Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 29

RELAPSE IS NOT REQUIRED


“Relapse is not required,” said my sponsor, “though at some meetings they make it seem appealing, all that prodigal drunk treatment.”
“Well, so far, I’m living in the blessing of being convinced the first time,” I told her, “plus what could possibly be out there that’s better than what’s in here?”
“That is the point. There is so much out there that is faster and bigger, more dramatic and extreme, but I sure have never seen anything better,” she patted my head and I grinned.
“Since I am winning the first time why would I want to lose?” I add just to overstate her point.
“This is the perfect place for those who want it, and all the rest get drunk, but drinking is not required any more than Santa has to come on Christmas.”

Save pretty words in a jar like candy.
*

Step 3

Remember that this is a surrender to a friend, a thing filled with humor and humility not a thing filled with shame or humiliation. As for regret the only one I’ve ever had about step 3 is that I didn’t surrender earlier. Trying to pull a moose by its antlers across the desert was always a ridiculous endeavor, but a friend will stay close and let you try, always ready to lend a hand if asked, though never stealing the opportunity for me to recognize on my own how foolish I have been. Hilarity ensues as I explain my thinking and turn the project over to a brighter mind and more able hand realizing then; there is no good reason to pull that big thing across that vast wasteland. On the way back we chat about platypus and rhinoceros and laugh at how many strange things seem like bright ideas in the quiet space of even a great brain. I have avoided surrendering fearing the loneliness and defeat. Struggling alone with my torment was lonely; turning myself over to my best friend keeps me in the very best company.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/0VICoQBksyo

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 30

CARGO LOST, CARGO FOUND


I fill the pallet of a new year's sobriety and, when it has been accomplished, make a manifest and strap this pallet with the others on the flatbed of my life. The cargo is secure and weighty; there is ample pressure where the rubber meets the road. I maneuver my rig carefully. I feel assured as I stream with the traffic on the byways. The power and magnitude of my transport prompts in me overconfidence. I fail to realize variation in weather or road conditions can jeopardize my journey. Eighteen wheels make for a poor cantilever when traction is lost and top-heavy wins out. In losing the battle of gravity, inertia and control I realize the past is not a weight I need to haul; all that is necessary is the inventory. I slip the pages into my pocket and walk the rest of the way. I am my only freight.


Medicate with laughter and tears.
*


Can’t Walk Back


I chase my reading list, lose my place, fall down, can’t find my page; suddenly there is a whole library beyond my grasp. I write as fast as I can and so do my fellows the result is more than I can read in three lifetimes. The glory and pain of freedom is the constriction of time. I claw at the minutes but the days slip quickly out of reach. How can I get the great work poured into my mind while still allowing original thought to flow from me? I ask God if I can be reincarnated with my backlist intact but there is no reply. I know in my heart this life is like hang-gliding on the beach; my shoes and socks are left behind and I fly off over open sea. So if we are friends now that is surely grand, but if you want to be my friend later, just take a walk in my shoes.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/24UpEacsxX4

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 31

FAILED SOUP AND DISTRUST OF BURGUNDY



What keeps me coming back to meetings and step work is an abiding mistrust of booze. Despite promises and advertisement, hopes and folklore, I couldn’t rely on drinking to take me where I wanted to go and I surely couldn’t depend on it to keep me there. The struggle is great; the attempt to cling to salvation through decanter is mighty but in the end this joining of my chemistry to other chemistry failed miserably. No matter how I held my mouth, held my head, held my liquor, satisfaction escaped without me and I was left here in the soup of my disillusion and disappointment. Failure to cooperate fully with alcohol lead me to try sobriety as an alternative. I may not always succeed in my recovery, but I can draw dividends on every deposit and use this to build a path to my desires.


Make a private heaven with plenty of windows and doors.
*


Failure of Imagination


The failure of imagination feels worse than it looks; it’s that rancid oily coating on the skin that I abhor. The sweat that appears when sloth becomes a burden, the confusion of an unused intellect, the mumbled acquiescence of a weak will, creep me out of the permission that I wished to offer myself but can not accept. The languishing mind that I left to wither in the confines of my skull requires my perseverance. Falling down, giving up, throwing in terry cloth objects is impermissible, I must pluck up my willingness and apply whatever drops of genius I possess to every muscle fiber I can find. So much has been made available to me and I must return that favor. You see imagination only fails me if I have failed it first.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/2xIyrdB516I


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 1

Lie


Yes, a lie is just a lie, but the truth also has problems. I relay the facts and the words take on a life of their own, leave out the backdoor and walk on down the road. They move to another town and never find time to come back for a visit even though, I am their mother. And woe to the woman who grows attached to credit or recognition for her ideas. These kidnapped prodigies are never ransomed but sold outright and their DNA not questioned or tested.
So, my advice is to love your words in secret and raise your notions behind high walls. If you are ever called upon to share your wisdom, lie. For even if you’re caught the risk is tolerable. Exposure is awkward but then again no one is looking, so, what is there to lose. A lie is just a lie but it stays home with you at night.




Tie a string to the moon



~

THE COWS ARE HIGHER THAN THE HOUSE

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

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

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

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

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


Vlog: http://youtu.be/mvzU3AmU2J4

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 2

GOOD AS GOLD


Just because I’m as good as gold doesn’t mean that I win the prize. Doesn’t mean I get my way. Doesn’t mean I gain your heart. Being ‘extra special sweetness and light girl’ doesn’t secure my future. It does prevent me from living my life as someone I don’t like. It contents me to keep my own company. It is a huge improvement over living as the raging fury I once was. Any destination I desire is more readily assessable from this amiable posture; in spite of inexpert yearning. I can breathe past you if must be, walk down the road holding my own hand instead of holding a lung full of air. But I am the treasure. You must earn me never capture me. Appreciate me not devalue me. I’m good as gold. And please know that I am the prize.


Remember yourself as you would an old friend


Vlog: http://youtu.be/cW3KCDxy0EA

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

[girlin2une]

Originally Posted by LeftWriteFemme

January 2

GOOD AS GOLD


Just because I’m as good as gold doesn’t mean that I win the prize. Doesn’t mean I get my way. Doesn’t mean I gain your heart. Being ‘extra special sweetness and light girl’ doesn’t secure my future. It does prevent me from living my life as someone I don’t like. It contents me to keep my own company. It is a huge improvement over living as the raging fury I once was. Any destination I desire is more readily assessable from this amiable posture; in spite of inexpert yearning. I can breathe past you if must be, walk down the road holding my own hand instead of holding a lung full of air. But I am the treasure. You must earn me never capture me. Appreciate me not devalue me. I’m good as gold. And please know that I am the prize.


Remember yourself as you would an old friend


Vlog: http://youtu.be/cW3KCDxy0EA

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

Another one that has touched me!!

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 5


Time’s Temperament



Bubbling tides of white water, time roils past me and my protests go unheard. Psychic feedback loops revisit raw moments to me with inopportune exactitude. The beautiful droplets of dawn rain down then evaporate leaving another day’s timeline to fan out before me. The alternating fury and jubilation of passing intervals leaves a challenge, first a question of bend or break, second a call to forecast. Can I flex or will I live in pieces? Shall I look at patterns and strive for harmonious waltz or turn my face from the calendar dreading each trice? Bully or benefactor time rolls. I can go with it or be under it that choice is mine.



Orbit order



~

THE FLOCK

Today I came to a place in the road covered with birds
The nearby field - covered in birds - the trees covered.
As I approached the birds took wing
The flock responded to my presence
Each bird flew - the sky darkened with their flight.

Wave upon wave, boundaries intact
Taking action in the face of obstacle.
The gift of instinct displayed for me as I fly to my meeting
My instinct rehab, I am learning my intuition
My sponsor spoons it to me from the steps.

I suck it down never knowing what it is about the process
That makes me better
Anymore then I know how grain and bugs make birds fly.
I have theories, things I roll in my fingers when I'm nervous.
I get glimmers.

Things my Higher Power sparkles in my eyes for a treat.
In truth, I don't know how, I don't need to know
Anymore than birds need to know lift to weight ratios.
When I respond to life events
When I spend less time self-concerned I am closer to self.

"Aren't we spiritually centered?" Quips my sponsor
"Yes" I reply "One day in a row."
"I'm going for the record."
"That's all the birds have."
"You're doing as well as they." she smiles and pats my back

Vlog: http://youtu.be/27HKnEZb1Z4

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 6


Hand Me Down Pain


You have sent a cold thing into my heart it causes my feet to move me away from you. It need not be spoken of this is a thing of ice and lead. Words are no help here, action is the only cure. Eternity can be spent with a soul bisected by slivers. Stepping the willing way to joy and freedom seems so unlikely from this frosty local. Make my mind up I must. Close my eyes and move forward. I will leave your pain behind me I hope not to have to leave you.

Kiss tiny pebbles and roll them away



~

HELP FROM STRANGE SOURCES

I cannot get my mind wrapped around the places I find help.
I struggle with believing I have been helped.
I struggle with disbelief at my own resistance.
I am helped daily by many tiny things seen and unseen.
I realize now I was injured by the same tiny things.
When I was misaligned with my Higher Power
The sun rising, the tiny star I circle in this great nothingness
It makes my whole day.
The air hanging around just in case I need it,
Which I often do.
The people who live with me, a mean feat.
The people who work with me.
Those who exist here with me keep my ship on course,
How sweet of them to do mostly right everyday of their lives,
What a help that is.
The whole ecosystem and all the weather
What would I do without it?
But this is on a good day,
On a bad day, the sun is in my eyes and scorching my skin,
The air is too still, or well, the wind is always a problem.
And people, people are an endless plight,
People do things to hurt, annoy and irritate me,
Full intent, targeted to me, my life, my wants destroyed.
Bugs seek me and I am followed by the darkest cloud,
Everyday, all day, lurking.

I AM SO THANKFUL FOR A SPONSOR AND A TENTH STEP


Vlog: http://youtu.be/475YWS01jBM

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 12

Live Bait


Is being a taunt to others really a life? Dangling as the cover for a hook, luring intended and unintended to their deaths, is that living? Or if I draw you with my attack rather than my appeal is that a worthwhile existence? If I carry myself filled with poison praying for a strike is that anything other than a march to an unhappy grave for two, or more? Hidden under an avalanche of harassment strips me of my vital quality and my soul loses its true nature. I am allowed to transcend the setup of competition and social strife. It’s alright to be tempting with no agenda. I could be an appetizer if only I removed the barbs or better yet I could be dessert.

Tuck tiny wishes between your toes.



*

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH

I was driving around in my car
Eating a meltingly ripe persimmon
On the radio came a fiddle playing band
Performing their rendition of In The White Room

I was traveling with the three drafts of my first step
Version one consisted of 690-some words
And the final had only four, JOY IS NOT ENOUGH
That's it, the whole thing.

Today my life is unmanageable
Due to the fact that having a balanced life
Feeling my wide range of feelings, including joy,
Is not sufficient to eliminate the pain and damage of the past.
My horrific childhood has not healed
Has not mended seamlessly
I have joy today, everyday, at some point
In proportion to my sober choices.

I fail to realize the promise doesn't say, Heal the past
It says, I will not regret the past.
I don't, at least not any of the choices I made,
Other peoples choices are not mine to regret.

I will not wish to shut the door on the past
And I don't wish to.
I want it Healed
I may not get my wish

Just because I am doing my part to heal the past
Doesn't make anyone else do it
I can't strong-arm the perpetrators into recovery
The way they strong-armed me into the abuse

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH but it's a hell of a start.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/qnr7COwlqqU

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 13


Offset


I often feel out of round and unmatched to my counterparts. Awkwardly I sit unable to strike a plausible pose. I want my asymmetry to seem chic. I feel a victim of universal ugliness and gracelessly plod through my days. Luckily offset thinking, the partner of my offset soul, saves me. I see that I am uniquely useful, like a screwdriver set at right angles for use where a straight one could not reach. I am counterbalance and compensation. I may be lateral but I am also collateral. I am an embellisher, beneficial in unexpected ways and shouldn’t seek to be inline with the multitude. I am the new growth, the spur to the future.

Romance the noodles in your soup


*

GRAVITY WORKS ALL THE TIME

Limits and boundaries are a drag
I hate feeling tied to the ground
I know I could fly
If not for unseen forces

I sense myself lightening, smoothing
I drop my burdens, I pick up speed
Fourth dimension
Hell, I'm proverbial vapor trails

I should explain, when I get moving this fast
I inevitably wind myself into a position
Where my head is up my nether regions
A place it does not belong

I have slowly grown to love my limits
No restraint holds me back
In reality, I am supported, rooted as it were
I am not hydroponic, I can live in the real world

I am me
Encouraged by the wind and the rain
I am not a hothouse flower
I am truly free

I can walk where I was born to walk
I forget life has not been found outside my little world
And when it is
I am still better off being me

Vlog: http://youtu.be/GX2RHrKvmT0


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 14

Specks


Spectacles are for specks; tiny things that must be watched. Commotion is nothing but a congregation of minutia with an audience. How many small things do I strain my eyes to see; then seek help to pursue further? Some of these are put on display fishing for voyeurs. Others are secreted away only to be ferreted out through magnification. Whether curiosity or contempt drives me to these pinpoints I must search my motives before I scan the plain. For truly if I am not careful I, myself will end up either speck or spectacle.

Let old wood and old women inhabit the shoreline of your mind.

*

NO MAPS

Maps have existed longer than I have
By the time of my birth there was aerial photography
Which had made pinpoint accuracy the norm.

I can be tracked by satellite on my daily commute
I can get a trip tic
And travel to the far reaches of this continent

"So what is your problem?" Asks my sponsor
There is no map for where we've been going
There are only the twelve steps, but after that-

It is all uncharted territory except of course-
For my families warnings about dragons
'Those critters stay to home mostly." She says

"You have bigger things to worry about."
So where's the map
I need to know where to go.

No Map, we go through this together
The pitfalls are similar, sex and money
There are a few others

What each of us finds on this journey is uncharted
Plus if you spend your time looking down
You will miss the view.

We prop each other up as we step off into the unknown
And reel each other back
If we start falling off the beam.

How do I know if I'm doing it right
"Are you still sober?"
Yes, but I'm unsure.

Lots of people are sober
Right up until the time they're drunk
"So true, it's all about motive."

It's difficult to chart a heart
"Do you have willingness?"
Yes, you know I do.

I have found that is the vehicle
To everywhere, So.,
Learn to enjoy the ride.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/dBXCKvL5f-Q

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 15


Comparison Shopping


Cost analysis of the yeas and nays requires a savvy consumer. Every word has a variable price dependant on whom it is spoken to and when it is said. Some words charge compound interest and others pay dividends. Timing and delivery is of the utmost importance. Knowledge of the markets requires constant assessment. The risk to benefit ratio varies widely and the short term verses the long term price can flip the market from profit to loss. Hold my tongue, speak my mind, these must be weighed; the clock consulted and inventories taken. What I say and when can be less a matter of bull or bear than whether or not I can afford to be a sheep.

Tap the wellspring of your heart.

*

FEEDING SQUIRRELS ON A ONE LANE BRIDGE

Cattle-corn spread on a single lane bridge
The Trap,
Food or Safety
There are plenty of other choices
My disease sees none of them.
Gluttony and danger
the perfect combination
How can I resist?
Why would I resist?
I have to have More.
I cannot depend on my nature
The ability God gave me to survive in my environs
Help must come from outside
And must be wild and dramatic.
Inward help is boring
Too subtle, too tiresome
Where is my image?
Where is my excitement?
How am I going to prove my God worthy?
Without too much
Without perilous risk and rescue
I can't.
I can't prove my God
My God doesn't need to prove anything to me.
I can find my way off the beaten path
Away from the prying eyes of rubberneckers.
No cheers from the crowd are necessary
I have the equipment, it comes standard
When I take the controls
And follow the twelve step tutorial.
I should be able to manage just fine
No Mack truck in my face
As I stuff myself
With ill gotten grain.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/uXu2Cp6YYt8

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 19

What Is A Sheep To Do?

Things are bad out there. I see the trouble as I circle within the flock. Many of us whisper to each other as we pass. How can I create lasting change? Is there something helpful that will not separate me from my precious life, something that will not make me prey to the vultures before I even realize that I’m dead? How can I live and strive while the wolves hold the hilltops? Is the choice merely, one death or the other? Is there an as yet unseen path? Can I find it while maintaining my place in this congregation? What is a sheep to do?

Topple the toys from their bins and play

.
Tea or Sympathy

Tears pouring into the teacup growing cold on the table create a sea of emotions uncharted. If I can not offer sympathy to the contents, the soulless heel that I am, how then do I expect to have a future? If I will tender only meager tolerance toward the spindled thing valiantly trying to beat within me why do I even show my face to the mirror? If shoulders are cold and turned inward then I will collapse into the inexpressive, dismal thing that has been misshapen through misuse and I might as well drink the chilly tea for that’s all the comfort I’ll get. I must do better by myself in order to brew a better world.

Smooth one hand with the other.

*

SOD

Green and black
Pinwheels of rolled grass
Speed by me on a flat bed.

Sod
Headed for home
That is how it is for me.

I grew up in a place of impermanence
A place clearly not my destination
Uprooted and prepared for relocation I am in transition.

My future surroundings unknown
Will be a perfect fit.
I have been anticipated
Grown for a purpose of which I am uninformed.


I have done my part, I am ready to lay down my roots
And become a lawn of seamless expanse
Somewhere my Higher Power is grading a hill
Smoothing the way.

I am ready to take my place
In the landscape
Of sober living and right thinking.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/lX7ce5VY4tc

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 20


Saurian or Dalliance


I love to be mystical, but the only dragon in my life is when I drag on and on. Procrastination is the winged beast in my world. I armor plate the thing, shiny and gleaming, my loitering delay is mightily impressive and you might think it would take flight from the way it postures but departure has been adjourned in favor of misgiving and postponement. I wander through the forest attempting to appear brave and feeling it occasionally while my tale grows longer. I need the fierce face and sharp claws; I can beat the mythology if I will just continue to take action.

Never confuse signposts for guideposts.


*

THE FROG

Stretched in the water
Still
The frog hangs.

The pond is barely a tea cup
Sufficient for communion
Of God and frog.

I watch the frog
Unblinking
Savoring respiration.

In a pond in Maine, I bore the posture
Center-stage
A quarter mile of water all around.

I hold my head above the surface
And feel I am in the eye of Gods creation
Face to face with benevolence.

Peace spars with uneasy smallness
I am a tiny speck, floating in the soup.
I am one organism in a sea teaming with life.

I am a part of
Not protected
But equal to the rest.

Can I bare this reality
The struggle of living
On a web?

Can I live a humble life
Knowing
I am favored no more then the rest?

Can I set aside my need
For preferential treatment
A God given Band-Aid for my multitude of hurt?

"If you can't, you will drink." Says my sponsor
"If I have to live this way I will cry." I respond.
"That is your God given right."


Vlog: http://youtu.be/n7AtS2CzGX4

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 21


Guest Flag


The polite thing to do is fly the silly blue rectangle with its equally silly white diagonal stripe. That would be the polite thing, for sure but that would peek my disease’s hold card. If anyone knew that my illness was sailing my ship instead of me the effect would be ruined. Or so says the canker that grips me and steers me to disaster. Announcing this day-tripper as an unentitled accessory to whatever wrong I am about to commit might warn my friends or enlist my sponsor, but no I leave my colors fly and endanger the surrounding water. For in truth my flag is just as fraudulent as this vessel and is only on loan to me as well.

Panoramic inventory shows the landscape in a better light.

*

THE MUSIC

I hear a tinkling noise and look around the room.
No, it's coming from my head.
It's the sound of the music of my life.

The bells, a horn or two
The strings,
Always the strings.

The sharp clear cry of the vixen
Calling from the hedgerow
The lonely voice of resolve.

The melody shifts
Tomorrow's tune warming up
In the wee hours of the night.


I don't try to part my lips
Replication is not a possibility
I am only just learning to move with the rhythm.

Keep the beat in my heart
And draw it down
For my toe to tap.

I cannot sing my song
I must let it live in me awhile longer.
I can't share things of which I haven't had my fill.

Giving too much
Too often
Makes the anthem run thin.

I have to be fully me, to be full voiced.
I need to stew in the juice
Of overflowing harmony.

The pounding of my feet on the steps unite the accord
Wild things and practiced plans
Put forward the waves of life on earth.

I follow
Placing my feet in well worn trends
The dance school reopened for sober living.

Passion plays and calls my response
For today, I pass
I leave the song inside

Vlog: http://youtu.be/jTBmHZkNh3U

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 22


Lathhouse

I want to face the sun. I want to stand and the wind to blow. I want the rain uninterrupted on my head. I want to remain upright and unburnt, to prevail amidst it all. Tender stalks and verdant leaves frustrate my anti-social streak. I want to bear the worst without cover or assistance but here I am in the slanted shade of this dynasty. As I grow so does the awareness that even when I am strong enough to leave this sheltered abode I will be relocated to a row where I am never alone.

Dream of a way to paddle a round boat.


*
THE PRIVILEGE OF SUN RISE

I awake happily at 5:30.
I will again see the show beyond compare
In stark contrast to the mornings
I filled with moping or sober angst,
Shades of the same dark color.
I shuck my covers
Bathing and dressing with purpose
And propel myself forward.
I hate to miss the first act.
Dawn
The tint of clouds dusky and sweet
I'm on my route
I start my open eyed prayer.
For all those living at the hands of an addict
Be with them---Please
For the addicts
Help us all to fail----Fast
I scan the horizon
Checking all the views
I reflect on the striking change,
Earth bound green and gold
Sky held pink, orange and blue.
The silhouettes of trees exquisitely lit from behind.
The sweet moon sharing the sunrise with me
Add to the pleasure of my drive.
I start my gratitude list.
Beginning with my sobriety
Each moment.
The people, The life,
The thinking, The feeling
And my ability
To share it all
With You

Vlog: http://youtu.be/00eiIsaotPc

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 23

Frankie



“Why do I expect new leaves to grow on dead sticks?” I pleaded to my sponsor.
“Is that a ‘why do fools fall in love’, question?” she retorted.
“Oh, I suppose it is. I was doing so well having a ‘listen only’ relationship with someone then she asked why I don’t tell her my opinion and I like a ‘fool’ I told her. The ensuing pile of rationalizing and justifying she gave stank up my whole day.”
“I bet your steady stream of self reproach didn’t help either,” my sponsor added.
“But, I know better!” I cried. “I mean this is why I stopped my speaking role with this girl. I know she is a reactor NOT a listener. How could I fall apart at her first recognition that I am wordless in the face of her diatribes?”
“You were hopeful. Is that such a crime? You think better of people than they really are. I think that helps you stay willing to help them,” she soothed.
“Yes, but this snapped my willingness to work with her in half. How do I put it back together?”
“Maybe you needed to learn that it’s okay to leave the dead sticks behind.”


Why do turnips look like tops and turnip tops look like greens?


*

COMPOST

Looking at the bins
The stages of decomposition
Remind me of my disease
The stinking garbage I came in with.

I have learned to work my program
the same way I learned to tend my pile
Personal experience, advice, watching
and smelling, the mistakes of myself and others.

I learned covering thoroughly with meetings
And steps works like leaves and hay
to eliminate the immediate stench.
Circulation is important to prevent me from becoming stale.

In the end, the secret is turning it over.
If I don't turn it over I become putrid.
I rot and ferment instead of decomposing,
breaking down in a way which restores me to usefulness.

When I work the process
my higher Power turns me into a medium of growth.
A renewed source of life and depth.
I become rich in all things that matter.

I am sought after by all the people involved
In planting seeds of hope.
My sponsor says, “It’s a sign of humility
that I aspire to be like dirt."

Encouraging sprouts
from the remnants
of my past.
She might be right

Vlog: http://youtu.be/C_f750_kBCo

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