Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 10

REGENERATION



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


Smile at your orange wedges.

*

Let God Do What?

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

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

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

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

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


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 11



SPONTANEOUS GENERATION


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



Tiptoe into your heart for a peek.


*
A Year for Me


The world is my mollusk
and I am its pennyweight paragon,
witty girl that I am.

I have spent enough time
surrounded by wet feet and confining shells,
all held at the bottom of the sea.

This is a year for me.
I am going to climb over the rim of my briny brink
and try myself against the fearsome winds of chance.

Although souse is buoyant
I feel strong enough to stand my ground.
Time has come for life, open and raw,
but I shall leave the clams to the casino.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 12

NOUN, VERB, ADJECTIVE


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



Write an acrostic poem for a dog.

*

Old Nasty

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

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

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

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


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 13


DISTILLATION


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



Exact a toll for crossed boundaries.
*



Wales



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

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

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


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 14

KEY


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


Don’t lug excess baggage, ship it.
*


Sympathetic Strings


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

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 15


THE RAINBOW


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


Set out your clothes and plan their day.
*

Blocks or Points


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

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 16


MAGIC WAND

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



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



Rounder


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

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

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

Once bitten makes me wary
when you come around again.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 17


TIME TABLES


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


Sell yourself but not short.
*


Horse Play


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

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

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

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

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

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 18



FAR OFF PLACES


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


Keep a lock of your own hair.

*


Cicatrix and Love

The mark left by injury is indelible
though it may heal, the consequence remains.
This is also true of love.
I am branded and changed by your affection.

The improvement wrought in me does not leave when you do.
If you stop loving me,
can you no longer remember my name,
my face,
my sigh;

I am better for having had your love if only for a short time.
Good medicine offers lasting results;
the miracle of your love is my health.

The blush in my cheek,
the revitalization I feel is traceable to you,
to the days you held me in your heart
and the nights you held me in your arms.

And though I want you back in my world
the best of you lives on in my life.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 19


THE WATER YOU DRINK


“Anyone who has to be dragged to water doesn’t deserve a drink,” said my sponsor.
“What about raising the bottom?” I questioned.
“I’m not talking about that. I am discussing people you try to convince into recovery. The folks you try to accommodate. The ones you attempt to bend reality for. These are the type who will piss in your well. Let me be clear, I am not concerned with the individuals who piss in the pool, which is rude and disgusting but basically not life threatening. When your well is defiled, when the place you draw your drinking water from is used as a chamber pot, your life is at risk. Don’t ever pull your pants down over someone’s fresh water. Don’t let anyone squat with their bare ass over your sobriety.”


Play in your play clothes.
*



Rings of Color against Butterflies

Resistance I can accomplish directly;
impedance requires magnetism from an alternating world.
I can drag my heels and live life in a sandpaper shack
making everything a chore,

What it takes to throw furniture in the path of progress,
slamming doors and turning off the lights
that is more than I can do on my own.

This takes the cooperation of my disease and me,
the monkey-hoop, which is effort and clever repartee.
Look how well we do it, too.

Distracting possibilities, staving off humanity and the humane,
may not sound like much, but it takes up our whole day;
Goodness is such a persistent little grub.
It takes a concerted effort to prevent it from chrysalis
and failing that, still more determination to make sure it doesn’t fly.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 20


IT’S MY PARTY

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



Make a safe space for your radical tastes.


*

Taking the Field

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

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

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


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 21

SYMPTOMATIC BOUQUET


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


Make your mind a womb you can return to.
*



Rules

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

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

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

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


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 22



HOLD THE LINE


Relax is not the same as give up. Unwind is not fray. Let go doesn’t mean never grab hold. It is important to have moderation in all things including moderation. Exuberance and enthusiasm are wonderful in their season; too much and I could get an adrenaline addiction. Make sure your song has more than one note and make sure that you sing more than one song in your life. Change, interest and excitement are vital to my existence. Like my sponsor says, “if you take all the spikes and ridges out of your life-line, it means you’re dead.”


Give allowance to yourself.

*

The Landscape of Words

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 23

QUICK------SAND!!!


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


Limit your limits.
*

Before Ophelia

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

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

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

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


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 24



WAKE


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


Learn to use your appliances well.

*

Speak!


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

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 25


THE LIVING DREAM

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


Picture your voice.
*


God

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Sherrie


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 26

TO SLOOP

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


Map your body.
*

Keds

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

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

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

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

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


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 27


GRAFT


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


Subtract your assets from your defects.

*
Un-imbedded

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

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

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 28

JUXTAPOSITION


Right next to this world is the globe that I came from. The landmarks are similar but these spheres have little in common. The angle of refraction illuminates the place of my origin. The source of this light is legend. On my home planet, the existence of sobriety is cast off as myth. I held on to this tale with my heart. I slipped the gravitational bonds of crazy one night by the glow of the ready button on the coffeepot. Here and there intersect at only one point, a room with some chairs and a circle with a triangle. The meeting was on Step One and it was a good place to jump in.


Put a leaf on your tongue just for fun.

*
Clap

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

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

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

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

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


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 29



2 CHAIRS

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


Play colors like music.
*

The Regulator


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

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

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

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



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