myself with knowledge of forethought?

Could I end mysticism through education?
Should I even if I could?



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

September 13

RECOGNIZABLE NONEXISTENCE



You will never take time to tell the truth. You will always take time to tell a joke. As you run from your life I see the familiar vapor trails of an unlived life. When I flee my life through caretaking I leave the same mist of unfulfilled desire behind me. I look at your potential and the damage that you do by not being here. I turn the magnifying glass on me and search for the same trends. I feel abandoned by you, the you, you never were but always should have been. I pray for the key, which will get me on the other side of the door you never opened. I hope to live life as it is rather than the comedy it can never be.


Cross the rivers in your mind.

*

Cadentia



The randomness of love
is matched only by the randomness of loss.
What slips into view or out of grasp
whispers beyond my control.

Like cookies baking in a nearby oven
I long for the sweetness to be inside;
even if it is simply in an olfactory way.

The similarity of the pain of what I have
and the pain of what is no longer mine
haunts me; scares my security,
rattles my hope, affects my sleep.

For minutes make a life
and moments are all it takes to remove the very same.
In the end all that I know is that loss does not remove love
and love does not remove loss.



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

September 14

KILLER SQUIRRELS AND OTHER SOBER DRAMA


I can tell you stories to make your hair curl: death-defying fifth steps, speaking commitments with microphoned podiums, sponsees with killer squirrels trapped in the house. Courage and sheer determination are needed to face plague, after crisis, after pestilence, and yet with sober mind and willing heart these travails are surmounted and we live on. Tears turn to laughter with rescue and remedy. How strong we feel as the cape is passed, when the one-time panic prone sponsee becomes the model of calm and stable sponsor. Hoards of relatives at holidays and interactions with bankers, police officers and all manner of people in shiny shoes are handled with grace and boundaries. Porch loving skunks, children becoming teenagers are faced with humor and wit. Things, which in years gone by would have sent us screaming to the phone, are now casual asides during after-meeting discussion. Life does keep on spinning but we learn how to stand still.


Spend a day on a lily pad.

*


Heartfelt


Boab trees litter my dreams;
gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun,
I wonder at the tales they tell though
I am far too young to understand.

The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life;
they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind.
Coming to age seems merely a step
when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life.

Too long drought, too deep rain,
are places I can pick my face up from,
stand my ground or be on my way.
The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams
and I will return to my life.




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

Sept 15

WHINING BRATS


Some days whining brats come at me from all directions and my hair won’t curl. Apathy chases me around the house. I wonder how it has more energy than I do. My mind twists into a wrinkled mess; I drag my good foot and hop on the bad one. And even on those days I still rather be me; I never long to be the innocent victim or the spiritual leader, the tough guy or the PhD. No matter how bad it gets or what the struggle is, there is no place sweeter than in my head. Many are the days when I wished not to exist, not at all, but never to shuck my skin for the skin of another. Now that I manage, breathe right and face each day with cheer I know it was almost worth it and might be worth it yet.


Write your name on a piece of paper and slip it into your pocket.
*

Warhol Wouldn’t Be


There is no trick to art.
If I work to make my pieces fit with the familiar
I lose my individuality.

If I make what is truly me
I fear there is no line in which to stand.
I must make the work, find the market,
live life and die happy;

All this with no map
and a world filled with people
who tell me what to do,
but none who can guarantee the outcome.

My unwillingness to fight,
to look at and feel the ugliness of life
is at the core of my impediment.


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

September 16

ROOFTOP COFFEE



Who is more powerless: the person driving down the road with his cup of coffee on the roof of the car, or the one who sees it happen? Lost in mental chaos, lost to the small things, I set the cup and forget, or content and serene, I am examining details and notice the oddness. When my mind wanders I am helpless in the whirlpool and suction. When I am grounded I am struck by the separate sealedness of the carnival around me. Potential rides on the top; will it fall forward or back? Will there be a sticky haze on the front windshield or the rear? Or I could remember at the stoplight and spare myself everything but the embarrassment. As the observer I try to be helpful, I point and jump and shout, calling the predicament to the attention of others in an attempt to increase my chances of success. We all stand as the coffee speeds away to unknown disaster.


Wear your boldness like a mane.
*

Hand Washing


I live a simple life now;
I handle life as it is dished up.
I no longer need to make use of the dish prison.

Living an orderly active life I find it untenable
to have my favorite spoon or bowl held hostage
until I make enough mess to run the dishwasher through.

I don’t live an ‘Eight is Enough’ type existence
and need not burden my psyche
trying to save my hands a little soap.

I save the Cascade for visits to waterfalls,
Jet Dry for landing strips.



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

September 17

HATCHLING



When the shell gets too tight it’s time to hatch. I can’t tell you it’s safe out there, just that it’s time to go. The leaving is not easy. Exodus fulfilled by the use of one small tooth. This experience may or may not prepare you for the rest of your life, so much still depends on predestination and your attitude. I mean are you a chicken or a hawk? A peacock or dove? Or is there something of which I am unaware? Did someone sit on your nest or was it covered in sand? Are you turtle, lizard or snake? See, so much is out of your hands, but still your actions are your choice.


Touch your books and pet them.

*

Ovoid

I can pretend at this normal life for a period of time
then the plaster starts to crack on this white picket fence
and it’s all down hill from there.

I am better than I was;
I am happier and more well adjusted,
yet I am still far from fitting with the standard fittings,
I am an off size, my threads run counter to the average fixture,

I spent too much time on the rack
to resemble anything from off the rack.
It’s not that I am so special;
it is just that I am Special Ed.

Performance anxiety and paranoia regularly take me out of round
though even with these kept at bay I am not your normal nut.
I assure you that you can dress me up and take me out,
just don’t try to take me home.




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

September 18

SMARTS



Intelligence should be used as a tool not a weapon. Intelligence is as common as silica and can be used to do anything, so, why not as a helping hand, lifeline, foothold? Intelligence doesn’t preclude ignorance, arrogance or stupidity. Nor does it eliminate selfishness, greed or anarchy. Intelligence is not a substitute for wisdom and cannot hold a candle to kindness. Intelligence makes things possible, help and hurt; intention makes the decision. Intelligence is like a hand full of sand.


Pair your books for companionship.
*

Buffoon


Never juggle knives and butter at the same time
or you will just spread your problems around.
Passing on the knives is the first best idea,
leaving the butter in the dish is the second.

I have gotten many funny schemes into my brain;
gotten them in with ease,
it is the getting them out of my brain I struggle with.

Crowbars and coercion have been my favored tools;
ineffective though they may be, I am persistent,
while wishing to be dexterous.

It took me years to realize the problem with juggling is
that it begins with me throwing things
and ends with disaster if I can’t catch it all.

What slips through my fingers
through daily living is hard enough
what I throw into the fray for showmanship is, too much.

I needn’t be the fool flinging my pins
when my goal is to stay on them.



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

September 19

HUMILITY


A great woman walks my street everyday. She carries a tall walking stick with a loop for her hand. Each morning I see her low crown of hair and the half-smile, her friendly wave when I catch her eye. Each morning when I see her I see the secret play across her face, humility. This is the secret she cannot share. I know she would sing it from the mountaintops if it would help, but humility is not a secret you can tell; it’s a secret you have to live with. As I slowly learn this precious thing I see it shine in others. Recognition of the persons with inborn dignity and a keen understanding of their personal value lights inside me. When I see this fine woman walking with purpose, I appreciate myself better and am so very grateful for those who keep humility alive by living it.


Know your friends well and your books better.
*

Toolbox

I know just how hard it is to pick up the right tools.
It's like I know I have a hammer in the drawer,
in fact I have two, so, why oh, why do I feel compelled
to hit things with the heel of my shoe?

Trust and believe it is ineffective at best;
additionally it is embarrassing.
I wish I could say I have done this a handful of times,
unfortunately, I have done it over and over,
it’s hell on my shoes and worse on my morale.

Using what is at hand or foot may seem practical,
but it is not prudent.
Walking myself through the step by step process;
reading and following directions is easier
but only when I disengage the lie that says it’s harder.



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

September 20

JUST A TASTE OF SUNSHINE


The sunrise is so beautiful I want to taste it. Like a child who needs to put everything in her mouth to really know it, I feel the need for a bite. I want to participate in every way. I want to blend with the color of the sky, join the horizon and dip beyond. Look at me, who in the past sounded every retreat, now I leap toward life. I stretch my arms to take it all in, merging with the continuum on this greatest of adventures. The sun raises the charge and I lick my lips in anticipation.


Find the stop signs in your life.

*

Mercy

The rearview holds the vision,
the sad figure on the corner as I drive away,
all that is left to me are memories of God,
the rest I ejected and sped from as fast as I could.

I cannot face what is left
when I make God homeless and unloved.
Though living together was tough sometimes,
living alone is unbearable.

Nothing cooks right, cleans right, tastes right or smells right,
even the moon won’t rise right when I am strictly on my own.
And God wasn’t built for the streets,
that corner is not someplace my Higher Power fits in.

We are meant to be together
and apart the world spins off its measure.
Pitiful is what I am, so I swing around the block,
fling open the door and take pity on God and go home.



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

September 21

SELF-SEEKING IS A DEBIT



Trying to get credit for everything I do has run me into debt in my anonymity account, which draws directly from my humility bank. I cannot expend my resources seeking acknowledgement and expect to retain much dignity or class. How can I build within while constantly grasping for nods and smiles from scenery and landscaping? I want approval so much that I have lost my center. In an attempt to top the charts I forgot my song. My ego writes checks that my soul can’t cover. I run my potential into the red looking to get my name in black and white. If I keep my name out of lights I have a chance of building up my dignity.


Own your own blocks.

*

No Jinn

I molested the touch control lamp.
I had no trouble turning it on,
but could never figure how to turn it off;
therefore I let the light shine in the daytime.

I called looking for guidance,
“lick your fingers then try again,” was the glib suggestion.
I offered that I was not interested
in becoming that intimate with said lamp.

Sometimes connections are made easily,
other times they cannot be made at all,
still there are times the renewal of a connection
is determined by my willingness to up the ante.

Am I willing to put a little spit into the effort
or will I leave the light to burn?



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

September 22

MEGAPHONE


The point of surviving, or maybe the goal after survival, is enabling the voices of victims to be heard, starting with my own. I allow the surging waves of thought and feeling to rush the gates and exit. I try to bleed the bad with and without the use of leaches. So much is stumbled upon rather than sought after. Some things hound me; I run down the street with memory at my heels. I must let the screams out or become them. Today I talk, tomorrow is for others. When I pour forth, I open the way for the rest. I have become the megaphone rather than the cheerleader. It is good to be of use.


Pollinate ideas.

*

Peace Time

I have been to the wars and through the wars
and now sit on the stoop and wonder;
will I learn to live here in the world of everyday
after having had to spend so much time running for cover.

Each time I return to what I believe is my home
I sit and rock trying to pour my soul back inside
from my hipflask where it was held for safekeeping.

I try not to spill a drop
for it is worse than shed blood and harder to rebuild.
My soul has grown pale from confinement and lack of sun,
but it still exists and for that I pat my back
and suck on my Lifesaver;

I could have done worse, was unable to do better.
I console myself with the knowledge
I never started the conflict just learned to survive it.



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

September 23

WILD


When I run wild through the rain my hair streaming behind me, water fleeing my face, I see with my heart the thousand other rains pouring from my past. How I peel from me the soaking luggage covering my naked pain. Nothing drives me to the cozy retreat of my bed like the humid chill of an early fall drizzle. I slip my trembling skin between the comfort and the comforter, flex my toes, towel my hair, wipe scenes of lost love from my pale, pale soul. Leaves rush my gutters, clog my mind. I see the change in me as I turn heel to heel, trees spinning bare in a blank wet world. I know this ever relived fluid, this recycled life.


Interest yourself.

*

What is Dear?


I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life
instead of being taught that life is dear,
but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know
and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves.

I wish I had learned earlier
to love the life I was taught to cling to,
but I am grateful I have been bound to life
long enough to find the joy in it.

I have found that knowing joy
causes me to cling all the more,
cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task.

I am angry for what I wasn’t taught,
but sadder still for what they didn’t know
and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition.

I wanted better for them
and they wanted better for me
and this is the circle which closes
around the dear that I hold onto.


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