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April 1
Why is it so hard to be me? I have everything I could wish for. I have love and friendship, I have talent and ability. What more could I want? I don’t want more, I want to learn how to overcome fear and live with disappointment. Abundance is ever at the door, but I have no room for plenty. Reassurance is the thing I chase after, yearn for, pine about, but it is an illusive thing like taking hold of smoke. Allusion is the gift-wrap of reality the unwrapping often puts me off the contents; regaining my composure and reestablishing willingness is a difficult job requiring dedication and fortitude. The barrier before the carefree me is thought the strongest of all substance. I must heal the calcifications of my mind and resist rigidity. My thinking is what makes being me problematic without it I am nothing at all. Free fun from the shackles of expectation * ACCEPTANCE, ACTION, CHANGE Acceptance equals action Without action, acceptance is a death sentence Action puts me in the hands of my Higher power Inaction puts me at the mercy of others or worse self-justification For acceptance to glow with life it must be moving Action equals change Action without change is repetition The moon does not change It orbits flat on it's face, forever dark on one side And a mere reflection on the other Change equals acceptance Change sparks possibilities in mundane endeavor Change without acceptance is a walk off a cliff For change to endure, agreement is necessary A one-sided argument is fascism and fraudulence The heart of change is acceptance Beating the blood of hope to the extremities Whether we circle the heavens Or the bowl depends on the cohesion of Acceptance, Action and Change You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 2
Clock and Calendar Girl I depend on the count and measure of time to get me through. The swing of the pendulum carries me from moment to moment and the divisions between days are like the rungs on a ladder; I climb from month to month and age to age. When I hold my breath I count the tic, tic, tic till the difficult time passes and I can inhale once more. Harder things require X’s in their numbered boxes to help me transverse the larger distance and rockier terrain. Take away my clock and I go deaf, remove my calendar and I go blind. Tools are tools even if they only aid sight and sound. Address your future * THE SCULPTOR Stuck in a block, my sponsor chips away at me I struggle to hold still With surgical precision she cuts through the debris With which I have surrounded myself After my sponsor frees my hand and arm She places a hammer in my open fingers When the other arm and hand are rescued She places a chisel in that hand This is how before my head showed above the surface I began to help in my own restoration I am the sculptor The program has made me Recovery has taught me I can be anything If I keep chipping away At the things which hold me hostage As time travels on I am a new shape With each turn through the steps And have an ever lustrous finish With every application of the traditions You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 3
Unfettered “The difference between a demand and a request is apparent to everyone.” A drunk once said this and I hold it to my heart. I can not be bullied or swindled into a corner; neither will I allow you to put a rope around my neck like a wayward calf. I obey because it works for me and if you teach me that you are untrustworthy or careless I will obey you no longer, this doesn’t make me less obedient it just takes you out of the lead. Sometimes I hold the reins and most times they are in the hands of G-d, but never shall my reins be in the hands of another, this is what I drank over and this is what I could drink over again. No one person is my salvation and I cannot allow anyone to be my demise. If you consume me like a drink, I will kill you as surely as any drug. Hobble disrespect * STOP TALKING Try to stop talking when people stop listening said my sponsor And try not to take it personally Why is that? I query Most individuals can't handle much of anything real Try as they may they are unable to listen To anyone speaking the truth Tell them a story and you can hold their attention all day Sprinkle bits of honesty into the tale And you still will keep your audience But strafe them with bullets of the truth and they run for cover I've seen it happen, I never knew what made them scurry But I have seen them sprint away It's a coping mechanism If you try to turn their heart too quickly They're afraid it will stop beating Why is it you never worry about that with me? You tell me the facts whether I want to hear them or not I can tell you because you take step three You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 4
Give Me a Goose Any Day The geese breaking wind resistance, the close ones, the far ones, the ones behind trumpeting, this is the gang who gets me sober and keeps me that way. Maybe you think that G-d is not a flock of geese, but it has been my experience and the honking and the mess are part of it all. I spend my days making sure I am one of them. Sometimes I am even in the lead, which may seem like a place of honor and prestige, but is actually a lot of hard work. Sometime I am the cheering squawker who makes my encouragement heard. Other times I am the one waddling around leaving an untidiness behind me. All of this just makes me part of the flock. I am especially fond of my nest mates though they are often the ones I chase and bluster at the most. I feel a sense of identity and pride when I see any goose flying high and know that because we don’t do it alone we are able to do it together. Pet inspiration * FINE PRINT I can scrawl the wall with everything I know I can fill my books chapter and verse With pure and honest hope But let me begin the precision of language and watch. My once open face becomes tight My associations peek regularly around each corner Neatly painted lines are a trap with teeth laid bare Serrations of careful craft sever my umbilical And God floats off untethered Truth returns when I am shouting my prayers Scrupulous observance never advances my sails I must meet life with an open hand The devil may not always be in the details But check the fine print to be sure. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 5
Please Sir Gratitude is a thing which collects and solidifies, it’s pink and I can walk around on it. Some days it is a broad highway and other times a winding spindling track. Ever present if I am mindful, gratitude roots out pests and pestilence while planting a garden beyond my dreams. Gratitude is like handholding; it warms and strengthens me, keeps me connected to real life and reassures me that I am not alone. Many days I find a way to make a face and pout, plundering the rich rewards of sobriety for the thin gruel of discontent, poke me with a stick on these days and remind me who I am, for I am never Oliver even if I feel a little twist. Rest between great ideas * FEELING TEMPLES I failed to appreciate the initial onslaught of feelings I spent much time trying to capture them Lock them away or in some other way submarine them This only had the effect of retarding my recovery I had to reframe my thinking I had to start with simple calisthenics, embrace and celebrate As my emotional health began to take shape I started the foundations for tiny shrines Each with its own theme Happiness had a party going on until all hours With grief there seemed to be a constant internment in progress Body or no Fear showed on IMAX film Of the realities of life on earth Curiosity had an endless library plus a DSL line Making myself a willing and frequent visitor To these contrasting places Created in me wholeness and peace Never again do I have to trudge The two dimensional desert Of my monochromatic former life You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 6
Fearing Fearlessness How many times have I given the credit to night blind fear, credit due the brave persistent child? How many times have I blamed the willing diligent pursuer when the fault was the backstabbing delay of mistrust? I resist the onset of freedom. Fear was my oldest familiar and I put from my mind that it was my jailer, captor; kidnapped me from my cradle and kept me locked from G-d’s fine intentions. Fearlessness sounds debilitating to my crippled ears, organs who hear well the disclaimers and are deaf to the claims. I am the producer of bile and addicted to dread, endorphins wear white hats and win the day once this yellow belly is put to bed. Allow yourself distance from uncomfortable people * BIRDS AND BEES Birds and Bees can get me drunk I have to watch the amount of envy Which pours through me as I watch their bliss When others make a beeline to the hive I must head to a meeting and save myself despair If my spiritual condition is not sound When other couples are weaving their nests I have to be careful Not to weave my way back to the bar The mating dance is so sweet and seductive I have to make sure I don't end up doing the two step For as much as I hate to admit it If steps one and twelve where enough to keep me sober The rest would not have needed to be written You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
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April 7
Two Things That Should Be One The difference between my will and G-d’s will is that G-d actually likes me all the time, never looks to punish and would rather that I don’t settle for less then what is best for me. The difference between G-d’s will and my will is left to my own devices I would run in a perpetual circle and dig a trough. I would never ask for help and would refuse if it were offered. I would take on misguidedness as a mantle and wear it to my wake. Often my will and G-d’s will are miles apart, but they needn’t be. G-d is the president of my fan club; I just need to start attending the meetings. Make music in your head that you can feel in your whole body * WHIP I have been to the meeting where the play 'whip' The meeting where the members are gotten in line The tempo increases constantly in an attempt To flick each other off into the land of shame and slips and less-than This game is invisible to the participants Though the stress on their bodies is surely felt Spectators often misunderstand the meaning of the activity And wrongly interpret it as strength training and endurance building I think of it as a backward step Throwing me to my initial desire for a drink Living other peoples skewed lines Sent me running for a bottle The same lines Placed around me in sobriety Will measure me up for a box You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 8
Out on Your Front Porch “If you want what we have,” said my sponsor, “you will have to follow somebody and lead somebody and do a few other things.” “I have to follow somebody, that shouldn’t be too hard,” I mumble. “In order to follow it helps if you stop looking at the ground, lift you gaze,” her retort. I raise my chin until I meet her eyes. “Better,” says she. “I follow you?” I ask. “Me, yes, if I have what you want, follow others if I don’t,” she says. “Okay and lead somebody, how do I do that?” I ask. “It’s attraction, Sweetie, be attractive, show your smile and your smarts, but most of all show that you’re sober, because that is always your best asset. And no matter what anybody tells you about the allure of bad girls, nobody can resist a good set of assets” Don’t let the rush of the river scare you from the bank * WHAT IS PAST The past cannot hold me in a loving embrace I run too often looking for affection and recognition In things long dead and purportedly buried I return to the ghoulish obsession of digging up Old hates and sorrows longing for support And finding only the cause of the ulcers in my soul I wallpaper the crumbling facade Not wanting to cover it up but to hold it together Trying to unify something which is totally scattered When I view it with a sober eye The past is nothing but a slideshow Under a strobe light The pulse triggers the impulsive belief that it was all real When in truth it was the lie I survived No life existed in the past Only now is there air to breathe The past is all vacuum And I don't need to be sucked away You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 9
Up and Down: Round and Round Like the wheel on my spinning wheel I pump up and down on the treadle and the wheel spins round and round, the roving twists in my hand and yarn is made. Really all I do is tap my foot and gently hold on, pulling occasionally. It is a small part I play in this production at least it feels small almost unnecessary, but with a clear mind I see that without me it doesn’t get done. I am essential yet still just a foot-tapper and hanger-on neither of these is prestigious yet the whole fabric depends on my mundane actions. I take great comfort knowing that all over there are foot-tappers and hangers-on keeping safe this way of life, sometimes keeping it safe just through sheer repetition. And if you ask, “Is that Unity or Recovery or Service?” All I can say is “Yes it is.” Powder your bottom line * CLAW MARKS There is a brackish River Whose current changes directions twice a day Its bed is well washed on every side. It begs the question- Which way is down hill? There are times I struggle up hill in both directions There are times I slip from every slope What is up is often down Judgment of topography requires distance Scaling the surface takes tenacity I plan on leaving my mark as I go Life's residue staining my finger tips. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
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April 10
Stumbling Under the Tenth Step When I’ve been outside of my mind it is so hard to tell when I’ve come home again. The landmarks take on such distortion in memory that the facts seem bloated or anorexic as I turn my face from side to side. Old journals remind me of old journeys and perhaps there are accurate landmarks mentioned, but how can I know for sure that these too are not just the ravings of a mind gone mad. Real or imagined I must take the daily count and try to keep the score in favor of the actual. I don’t always know that I’ve fallen until I inventory the dirt on my face, but better that I face the dirt than live the delusion of a mole. Notice the shape of your fixtures * DROWNING NAKED Bare & Exposed I laid myself on the alter Of my home group AA, my only Source I emptied the contents of my soul And bore the mantle of overexposure But vultures lurked in many rooms I was safely guided by persons of my gender To more secluded and effective place of transmission I thrust myself into the arms and mind of my sponsor She escorts me to the steps with the door closed And taught me how and when it could be prudently opened AA is a power greater than me, so is the ocean Precaution needs to be taken when wading in Care must be exercised as to how much to bare. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 11
The Key You See The key you see is letting you, accept me. Oh, how I hide from that, run from that, flee from that. I must be in control of what you think of me. I curtain off the view of me I don’t wish to share with you. Add to that the unusual choices of what I hide. I will strip down with all the lights blazing long before I would let you see me drop the ball, be confused, misunderstand. What I truly fail to realize is that in the process of trying to hide my faux pas and fumbles; what I show you is my controlling ass. Backside bare I moon you with my freak show trying to hide my humanity. Your compassion and tolerant waiting for me to calm down and open my eyes is the key I fail to see about you. Learn the difference between area and circumference * RANK I took an area level service position And my sponsor laughed herself off her chair What is your motivation for this? she asked I want to move up through the service structure, my reply Are you trying to make rank? Problem with that? I ask Ever heard of self-fulfilling prophecy You will become what you desire You will become rank And you will stink The triangle is inverted to help you clean up your act Don’t get washed away in a tide of ego I put down my swim fins And removed my epilates You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 12
My Experiences with Tennis I have held the racket, I have hit the ball, but I have never played with a partner. I have slammed the fuzzy orb against the wall for long years now, but I have never had a mate. There were times when I had opponents; yes I’ve had a couple of those, a collaborator though, that I have never had. I have learned to overcome opposition either through wile or guile. Slugged my way toward some inevitable outcome, I never expected you on my court. The game we play is for keeps and the muscles required I have never used, I ache from the pain of ending an atrophy imposed on me by isolation and misunderstanding. Often I don’t know how to stand, don’t know how to act; don’t know how to be the equal to your service. I play chase, running after the thing I didn’t see and only faintly felt. I have come to the place where I know, you and I are a team; you will not be leaving looking for someone better equipped or with greater experience. It is time for me to lay out in front of you my host of tendencies and inclinations. I’m in the habit of overwhelming with my strength to hide my weakness; I must expose this all to you, the strength and the weakness, and work together for the resolution. I will no longer pretend that I know what is right and wrong in this un-played game. I fear that I will lose the old game by making this change, all that is familiar put up for grabs to the uncertain outcome of paired sports. All I truly know is that with you by my side I can never lose and I will learn to do whatever it takes to be your wife. Dream with an open mind * SOLIDITY Apprehension stands in the archeological site Which is my life -----listening Listening for the rumble of a cement truck to come And help solidify the shifting and tenuous nature of my existence A wet and sloppy solution A solution to be raked and smoothed, covered and cured Something to build a monument on Or a place to park my car The nearby grass looks lush and green But I dare not leave apprehension alone or it spreads I stand with it on bad days And against it on good ones I pray for the mixer to arrive Or at least the gravel spreader I need to fill this hole so it can be a life And stop being a grave. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 13
Neither Frog nor Fish I was falling and my Higher Power caught me in a net called AA, all of which was a pretty neat trick, but the strangest consequence of this is now I somehow think it shouldn’t be possible for me to drown. Defying gravity 24 hours at a time doesn’t make me aquatic or even amphibious for that matter. I still have all the corollary restrictions of anyone who is me. I still need sleep and water, food and warmth just like a mere mortal. How silly I am. I dodge a bullet and suddenly I think I am waterproof. Don’t exchange your trinkets for your tools * WHAMMO I have been hopping on one foot With a ball of hope shoved under one arm And a ball of hysteria under the other I wish I could tell from the outside of the ball Which one is hope- I worry I will put down the wrong one So I hold onto both My life is sorely limited by the baggage And I fear I am losing life with every hop A lack of information is my problem I don't adequately know the properties of either And suspect my every interpretation Finally I stand before my sponsor To ask the question of my life- That's easy Honey Hope is the one that bounces back Is all she had to say You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 14
Who to Ask “You ask good questions and you ask the right people,” said my sponsor. “I ask questions because I need answers,” my reply. “Do you know how many people need answers and never ask?” she quipped. “I ask my friends, no stroke of genius there,” I continue. “You ask your playmates, you ask the people you trust enough to have fun with. You don’t realize how clever that is. You know lots of folks who work hard and you could ask your questions of these, but instead you save them for those diligent ones who still know how to play and that, Sweetie Pie is proof that you are no dummy.” You may mute your horn, but don’t soap your bow * CRUMPLED PETALS IN MY POCKET I can't bring back the bloom Cohesion, lost ripeness Is left only to memory I carry home the parts Folded, petite, fragrant bedding For my wistful desires I put these colored remnants into a jar of salt I make an aromatic rub For the sweetest wounds Transforming the parts to useful duty Doesn't restore the flower It doesn't pay tribute to the past, it is survival I have a mind filled with roses but I must make hay Today I live, today the rose is dead Its pieces in my pocket I don't die with the blossom Though my head blows in the wind The rose runs its course, I run mine. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 26
Imperturbable Perfectionism is a cover, a blanket of lead; hard to move and rich with poison. What it tries to hide is my unwillingness to struggle and strive. It’s not a fear of failure, but the horror of success after a long hot pursuit. If I can stall on the intricacies of the first move there is no further movement. If I can fail before I begin there is no sweat, no stain, no stink. Catastrophe is no bother, but skinned knees are my undoing. Winning is not so important to me; my unfortunate goal is to look untroubled. Snap a picture of your beliefs * TRANSITIONS During the months of winter The trees stand tall and leafless Static in their appearance, frozen in direction The insurgence of spring brings to life the truth The buds and flowers show the draw of the their owners The pull of life from the earth and sky. Other trees have begun to restore the gifts so graciously given These leafless giants open themselves As home and sustenance to the surrounding community Returning favors and flavors, coming to terms with wholeness Celebrations of all I have, call for me to give back Even during the time when we all look the same. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 27
Blinded Alcoholism hits me like a kind of blindness. I stagger through the living room cursing anyone who changes familiar placement or published timetables. Just like every aspect of this disease, shocked sightlessness, is mine to deal with. I must pick up the white cane, procure the Seeing Eye pup, learn to read clustered braille. When my vision clears in these well worked spaces I am relieved, but I must accept that when I walk into a new room more often then not I will be blind again and must pick up my walking stick once more. Apply a timeframe to misery * STREET SIGNS Hanging out on the corner of Disillusion Boulevard and Grief Road Then returning to that special spot on Despair Avenue Was my daily routine. I made the circle and never looked far afield Widening my circuit Allowed me to find Anticipation Place and Hopeful Terrace I pushed my search and found roads Whose existence I never fathomed intersected Creating areas of intrigue Optimism Court interfacing with Realization Way Is the fairest of my finds But many a fine street corner has me lurking Catching stray sunshine and encouragement I make my home wherever the hospitality is available And return less often to the dark and stifling places of the past Happiness is where you find it Just make sure to read the signs. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 28
Perkiomenville Being actually alive does not feel as good as I imagined the relief of being dead would feel and therefore I have anxiety and dread, or is it disappointment. I feel like a failure when I am in the process of trying and I want to throw the pieces in the air and run. Does this mean I’m weak or does it mean I am frightened? Or is there some heavenly host of other reasons why my crêpe paper soul twists and turns in the breeze of the marketplace? Some part of me was auctioned off and its removal left a psychic scar that even equanimity can not ease. I am all things wonderful and yet there is this flaw, this toe tied thread which holds me back, holds me down with painful accurate precision. I look for the knife with which to cut it all the while wondering if this will turn it into a toe tag or a price tag. Police your self destruction * K-TURNS I do not believe in a universe that makes complete sense I often find myself trapped Because the things I pull into no longer feel firm. I attempt K-turns in alleys far too narrow for the maneuver I can’t back myself through the passages I plunged into willingly My faith doesn’t compute in reverse and I find this disconcerting I may walk into the face of fire But find it impossible to turn my back on the flame Today a one-way faith is fine As long as I am moving forward. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
April 29
Would You Rather a Lamp? I am a girl filled with expectations. Like a ginger jar filled, stuffed caulker block full, though the filling is the part which is unpredictable; it could be match books, or seashells, acorns or all those pretty capsules. This makes me erratic and sometimes volatile. Are you strong enough or far too sane to stay and help me sort the contents? It’s lonely work without a witness or a spotter. I rather be alone than with you reluctantly, so please try to shuck that husk and remain. Yes, I am sometimes capricious, but I try never to be cruel. I know sometimes you convince yourself that leaving me to my own devices is the wisest of courses, but don’t be fooled; you disappear due to your weakness not strength and the worst part about the price of abandonment is that everyone has to pay it. Design a window that looks out on your dreams * THE SHINY THING The starling stands with the candy wrapper in its beak The cellophane flexes in the breeze Here is my life I have the shiny thing in my possession , What do I do? Do I give up my intended tasks to attempt dominance Or control of the shiny thing? Do I release this thing of intrigue and beauty I am drawn to the shimerance and sparkle But shutter at the price The world is filled with shiny things I can enjoy them But leave them where they lay. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
May 2
Reguess When in my sarcasm I suggested that you ‘guess again’, I realized that you were in fact guessing, guessing about everything, guessing in order to create a process of elimination, a tool on which I now recognize you entirely depend. Guessing as a way of life is a tragedy. I’m not saying that trying to know every last thing in the world is an acceptable alternate goal, but to reach an adult age and not even be able to work your way up to a possible hunch is scary, scarier than even my sarcasm, which at this moment seems interminable, but I’m sure you guessed that. Make a list of your favorite fingers * ON COMING Anticipation of the approaching traffic consumes. The tiny spec grows and develops into the arriving vehicle 50 miles per and the rapid succession of the coming And those leaving eats quickly at my heart. The pain seers me Why are these who travel from the direction of my destination Passing me by? For miles and miles they appear to be greeters The breeze created by their passing chaps my face And questions my goals How can so many abandon my objective? But flee they do. My hunger does not diminish And I press on Of course if we all went this way, we might tip the globe Maybe that’s what they fear. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
May 13
Be That Girl I have tried to protect the investment I made in the past by selling the soul of my future. I arrived self-possessed, a winning girl, but I slid the self from the scene leaving me simply possessed. I gained everything then lost it a piece at a time starting with the parts nearest my heart. I must draw the shards together once more and mend this lovely crystal. The art of living is insured by my action not by grasping at slivers in terror of what slips from my fingers. I am what I have inviolate and all else comes to fruition when I am pleased; when I am myself. Be aware which pens are poison * SOOT I diligently work to remove the soot. The residue from the last time I tried to hot wire my brain When I attempted the short circuit of my safety-thinking I caught my life on fire and flames, though brief, were spectacular. Electric fires are very jarring The burning insulation toxic It leaves bare, stuttering lines crossing and recrossing My stable base, the methods I once used to keep sane, is shot All because I wanted to go joyriding in my thoughts Suspended reality sounds so good but always bursts into flame Leaving me with soot removal as a hobby You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
June 11
Prize Catch There is a reason that fish flap and twist when they are caught, why even though they are in the air they fight for the life that once was theirs, only martyrs go without a fight, it is good to know that at least this vice is not mine. When I did not love my life its loss was not an actual change, there was nothing to hold onto, nothing to struggle for. Now I thrash at the feel of my loved life slipping from me. It is good to know I have passion enough to rally a defense. My life can be taken from me, but I haven’t lost my will to fight. Turn confusion until its smooth * THE PALMIST Last night I had a silly dream. I was in a tent at a carnival and the woman across the table Held my hand so dear, looked into my eyes and said “Today you will go to a meeting which will save your life” I thanked her and left full of anticipation. When I awoke, I was filled with the same strong sensation I rose, washed and left for the meeting with anticipation. I paid close attention to the coffee maker, Those setting up chairs with me and the newcomer I listened carefully to the speakers And the sound of the group’s voice closing in prayer Nothing out of the ordinary happened Other than my realization that Every meeting saves my life. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault |
wow
this thread is important to people in recovery.....
I'm sure I'm not the only alcoholic/addict here in recovery... If so I hope new members find this site.... |
Today is a good day, why? I have another day clean and sober....
I turned 20 on Nov.-13-16 I have heard pretty much everything at meetings or talking with fellow members etc.... If anyone wants to talk and don't want to post on this thread then message me.... Searching for fellow members of AA, would like to read posts and make some new friends... |
December 8
THE WAY I DO IT Cooking by smell, parking by ear, recovering by touch. The latter has to be done this way; I cannot see into the black-box technology, which keeps me sober. Feel through the resentments, pain, sadness, joy; find myself under a pile of rags with a match in my hand. The many times the steps have saved me from becoming a human torch are balanced by the weight of the rope, woven from these same rags, that together we use to drag one another to safety. The savory scent of a meal, or the glee of front row parking can’t compare with the tender sense of a sober heart. Write bad advice on tissue and wipe with it. * Master Mind I was taught that it was my job to master fear; raised in a religion swearing they could master death. I used to spend all I had trying to create a master plan, while trying to keep secure using a Master lock. I have seen Master & Commander and do not long for that burden; in fact mastery is so much a snare and illusion. Life is quite improved when we each have an oar and we all row on. Vlog: http://youtu.be/J9IaheHYzsg |
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Happy belated Birthday It's Thursday and I am sober and happy to be a Friend of Bill. Just for today, reading, meetings and membership in such a great club, came here to read and to post for many years. :tea: So, welcome, and post away. |
December 10
ELECTRIC CONNECTIONS I step into a room and take its currency. Is the flow good? Steady? The pulse even and strong? Where are the power brokers and are they sharing the time or using their magnetic personalities to draw the current off others? I check the complement of resisters, examine their stripes and assess the possibilities. I pump in energy when I can and take when it is available. I keep in mind we are all transformers and change is possible for everyone as long as we make the connections. Rich mistakes make good batter. * What’s that in the Pool? Parts of the Rocky Mountains look like algae bloom out in the Indian Ocean. Parts of me look like parts of you and here we go with oneness being nothing more than pattern recognition and optical illusion; though I hope there is more to it than that. My hurt might not be your hurt, but I have a sense of it. Likewise your hope may not resemble mine, but it cheers you just the same and we are all the better for it. We needn’t replicate each other or attempt imitation, but recognition is a kind thing and art is what we all have to share. Vlog: http://youtu.be/ymX2yjLcpws |
December 14
DO WE SEE The old man walked down the road to see the end; I followed to glimpse the fruit of his pursuit. Does the highway come to rest or like the river just feed a greater sea? And time; will the clock stop him? Can he win the treasure hunt as the seconds tick away on the metronome? Will the slowing of his steps and the advancing of his age create a curve, which will prevent his accomplishment? Does this tag-along I am doing make me a part of his project? The road is long and its end may never come, only ours. When we take the road the road takes us. More and less is what we are and so too the road. I follow the contour of the ground, which curves around the world, spinning in our sky so we can all see the stars. Reality builds contentment, fantasy disappointment. * Calm, Peaceful, On Once I center my mind I can type in the dark. All it takes is me present and willing to flow. Limber up the learning curve, press my fingers to the keys, Let the story tell its tale. Cease the interjections lest it all go stale. There is nothing much to know, It’s all inside, I just let it go. Emptying this crowded vault, I open up to prevent assault. What to do when it hits the page; marketing is all the rage, but for this task I need a light. To sell myself I must be bright. Vlog: http://youtu.be/QpbtJlNkWto |
December 16
GOOD SAMARITAN PIE The meal prepared from my cognition, the bread and jam of humility, salad of expectation, roast of determination and Good Samaritan pie, wait on the table to be devoured. The courses pass and come dessert my kindly intentions are cut to wedges and pushed from setting to setting. I can, with dollop after dollop, cover the requisite desires of this tart in an attempt to deny my addiction to fixing or I can serve up the plain truth. I help and help and wander down roads looking for lost puppies to return to their homes. I must admit my longing to lend support is sometimes half-baked, and if kept to home and hearth it might serve me better and make a sweeter dish. Assistance is best in proportion to the meal. I must live my life and save my pie till last. Hold each other's hands but explore. * Touch Your Toes Funny how we deal with feet. I have seen a woman cradle hers and treat it like the dearest babe. I know some folks who shun their feet; can barely stand to think of them, let alone to touch them. There are the Mani-Pedi people who leave it in the hands of others. I met a guy who soaks them soft and tucks little bits of cotton under the corners of his nails. I know too, the woman with the snarling crusty dogs that serve to others as a warning. My grandma warns me not complain about my shoes lest I meet the man who has no feet, but I doubt I would fit in his. Vlog: http://youtu.be/7eUgwQQ5ZPI |
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Sober 7 years. |
Wow
Yes this site is up and running....good people coming back and post and read posts....
Its great to be clean and sober- so much to appreciate and enjoy...;cigar2: Tommi- Hi glad your happy to be sober....:hangloose: Cathexis- congrads on being sober 7 years....:bday: :happyjump: |
January 3
Maniacs on Pogo Sticks I fear maniacs on pogo sticks peeping through my rural second story windows as the smoke of paranoia curls between my ears. Overestimating my interest to others causes me as much harm as the underestimation. Attributing super powers to onlookers is a parlor trick my ego plays to keep me occupied while my life passes by. I sacrifice all my possibilities for fear of what could be stolen through my keyhole. I cut off my face to spite my poor lonely nose. I must move forward in spite of my disquietude for the future lay ahead, yet I do console myself that it is harder to hit a moving target. Use honey to get the peas to stick to your knife ~ DIDN'T KNOW I WAS GOING TO THE CIRCUS I show up at a meeting I didn't know the circus was in town I expected calm, demure, sober behavior My expectations were dashed, my bubble burst. There were people streaming back and forth in front of the speaker There were kids playing among the chairs Smokers worked the meeting in shifts Hustling out the back door and smoldering back in. The side conversations rivaled the main attraction People dressed for the street not the meeting, the bibby shirt, tights and no skirt Was more of a high-wire act then I had ever seen before Shock cannot even begin to describe the state of my mind. "But for the grace of God" said my sponsor "No" I said "It's a choice, they're sober now." "Oh yes" she remarked "Weren't you sober when you took on Every man with time, looking for a fight with each of them?" "I was cutting my chops. They understood." "Some of them didn't." said she "Weren't you sober when you dyed your hair red - but only half?" " I was afraid I'd dye my scalp, so I started lower." "Yes, but aren't you the one who says sudden hair color change Is a sign of instability in sobriety?" "Yes, I do." I replied "I think you would have fit in well with the circus. You and your two tone hair but you didn't hear it from me." "You're mean." "And what are you being?" "Judgmental." "That's my girl, what are we going to do about it?" "Be grateful, grateful I got in quick enough Grateful people let me work things out in these rooms. Grateful I still have something to learn from everyone. GRATEFUL." Vlog: http://youtu.be/WLX_uTL2hao |
January 4
One Singular Crowd Isolation among the isolators is replete with metaphor and theme. Expectation blithers loudly but is drown by the palpable inevitability of the outcome. I pirouette in a room filled with dancers but we do not touch, we just spin near one another full view but little contact. Yet I hear my heart beating in my ear and know that I am alive. The flush of neighboring cheeks attests to duplicate conditions there. We are moving together sometimes in harmony but other times in antipathy, dependant all the same. We are the army of independent meanings. Individual cases sharing one slender goal but that’s all that we need. If you can’t find the grape try some jelly. ~ THE BOAT On my ride home from work there's a boat stuck between two trees In the middle of a horse pasture Next to a riverbed so dry it's filled with grass. I think the boat is me. I feel for the boat every time I see it. Turned on edge, waiting for a river which doesn't exist anymore And may never exist again Placed on edge for protection, not comfort. Although having my bottom rot out Well, let's just say, might be more uncomfortable What good will I be even if the river runs again Since I'm fenced in? If my Higher Power has a plan If it includes a river and a fence If I'm in this plan, me, the row boat I just don't see it. Not seeing my purpose in life is a theme in my life Truth is, I don't want to face the fact, I might float away Even though I'm supported by two big trees Even though there is a tall fence around me. Completely in spite of the fact THERE IS NO WATER My Higher Power loves me. I AM THE BOAT Vlog: http://youtu.be/BXqTSzIuod4 |
January 7
Dion Everything in the world happened before I was born and the cinders sift through my fingers. Accomplishing cohesion of the ashes is a goal I have not yet achieved. Cremains precious but meager are a difficult building material, shifting due to emotions and wind, I find they stick too well to my lungs and not well enough to anything else. Tears help, but I will not cry forever. I must draw from a fresh water source and wet the powdery scratch I have inherited and form the world anew. Use caution when interacting with the crème de la crème this may trigger intolerance * OLD GOLDFISH I got them when my sobriety was new. They were tiny little guys, ten cent feeders. I wanted my stepson to sleep soundly In our strange jumble of a home, fresh from purchase. The tank sat on a dresser under his elevated bed Space to fit my hand to feed them No space for baby boy to climb in I loved my goldfish. There is never a NO with goldfish Feed them as often as you want Let the water get cold Put them in a big space, small place, plants, no plants. NO was so hard, I hate and fear No. I am hard, fish are easy. Tears and mesmerizing aquarium Meetings and steps. I could not keep myself alive I don't know how I kept the fish fed. The program kept me going, Kept hope flowing and the fish swam. In this century when we are finally outliving wild goldfish We are sober together, By the grace of a Higher Power, in this century. It's been a wonderful time. I am grateful to be here with the goldfish. I am grateful the goldfish are here for me. Expecting so little Maybe I could return the favor Vlog: http://youtu.be/BVWOAXsGMBI |
One day at a time
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Thanks pumpndude, Congrats on 7 years Cathexis, (f) Jan 7, was my anniversary, 40th year sober and clean. Went to a meeting where there was over a hundred in attendance. Celebrations went from 24 hours to 46 years. Cake and chips were appreciated , celebrated and a good time was had by all us sober folks. :) :hangloose: |
Tommi wow , happy, happy birthday, 40 years sober, you go dude...:birthday:
glad you had a good bday at a meeting...:thumbsup: and thanks for the happy bday .... |
I am not an acoholic, but am riddled with soft addictions which are ruining my health and preventing me from being the person I want to be. Tomorrow, a meeting. I am committing to it.
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February 1
Know Enough to Clap If I know I’m happy I can clap my hands, but if I’m happy and I don’t know it, what then? Will my face display tell tale signs without whispering a word of it to my mind? Will I whistle a happy tune therefore revealing my inner state? If I can’t demonstrate my reality does it cease to exist? Does my retarded ability to reflect my emotion condemn me to remedial society? Is there any other society? If I become well enough to reflexively feel and exhibit my mood will I graduate to the advanced class or be forever alone no longer having a place amid the emotional head bangers, hair twirlers and cobweb pickers? Is it a choice of knowing happiness in isolation or confusion with a crowd? Could I know? Should I know? Would I know? Who knows? Iron your will * THE DIFFERENCE Falling and flying are the same, save the landing. No matter what you do in the air, how well or how poorly In the end, if you don't land, it's a fall And if you do, a flight. How we begin seems of ultimate importance But is seen as a farce in the face of ruin. The most promising of starts can be sucked ground ward, Compass and instrumentation rendered useless, through lack of humility. Piteous starts, starts without plan or goal Are viewed as triumphs when safety has been captured from defeat. Willingness is my aileron It contributes to my lift in ways I cannot explain. It smoothes the gusts of life which forever blow in my face And willingness brings the ground up to meet me. All I have to do is be willing And stick out my feet. . |
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You just might of caught your addiction before it got way out of control....I don't know your story but I'm rooting for you.... Hope to see more of your posts.... |
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