Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 18

DON’T BE


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



Learn followership too.
*



Single Serving Sterling


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

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

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

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

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


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 19

COMFORT AND WILLINGNESS



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


Draw satisfaction on the wall of your brain.
*

Go Where it’s Warm

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 20



THE SEDUCTION OF SOBRIETY


I was seduced away from my duties as an alcoholic by the promise of sobriety. Allegiance to my disease was sidelined. Alluring stability and beguiling integrity curried favor with my desperate heart, pulling me from the arranged marriage of addiction. How could I cling to the corpse of dependence when sanity shimmered just out of reach, then not out of reach but within my grasp? I couldn’t resist the golden flicker of life. I had been bound to death, unable to see an alternative. My loyalty to loss and grief slipped from me and I limped into the daylight like the widow of the night. I have been lured to my senses by a love like no other, the love of life.



Raise the ceiling on optimism.
*


Blind Man’s Bluff

Turning your head to see
doesn’t help when you have a blind eye.
All the rotation in the world won’t restore your sight.

Addressing life problems with a solution
involving spin is counter productive
and sometimes counter clockwise to boot.

If I find I just can’t see, then maybe
it’s time to listen better and compensate
for my shortcoming through some other action.

Turning away doesn’t help and walking away is worse.
When I am blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other
stepping up to the plate may not be an option,
but I still need to find a way to stay in the game.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 21



HOW EVER YOU CAN


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




Fly in your dreams.
*


Hang on or Dance


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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 22

FOREVER IS NOT AS LONG AS IT USED TO BE


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


Love yourself green or blue or pink.
*


Up to Date

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 23

MEETING INVENTORY



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


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


Carrion


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

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

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

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




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 24

CAMPAIGN


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


Store thoughts, plant seeds.
*

Just Say NO to Bushel Baskets


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

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

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

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 25


AUTUMN



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


Do what you do.
*



Echidna’s Child



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

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 26

NATURAL LAW



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


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


Make Use of Brown Soap



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

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 27

THE DREAMER


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


Run before you fly.
*



Defining the Indefinable

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 28

PUBLIC PRIVACY



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


Put clothes on ambition.
*


The Slick Nature of Grace



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

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

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

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

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




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 29

SATISFACTION



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


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

*
Even at the Bottom


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

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

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



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

Would anyone who engages in regular written step work like to be part of an online study buddy duo or group? [achieved through messenger/skype/googlehangout etc.]

Personally, I find working alongside another person helpful in motivation, willingness and concentration. It is after all a 'we' programme eh?

I've been trying to find other fellowship study buddies for ages...and a queer one since I got into recovery two and half years ago.
My old bud Paul Q and I used to work side by side really well, him doing his uni work and me my step work, but then he went and bloody moved from living just around the corner from me...Tsk! [I love the dude dearly, despite his unforgiveable geographical 'betrayal' ]

Others pumpkins [from the addict/alcoholic pumpkin patch] have expressed interest but they are never willing to be pinned down and knuckle down to the work.

Currently finishing up the written work [from the NA Step Work Guide...you can do it your way] for Step 5 which I've all but done apart from the almost retrospective write up.

Because I live far, far from the cosmopolitan capital, in a wee provincial seaside town oop north, I don't have any queer fellowship in the local pumpkin patch. It's something I feel the lack of on a weekly basis.

I go to a women's meeting periodically.
It hurts that they insist on calling me a lady despite having asked them not to. Insist that "you are a girl really aren't you". Or question "Why are you at a women's meeting if you're not a man or a woman?" I don't have the will or inclination to keep explaining why I feel so isolated in a local fellowship where I am the only 'queer' person locally. There are 2 non b/f lesbians who are in no way political or challenging in their 'gayness' to the rest of the pumpkin patch. They both present as femme-ish.

So, here I am, reaching out across the big water, for butch/femme pumpkins to work alongside, who 'get it' and get me, who I don't have to explain my gender to.

Whaddaya say?

In loving fellowship

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 30

THE CALL

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


Return to an old joy for a visit.
*



Rex

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

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

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



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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 31

CHANNELING


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


Repeat until you chant.
*


Shadow of Doubt


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

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

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

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



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

Originally Posted by EnchantedNightDweller

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

How did it go END?

It's always a tough one being *the* speaker/share. I dislike doing it but always do so when asked [thankfully it's not too often]. Everyone I know, under a goodly number of years clean, think they speak a load of crap when they share from the body of the room or as *the* share/speaker. We don't have 'podiums' in our fellowship. We sit in a circle. I like the circle, I like how the energy mixes and flows in a circle.

It's come to pass that by sticking around for a few days in a row, doing the work and getting 'in the middle of the boat' as they say, that I do quite a lot of speaking in fellowship meetings. Right now I feel like a 'professional' chair-person, which requires lots of speaking...thankfully, not about myself!

Is there anyone here who does multiple meetings a week?

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 1

ORIGAMI


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


Turn right both ways.
*


Here Kitty kitty

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

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

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

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




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 2

PROMISE BROKEN


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


Open the mental crayon box.
*


Where’s Your Chair?


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

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

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

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



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 3

HARD TIME



Sometimes I pack the earth down so hard that weeds can’t even grow up through. I try to make nature inert. I try to kill my alcoholism. I confine my disease to this tiny path of compacted dirt and wear blinders as to warn off distractions. I forget there is a garden to be grown in the fertile ground of my recovering mind. Losing the compulsion to drink is a gift; stopping my mind from thinking is soul murder. I can sink my toes in the good brown soil and look to the lilies and the Queen Anne’s lace for inspiration. I can stop giving myself such a hard time.


Let art talk.
*



FIVE FINGERS THAT GOBBLE
It only takes five crayons
to turn a tracing of my hand into a turkey
and it only takes a few things to change
my drunken life into my sober life.

Looking back I am amazed
how little it has actually taken to transform my life.
My drunkenness looks about as much like my sobriety
as my hand looks like a turkey
but the transformation has taken place.

The red, the yellow, the brown,
the meetings, the steps, the sponsor, these basics are the bulk.
Sometimes it’s the small extras
that help push this work of art into the realm of believability.

Accents of green, up and down the fingers,
or a few bonus phone calls to women outside my network.
Anything can be the thing that kicks it over
into a plausible and convincing reality.

I can never be more than I am, a drunk is always a drunk
and a hand is still just a hand,
but within each of these things are unimagined
possibilities waiting to be explored.

Michelangelo believed that sculptures lurked in chunks of stone.
I have come to see that a sober woman
prowled inside this drunk
and every Thanksgiving my hand yearns to put on feathers once again.



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