01-16-2015, 08:42 AM | #2521 |
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January 16
Bon Comfort or motivation these are the two major reasons for building a fire. Sometimes I set it before me other times under me. The warmth can be soothing and the light dazzling, but licking flames move me off the spot like nothing else. Fuel and surrounds contribute to the effect. Mental state and personal company provide dampening or air. How high the flames rise or how long they burn varies widely. Inspiring my passions, my thoughts, my fears the conflagration is an apt tool as long as I don’t go up in smoke. Try to go sometimes with the grain and others against it. * IN THE COMFORT OF MY ROOM I sit and panic concerning the future. I have come through Hell Built a safe and satisfying life But it will all end soon, I can feel it. The tide rises in my soul. The blood red tide of self-doubt and degradation. I fail to see my strength or intelligence Hell, I can't even remember the sheer willingness which has carried me this far. All I see is shreds. Tattered little bits of my hopes and dreams Scattered by the breeze of fate. What is the point of me being in this sweet space If I'm going to intellectually turn it into a dungeon? Why set out fluffy pillows Only to frighten myself daily With thoughts of their removal? How can I pray for safety and practice personal terrorism? My mind is closed to the double-side of life. I know the destruction but forget the glory. I have washed ashore in the land of love and support I need not drag my mind and spirit to the nether world of hopelessness I've been to the dark places My task is to warm in the sunlight today. Vlog: http://youtu.be/ax9CRi0Zgac You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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01-17-2015, 06:22 PM | #2522 |
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January 17
Hades There is a strangeness to the dark. A velvety comfort when my paranoia is not alive with ice crystals and contempt. Cocoons of light create hives of life in an otherwise isolating phenomena. Pressing to my skin I can wear the night out as a jewel, a talisman for the hope I dare not share. Pixies and faeries inhabit dawn’s wee hours but the black blank stretch of space is home to things quite different. Unspeakable in their face I allow them to pass. Should I be carried off my return is eminent for half the seeds remain. Not wholly ransomed I live only part time in the sun. When the shadows fall there is the oddness of home I can neither embrace nor deny. Load the scale in your favor. * THERE IS A TREE There is a tree in the woods I've seen it. It was cut off from any visible source of Strength or sustenance. Carried aloft by surrounding trees The splintered trunk dangles in the air It makes no connection to the forest floor. I know the feeling I have been cut off too. Violently separated from my God, as it were. I probe the fractured stump at the bottom of my soul. I explore the crevices Seeking tendrils of hope. My anxiety bonds to my frustrations But faith eludes me. I look down to the broken place The view unrealized by me. I have a vista of unimagined beauty Provided to me by the growth of others. I am eye to eye with my peers, Held in their loving embrace. I bloom and flower with them. I endure the winters the same as they And come spring am stronger for it. I don't know why I was damaged. I don't know why I was saved. I am grateful it is done. My sponsor says "It's for our sobriety And the pleasure of your company." Vlog: http://youtu.be/PiW66zH2pg4 You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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01-18-2015, 01:49 PM | #2523 |
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January 18
Between Two Chains The curving movement half seen sweeps forward and catches me squarely on the chin. Realization glimmers that next time it will strike me in the mouth and I take a step back. I estimate the returning arc, raise my arms, push the board back from whence it came. As it hurtles toward me once more I reposition. Force returns force; fury comes vigorously my way and I thrust with strength and enthusiasm. And this is fine for what it is. I have learned how not to get hit. I can push when I get shoved. How much better will it be when I can get on and swing? Tie your lose ends into bows. * IN THE PRAIRIE In the prairie there are small fenced cemeteries Family plots. The flat expanse of land opens to the eye Hand carved monuments stand in testimony To love and service. In these places grow wild flowers These places cordoned off From mechanization and agribusiness Held in trust are the bones of loved ones And the soul of nature. Blue bells, paint brush, lupines And all manner of reedy grasses. Deep inside me is a place like this. The place I have buried my young. The little ones who died of shame, neglect and hurt. And I must return, not to exhume the dead But to pay tribute. To return with honor and love Harvest the daisies and buttercups. Grow them in the garden of my heart. I can tend the flowers Which spring from destruction I can mingle them with the growth of my sober life. Restore my prairie To a splendor it has never known. I can enjoy the bounty Of saving seeds worth saving And planting my Higher Powers will for me. Vlog: http://youtu.be/IjV0_1qsOT8 You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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01-20-2015, 09:08 AM | #2524 | |
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Lighthouse Keeper's Bulb
I think it's time to get a whale of a goldfish Lighthouse Keeper! Rereading your Jan 7th post, I have decided I need an aquarium. Maybe you do too!
Or, one of those little battery operated with fake fish will do, as long as we keep them healthy, as we must for ourselves, Jan 7, 1977 was my last drink, drug, elective toxic substance, inhaling gasoline fumes and well, those other intoxicating dangerous, exciting things of the addictive mind. The Lighthouse Keeper (LeftWriteFemmes) post on my AA Anniversary , quoted below, seems somehow prophetic. We have talked about our chaotic pasts, and our two long lived goldfish, Whale and Ick. Where we came from in the darkness , into the light , and how reaching out had been hard, but lifesaving. As I celebrate this year, I remember those along the way, the smiles, the tears, the life and the deaths of those we know. Taking care of business, reach out when you need to, because we need to keep the light on. If you have followed this thread, and those of another time and .com You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane, and More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault From LeftWriteFemmes Book and daily posts for her service of so many Quote:
Thank you Sherrie T. , wishing you well, and Please keep the light on, we need it , ad the storms may come and go, but the sober light will always guide you home. Last edited by Tommi; 01-20-2015 at 09:10 AM. |
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01-20-2015, 02:17 PM | #2525 |
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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
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01-20-2015, 03:56 PM | #2526 |
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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
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01-21-2015, 08:46 PM | #2527 |
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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
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01-22-2015, 03:32 PM | #2528 |
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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
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01-23-2015, 11:01 AM | #2529 |
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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
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01-24-2015, 09:00 PM | #2530 |
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January 24
The Max Factor I apply foundation and rouge to make up the difference between reality and expectation. My composition is unexamined by onlookers; appearance is the subliminal standard bearer. My brave face is plaster cast as an estimation and a singularity. Powder gives and takes power; builds a glass ceiling then a glass floor. What I owe my mind is more than what I allow its representation to be. I am made up to a spot on the wall from which I can not move, all because I wanted to put my best face forward. Cuddle up to curiosity * LIFE AS AN ELM I stand tall My bark sloughing elongated rectangles Great bunions of wood protruding Giant bubbles of tight grain grown in reactionary curls. These tumors born of abuse and endured in maturation Are harvested in recovery The burden of them severed from me By the sharp teeth of truth. Sectioning these masses For purposes of inventory Allows the twisted and deformed wood To become dry and constructive. I inlay the contorted sheets of history Into the panels of the doors AA built for me. The doors built to exit hell Which gave me access to the world beyond. I stand in the woods Reaching the sky Sinking deeply in the underlying spring Surrounded by the joys of reality. Things unseen in my pain Consumed Blister covered life of addiction Life was a forest of one. The wind hit me The snow fell on me The drought Affected only me. Today, lightened by the loss Of my inappropriate growth I grow together with my sponsor, My group and the We. I can accept shade and shelter Also offer it. The bugs and parasites meet With the resistance of communal health. My disease Has no harbor, Not in my bark, Not in my heart. Today My program Strips me of my disabilities And makes me strong in camaraderie Vlog: http://youtu.be/CRray19GOwA You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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01-25-2015, 02:47 PM | #2531 |
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January 25
Responding to Response Thankfully I’m not in charge of what is so freely given in this program. I want it to be available, but I want gratitude to be the universal response. At first I thought I couldn’t understand how anyone could hold this gift in their hands and not feel grateful, truth is I know exactly how that’s done and I don’t want to look at that ugly thing. “Cunning, Baffling, Powerful” But they left out how repulsive it is, maybe they didn’t want to see it either, or thought it was self-explanatory. No matter which, I’m glad I am not the arbiter of the flowing fount that is recovery, I might have been tempted to cap and meter it, killing all the beauty and wild randomness that makes it real and true. I despair that others don’t recover as I recover and yet I am relieved that I didn’t have to drink as they drank. I have to see those around me well enough to stay out of their traps or follow their leads, whichever is appropriate, but I don’t have to adjudicate their reply. Pick up sticks and put downs stones * THE BUTTON BOX I go to my button box To sort out my life. I lay out the matching sets The various sizes, shapes and colors. Coat buttons are commanding But unsuitable for delicate places. The tiny pearl buttons with shanks pull my attention But work well only on silks. The metal, shell and horn buttons Come from such far off places And all end up crossing my table As I try to see clearly how to stick with the winners. I know the people represented in this box. The strong, the loud, the beautiful. I know the weak and the unique, The ones of special circumstances and occasions. I come to the realization the simple ones, The buttons sewn on the inside, The ones who silently give strength And support to the large and the small alike. The ones which come in every shade and size, Who match their ability To service they render others, These are my favorites. They make secure all the things I love and trust Flat and unobtrusive these buttons Hold fast the fabric of my life. Vlog: http://youtu.be/wtyMBLUK_vw You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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01-26-2015, 05:39 PM | #2532 |
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January 26
A Living Love What I love about the program is that it is a living thing, like me. It is not perfect, it is growing and changing, adapting and correcting for each experience and need. AA is a life into life process and saves me because life begets life, no matter what I was told. The answer to life is living and I get to see that being done by everyone from newcomer to old-timer each at his or her personal ability. I am allowed to dangle my feet, wade, tread-water and swim, all under the watchful eye of loving support and critical pretender. Difficulty is not removed nor is the way made smooth, but I am no longer without a thread to hold. I love the web I help weave myself into and feel protected from the spider of my addiction because together we are living proof. Bear Grace * DEEP IN THE SEA Under the mirror There is life Under what I reflect to the world I am a world apart. I smile sweetly, political in my response to confrontation and conflict Deep, deep in the sea, is a current of sadness I can't always shake. Pain is the past But it's there like a moray Lurking to strike aimlessly, pointlessly At the passersby. The ripping teeth And the cold stare My terror No way to escape it. I focus on the topside The reflective part of me. I keep as clean And free as can be. I stick to my business List my goals and make plans The water runs cold Then hot beneath. I carry the steps to this underwater grave Trying to inflate the rubber skin of god But No There is no life in the god of my understanding Or maybe there is no life. For the character the drowned balloon represents The sea is bigger than me. The life stronger and more abundant. The sky it reflects as vast as the liquid I swim There is a Power and it doesn't need that comic book face. Safety is not the requirement that can be granted. Lack of safety does not end my life It does not end God Vlog: http://youtu.be/52qY3TwWOxo You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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01-27-2015, 10:10 PM | #2533 |
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January 27
Simplicity Itself My life runs at a Gilbert and Sullivan pace, with about as much sense and comic relief. You say 'keep it simple' and my disease says 'why ruin a good play?’ The truth is this is not play at all but a work that consumes my life from me and doesn't thank me for my time. Simplicity for me requires respect, a gift I selectively give myself; a gift that I often use only as a shield during battle. My past method of increased self-respect is life in a war zone. This is no solution. Release of grief, this is the onerous path I avoid taking. Purging the wrong thinking and action of others from my blood, my eyes, my skin, allows me to lift my chin and square my soul to plumb and level living, don self-respect as a birth right and set a calendar fit for plausible life, a simple life. If you are not a hero in your own home you are not a hero * HIDE AND SEEK I have sought You High and Low But like the rain You have always found me. I like a cold, wet cat on a winters day Peer into warm lit windows Hoping You will be home. I seek to keep moving You find me for some unknown reason. I have given up Naming You. I trust You know who you are In spite of the fact I do not. You are places I don't know Doing things I think better of. Citing the list of errands I daily make for You, Not to beleaguer You But the unfinished list of history Trails out of my pocket. I worry I may possess Your only copy Of this Injustice List. There have been days of peace Days I don't think too much. Days I turn away from My history lessons and future projections. My ultimate problem is with the equal sign I run the numbers and it figures inequity. I check my calculations and shake The calculator of my mind. Deeply, I fear You're a one god And do not comprehend The implications of zero. If you multiply with only things above naught You may be unaware of nothingness. The empty things I feel When I can't seem to find you. Self-possessed - insensitive of the cipher Your dimensions stay positive. Bring me into Your realm or join me in the void. I seek You But You have found me. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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01-30-2015, 12:29 PM | #2534 |
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January 28
Sponsorship Right now, as I think of sponsorship, I think of all the things I have done wrong. Times when I was not understanding enough and times when I was too understanding and enabling. Sponsors I chose for ulterior motives and the ones I didn't challenge when they wandered away. I search my mind for the ingredients that were in the mix when things went well and the dominant component was willingness, mine and theirs. Whether I was sponsor or sponsee, willingness overrode ability, determination and love. We had to come to the table willing, this was never something we were able to cook up or construct. Nor is it something I can always hold onto, sometimes willingness evaporates or slips away like sand in a clenched fist. The permanence and impermanence of sponsorship awes and frightens me. Like a guidewire twisted from many strands none of which reaches from end to end I worry about the unraveling but depend on the strength. Expectations are incubating resentments * THREE TOYS FLOATING I bat the ducks across the surface of my bath. Soaking is supposed to calm me, I'm waiting. I assure you, my impatience is no help to this process. These yellow, tub-bound misfits, grinning at me Don't fill me with the joy of living either. I have blown bubbles until I'm blue I smell like a French elevator from the bath oil. My hair is stiff with conditioner My face packed with mud. "Do the right thing." Said my sponsor She is such a pain. Here I am, bubble bath to my arm pits And not a hint of peace Her question rings, "What do you want?" But isn't it obvious, if I knew that What would I be doing Wrinkling in this swilling vat? I wouldn't. I would be out doing my thing. Whatever, that thing is. How I'm going to figure myself out I don't know And, She, is no help (you know who She is, She is the sponsor lady) So what do I want? World peace, a clue, maybe just a hint But I know part of it I know more than I admit. I want Sobriety and Happiness, Dignity and Respect Enough time to do these things And Love. "Well" says she, those things are easy Work the steps, then the traditions, Practice them, do service And take the advice you give your own sponsees" I stick out my tongue in her general direction. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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01-31-2015, 09:14 PM | #2535 |
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January 29
Inertia in•er•tia n. 1. Physics. The tendency of a body to resist acceleration; the tendency of a body at rest to remain at rest or of a body in straight line motion to stay in motion in a straight line unless acted on by an outside force. 2. Resistance or disinclination to motion, action, or change This force is real; the laws that govern it act on me for well and ill. When I’m on a roll it’s hard to guide me and like the girl with the curl; when I’m stuck, I’m very, very stuck and it’s awful. I am bound by this reality and go or stay according to what is set in motion or stopped, but what about ‘the outside force’? Am I in charge of summoning ‘it’ or is ‘it’ summonable at all? Will ‘it’ obey like the dog, or obey like the cat? Or is ‘it’ more random than the rain? Can ‘it’ be lured or tempted or does ‘it lure and tempt me? And the biggest questions on my mind: Is ‘the outside force’ also subject to inertia? Are we in this together? What is ‘its’ outside force? Might it have something to do with me? Wash one pain at a time * NURSE What if the word God is like the word nurse? What if the person is only the simple meaning? The actor doing the service The plain act, uncontrollable from my end. What if my active part of God, Is the same as my active part of nurse? What I draw down, how I schedule myself To be ready when the milk arrives. How I pull and am satisfied Digest and draw again. Like the sea laps at the shore, The moon tugging it all the while. What if God is about my hunger, Satisfaction dependent on finding a suitable teat? Maybe this is why, when it comes to God Much of what I do, is cry. When faced with my need, I open my mouth Finding only two possible responses, Suck or Scream. My aching consumes me and I don't know how to calm myself. I look for the caretaker, the person, the deed. I need sucker but never look for the breast. I am the child of God. I must learn to draw God in You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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02-01-2015, 07:07 PM | #2536 |
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January 30
The Was and the Is The Silent Scream that existed as a placeholder for my G-d was incomprehensible to me. I entered AA and was informed that understanding my Higher Power was required not just some far distant goal. In true alcoholic form my first move was to shun G-d. This made room for my rage which was in much need of the space. After a few fine years of dissipation I lost interest in incendiary devices no matter how large their detonation capacity. Having cleared the room I brought in G-d as potted plant. I talked to it occasionally, watered and fed it, mostly ignored it. Growing in spite of lacking ministrations G-d was an unobtrusive force living in the corner changing gas into air and demanding nothing. As I quelled my apprehension and lived with the Presence I looked, listened, probed and questioned the subtle Force sharing the room. “Add it up,” chanted the children in my ear, “run the numbers, settle the accounts.” I calculated proofs and discarded the faulty and inaccurate. What was left, the whole, not the remainder was mine to keep, but it was not everything. I haven’t an everything G-d, because I am not a nothing person. I am something and G-d is something too. We are complimentary, like pairs of angles who come full circle. Show the sun the souls of your feet * TRUST You can trust people to be who they are. I am a different being in relationship to different people. To some I am the center of their constellation, The sun burning bright, I 'm all they can see. To others I am the moon, Orbiting them, silent and dedicated. With another group, I am a comet streaking through the sky, Seldom seen but well remembered. For many I am a distant star. One among the multitude, blending in the night with the other signs. Then there are the folks who see me in a more down to earth way, I am the dirt beneath their feet. The farmer sees me as a plant to be tended. The cowboys view me as a horse to be broken. To fisherman I'm a catch. I am what people want to see. So what can I trust them to be? Wrapped in their own worlds Yes, mostly I guess, None of my business in the end. I watch them and learn what I want to do, who I want to be. In large part by avoiding what I see them do. I do trust people to serve as bad examples, often And good ones infrequently. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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02-01-2015, 07:44 PM | #2537 |
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January 31
Principles before Personalities............and gratitude! As with everything I have to be careful of how I infer meaning. You say ‘Principles before Personalities’ and I hear, Their principles and Their personalities, immediately I’m on a tear. How different if I think of ‘my’ principles and ‘my’ personality. When I face it this way it is reflexive; I embrace my principles and my personality falls into step. I am safe and sane therefore gratitude follows just as the topic suggests. Good orderly direction is elegant when I don’t reverse direction. There is an obvious way to pet the cat when I accept that we get along fine, when I don’t………well, need I say more? Books open minds, music opens hearts * WHEN I WAS YOUNG I'm sure it will come soon A time I can be carefree, innocent. Worn and weary, I slog through the painful Over awareness of what was considered my childhood. What can I do but hope things will get simpler as I age. My sobriety takes years from my face. Lines slip from me and I feel the weight lift from my shoulders. My tender branches twisted with the constant force of wind Bud and flower in the shelter of recovery Holding them in their own embrace. Colors seep to the windows of my mind Forming pictures and carrying me to a new world. Limpid pools, a place I dive, as I look to the mirror. Serenity a rebounding of life fills me And I am the gentle girl I missed so long. Longing for my loveliness, I cry at the sight of my baby one. I have not yet taken my place on the swing But I have been down to the edge of the playground And run barefoot in the sand. I will be who I was to be, it's late but it's better. I know well enough To enjoy it as it comes Treasure it for every sweetness. I will come into my youth You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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02-02-2015, 08:32 AM | #2538 |
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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. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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02-02-2015, 12:33 PM | #2539 |
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February 2
The Inside Half I have drunk deeply from the glass set before me. I’m not entirely sure that I am half way through, but I am into it a goodly bit. I would be happy to have another 19 years; nineteen more hours would be a gift, too. That glass might be half empty but I am at least half full and I am amazed! I am regularly stunned by the prodigies this half trek has born to term; equally dazzled by how quickly the generations compound in this painstaking construction. Development both internal and assembled surpasses my wildest imaginings. Amazement is my most constant companion, more than gratitude and as of late even outstripping willingness my most trusted ally. Shock has been replace by wonder, bewilderment with surprise, I am fortified with these feeling realities and look happily to finishing the rest of what is in that glass. Turn left into your right mind * DUCK TONGUE Trying to get out of myself, I travel to an Asian fish market and grocery I had heard has very fresh fish. Greeted at the door by thirty large and lively tilapia Swimming in their tank, I felt my mood lift. The captured beauty gave me pause. Shiny and silvery, the faces banged at the glass As they tried to get a better look at my entrance. Like passengers packed on a subway car, The fish jockeyed for position near the glass. Further inside, I see the wonders we have extracted from the sea, Cuttlefish, conch, squid, mussels, clams, Whole fish of every stripe. My belief in a power of diversity strengthens And I smile. Leaving the seafood section, I head forward, To the refrigerated cases of other types of meat. Frozen pigs tail, fowl with feet on, the novel variety pleasing. When I approach the trays neatly filled with rows of chicken feet I break out in a grin. Thoughts of soup and days gone by flutter through my mind. Finding formed foam piled with layer after layer Of ducks tongues was my limit Spinning in my mind, Who? Why? Oh no! But in the end I came to care About how these minuscule flaps of leather Were placed. The person whose job is done well And to the fact people are just people. We do what we do. For reasons unimagined to the rest And we do it, With full faith And hopeful breath. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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02-03-2015, 02:29 PM | #2540 |
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February 3
Today’s Math Today is 12/06/06 this is an equation to me, 12 = 6 + 6, simple; not everything is, but math always works for me. My Higher Power is math based and one of my major decision making tools is to run the equation of the presenting situation. There are many constants in my life and those numbers are easier to calculate the variables often prove more difficult. Scalable problems allow for my Geometry. Proofs are a comfort when I can get them. Set Theory is what I settle for when I can’t. I try to show all my work and have others check my calculations. I can’t tell you how often a simple error in addition or subtraction has fouled my whole equation not to mention my equilibrium. In conclusion I would like to say it is now 12= 9 + 6 and somehow I’ve lost three days, or did I gain them? See how tricky the signs are. Put misconception up for sale * HOW LIKE THE MOON I show the shining bright face to the world But cannot enumerate the dark. I change and turn for all to see Glowing sliver, to full fledged smile. I inventory all phases Can tell you from wax to wane But the darkness, the anchor to my lonely life I can only guess. I feel my way across the unknown topography Searching with fingers and faith To find the secrets Of this magic nightmare. And What? What is the thing to break it? Hope, Reverence, A detailed map Or is the darkness just a fact, Part of the big equation, the equalizer of the light? If this is so, how best to live with it? Continue the search or post barriers, Go ever forward looking for an answer, Endear myself to the void? The choices are always mine The way seldom clear. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
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12 step recovery, acoa, al-anon, alcoholic, alcoholics anonmyous, coda, on-line meeting |
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