Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 22



SOOT


I diligently work to remove the soot, the residue from the last time I tried to hot wire my brain. When I attempted the short circuit of my safety-thinking, I caught my life on fire and the flames, though brief, were spectacular. Electric fires are very jarring, the burning insulation toxic. It leaves bare, stuttering lines crossing and recrossing. My stable base, the method I once used to keep sane, is shot. All because I wanted to go joy riding in my thoughts. Suspended reality sounds so good but always bursts into flame, leaving me with soot removal as a hobby.


Add all the numbers of your phone number.

*
The Delano’s


Indifference is the backbone of power.
It is a state of faithlessness,
not infidelity but rank apathy,
saving every ounce of ardor for the prize you seek.

I thought I was the prize and I am;
I’m just no longer yours.
Cast aside for the leviathan and the miscreants
I wonder what I could have done to hold your attention

The answer is nothing.
Nothing could be done.
Blinded by the ambition of heroism
the struggle is the goal

No gem no matter its brilliance
can check your drive toward a place in the epic narrative.
Tis the hero’s lament to save every life except your own.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 24



CLOCKS


When the clock stops, I wind it up or replace the battery. I have to; time doesn’t end because the arms grow slow. The device wears down but the day is not over. Even if my internal metronome is bollixed, the planets keep revolving. I can’t step off the world; it doesn’t stop turning for me. I don’t always have to keep my head up but I must always go on. There is no going back. I can only remember yesterday. I can’t return to it though it’s so close the flowers are still fresh. Sometimes I struggle to keep my hands off of the past. Those are the days I secure my future and wind the clocks.


Create a map to your own happiness.
*


Princess No More

Decent is less obvious than accent
and so it is with dethroning;
those who put you upon the gilt alter with much aplomb
feel no qualm in taking you down
with not as much as a word or a grunt.

The wind has changed and your reign is over,
the poor startled girl is suddenly in the street.
For a scepter is not a club and why fight for a throne,
which is proven to be nothing more than a straight backed chair
once separated from its right relationships.

The horror of unexpected common status
is for the young bride an issue of safety and trust
not of ego or presumption.
Who is she without the Prince, the Knight,
she is Princess No More.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 24

CELEBRATIONS

“You wore a wrist corsage to the dump?”
“You said to celebrate every activity,” I retorted to my sponsor.
“Yes, by doing them with purpose. Not everything needs to be a production number. Sometimes just showing up is enough. Putting too much energy into preparation can leave you without resources. It’s okay to make an appearance, do the simple act and move on. That is a celebration in its own way. Don’t squander your vitality on the mundane. Do you know what I mean?” asks my sponsor.
“Don’t waste flowers on trash heaps?" I answer.
“Yes, and don’t wipe your bottom with poetry. I mention this in case you get any ideas.”


Put flower petals in your phone book


*
If Garfunkel Was Here

Speak of the dead and paint the living.
Paint them in a good light when you can
and into a corner when you have to.

Read the books of future generations
rather than acting as the arrogant,
who attempt to write these volumes.

Expunge nothing leave it all on view,
but move past it after taking in the implications.
Water flows under the bridge until it collapses
then it carries the bridge away.

So, speak of the dead don’t drown them,
paint the living don’t stain them,
look to the future don’t dictate to it
and let the water run.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 25



TROJAN PERSON


I feel confused by the difference between love and war. The intensity and rush are too much for my frazzled and betrayed emotions to sort out. I feel like a Trojan person. I have all these children holed up inside and they are waiting for peace and safety so they can come out and sleep. For a time I allowed them to leave for bathroom breaks, one at a time. This was not a workable solution. When these tykes would have a look around, they started to set fires and break hearts. Each child makes life a battleground, fights and claws her way across the living landscape. I must heal my insides from the center of my thoughts, not send fragments of me to blend with the unfamiliar and hostile world. Only when I can stand together with my mind and heart safe within my being will I see a way to make love on my own and leave war alone.


Shuffle your vocabulary.
*


ROUSs

Time passes, I clock it and count it
and use its passage to construct a defense
or accusation depending on my need.

I use the calendar to condemn you
because my feelings do not have sufficient leverage
for my mental calculations.

To prize disappointment from this scene
I watch the water-clock waiting for adequate drops
to lift the flood gate and free me
from your unfulfilled promise and my unrealized hope.

How long is too long to stand in a quagmire?
Why do I feel the need for permission
to leave the quicksand?



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 26

HOME TO HOPE

Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days and I have trouble finding my way home to hope. Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk. Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail. I am lost. Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention. I wander deeper into a dismal wood. How can I chop my way free? Dejection dulls my senses; I am blind to solemn assurance. I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky. Skepticism passes like storm clouds, I may feel the rain for a time; necessity reigns on both sides of every street but still I can crawl into my bed. Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.


Hop right after you put your foot down and you can skip most of your problems.



*
Estranged


After long years I have made my own acquaintance,
friendship is on a far distant shore.
I know who I am and can recognize myself
on the street or in a crowded room.

I have a legitimate sense of wariness
of the afore mentioned persona,
nothing too nasty, just a discomfort.

She is not someone I would bring home,
maybe not even share a meal with
but I can stand her, minus intimacy,
minus any deep empathy.

I feel an awkwardness in acknowledging her,
strange as this might sound.
She is no one to be ashamed of,
not a truly bad actor

Yet the reports say she doesn’t live up to her potential
and I have it on personal authority
that she actually surpasses it on most days
and keeps this a closely held confidence.

And there it is, I know her secrets
but I don’t keep her.
This is what makes me strange and her stranger.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 27


MEMORIAL DAY


Veteran of the addiction wars, I have scars but few medals. I don’t need a purple heart, mine is black and blue. I don’t keep trophies either, no empty bottles or old syringes. Hostages, I have released them, too. I found often they held me from what my life could be. I wear my defects and wave my flag. I am slowly learning to live in peacetime. The big battles have been won; it is up to me to stop replaying the scenes of engagement. Armistice is a beautiful thing; too bad there is no better way to get to it.


Write the dedication page for your life.
*


Queens: More than a Borough


My drama is bigger than yours.
My drama can kick your drama’s ass.
Well maybe not, but it sure is kicking mine.

Like a rain soaked grave, I stand in this muddy hole,
sides slick, unassailable and count the piles of tragedy ,
all the while knowing it will bury me
not facilitate a climb out.

I attempt to display the face of comedy
and yet the mask can not fool me, my true audience.
I think if I can keep it all up on stage I will be alright,

But then the point of theater is
that everything is carried away
in the minds of all who come and watch.

Silence doesn’t help either
for there is little worse than a bad mime
and doing it well just makes me Lillian Gish.

So, back to Bohemia for isn’t it all a rhapsody,
though it would all be so much better
if Freddy Mercury weren’t dead.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 28

NETWORKS

Testing my sponsor when I’m hurt is like probing for gas with a lit cigar in my mouth. If I can’t find a way to douse the cheroot before posing my questions it’s guaranteed I will get an explosive response. I need a network; they follow me with sand, snatch from me my burning pacifier and save me from sticking my smoldering end where it doesn’t belong. We all need a little excitement in our lives but I don’t have to become an incendiary device to fill that need. I forget that boring isn’t the same as death; it just feels that way. Some days, distance prevents disaster; a good support system carries me away to face it on another day.


Don’t be afraid to turn the kaleidoscope.

*
RAID !!!


So, you stepped into a hornets nest
and now how am I to respond?
Blame you, no, I don’t think so,

I mean you are the exterminator
and some stings are to be expected,
but this is far beyond even your honed ability
to anticipate wasps.

Cry, running from this ambush?
Again, I decline
I still want you after the war is over,
even if I can not fight by your side.

Protest, I try to refrain,
I never want to make your job harder
but I don’t want to leave the impression
I have no concern, so I walk the fine line.

Standing on the sidelines is harder than you think,
I am helpless and lonely,
not as exciting as your work
and no comfort from this distance.

I must hold my breath
while you provoke the bees.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 29



POWER


When power arrives, it comes complete with blindfold, mask and lullaby. I am blinded to what effect I have. Others cannot see me, only the unchanging masquerade covering my face. All my fears and apprehensions are soothed by the melody singing in my ear. I am possessed. The hard thump of the bottom reaching up to get me is my sole hope of release. I can’t reason my way back from a trip with power; the isolation is too far-reaching, my senses numbed, my thinking biased. Salvation as a cold smack is the jolt required. Fire takes fire; power takes the same.


Draw your own lines then color out of them.

*


Black & Dedication

The brand of equipment endorsed by my Higher Power
is built so that my hand is clasped inside
lest I feel alone or unaided.

A closed mouth and an open mind work very well
when I can manage either of them
and Step 10 works when I can’t.

I am usually the problem in my life
but I am always the solution.
Others may change and contribute;
I am the one and only one, responsible for my happiness.

Dropping blame from my vocabulary and adding responsibility,
learning to differentiate between what is mine and what is yours;
these tools are keys and they open worlds of possibility to me.

Also they shut out the demons of wrong thinking,
wrong acting and desperation, which used to plague me.
There are still greater tools I yearn for
but like everything I must be patient
and build my muscles to handle the heavier machinery.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 30



FROZEN STRAWBERRIES


“I have them in the freezer,” I tell my sponsor.
“I’m sure you do. When are you going to take them out and reenact spring?” her retort.
“I don’t want to take them out before I’m ready. I don’t want them to go to waste.”
“Oh, the Excuse Maker, the Staller. Are you going to drag all the old chestnuts out of the closet? I thought you were going to defrost strawberries.”
“Fear, you’re saying fear of strawberries is not a sign of stability?" I ask her.
“Eat the strawberries or not, but it seems to me you didn’t get sober to avoid the sweeter things in life, keeping all your goodness locked up in the deep freeze destined for frost bite.”


Let sunshine climb in your eyes and fall upon your heart.


*
I’m not Brian


I thought life was based on a system of
‘I will suffer and that will exempt you’.
Then I would be horrified when you suffered,
after I had already done so ahead of you.

In an attempt to ease my dismay I would look to see
who had broken the pact, you or me.
Had I not endured sufficiently to protect you?
Had you left the safety of the umbrella of sanctuary?

Panic gives birth to blame
and blame of course births nasty biting things
that run loose and bury in all the tender spots.

Now the goals I tend are to end the breeding
of those sharp and painful beasties,
stop laying my neck upon the alter
and start telling better jokes.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 31



SPACE


I stand behind the podium and talk about the event horizon, which brought me into these rooms. My audience: other unwitting astronauts whose lives, like mine, were deconstructed by the Black Hole of addiction. Though the time and place may be different, the physics of compulsion and allergy are precise and repetitive. Nodding heads affirm my calculations to be accurate with the vectors and trajectories of their own experience. I conclude, with the gratitude of a reassembled life, and pray, with gravity, for my feet to stay on the ground.


Toast your bread with satisfaction.
*





The Attention Tax


Paying attention is the price exacted for living in this society.
A taxation which is like a leach;
it takes the life force, diverts my brain waves,
claims the water rights to my river of thought.

What is left I use to wash off what I can,
never quite managing to feel clean or clear.
I sit in the mud puddle
still unsure if I understand what just happened;
harboring a dark fear of the wave to come.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 1

SEASONAL EXPECTATIONS

If I am out of sync with the way the world turns, I can be nothing but disappointed. I arrive with ice skates on the hottest summer day and grieve the loss of spring. I shiver in my sandals and ponder the need for a windshield scraper, the autumn leaves so long past. I must orchestrate my moods and movements with the evolution and revolution about me. I will learn to sing with the doves in the morning and the coyotes, come the moon. I can spin with the stars. I can grow with the grass. I don’t need to counter- balance life. If I learn to bend with the tides, it all comes around again.


If moles can make hills you can move mountains

*
Soul Chiggers


If you can seed apprehension deeply in a generation,
you can reap disillusionment for a hundred years.
Bent foresight twists hindsight.

Admiring ignorance, signs death’s warrant.
Evil splintered to a thousand slivers
burrows under the skin without killing their host.

Death delayed spreads destruction along with melancholy;
a septic contagion if ever there was one.
How do we fight this systemic blight?

It is embedded in the water,
the air, the mind, and try what I might;
I can’t seem to live without any of these.

Chiggers of the soul feed and breed
no matter how I scratch and chew.
I am raw, but still infested.

How do I kill what is in me
without killing the me?

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 2

MYTHIC ADULT


My mythic adult is seen by the crowds around me; never is the charade exposed. Close inspection has been suspended so we can keep each other’s secrets. Circulating through the crowd, these children are impoverished from carrying this load of pretense. Dropping this burden is a risk far too great. Exposure invites attack. Stand tall; act brave. Unreasonable expectations are the water that moves the wheel, the power that generates this ongoing play. Hamlet is dead, yet I reprise the part daily. Daily I watch my fellows do the same. I mimic a ghost I never knew in life. Did it ever live? Or is it only a mythic adult?


Plant some things for their flower and others for their fruit.
*

Head Wringing

I have my say, though my fear is
that I constantly repeat myself;
very much the way a crow calls the same thing endlessly,
but it all has different meanings to the crow.

I would offer code keys to my readers
if I could lay my hands on one.
My mind whispers that the soothing
people get from my work is like the calm
induced by chanting monks.

Possibly it is more the actor’s trick of reading repetitive lines
each time putting the emphasis on a different word;
a way of squeezing all the juice from nonsense.

I jot ideas swearing these lines are to be found somewhere
in my previous work, perhaps whole pages are redundant.
Finally I stop this fight reminding myself I have but one voice
and what I accuse myself of as similarity might merely be my style.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 3

NO GOLD STARS

I look at my chart, then my chest; there are no gold stars. I long for the affirmation of my great and seemingly endless struggle. I watch the movements of those with shiny shoes and hope to be awarded with the gummed insignia. When I hang by a thread, I desire the corroboration of foil cutouts to assure me I have done right; I have stayed alive. Punishment I fear less than lack of consolation. But, no one truly knows my bravery and if I want these paper emblems, I can just go and buy my own.

Count unhatched chickens but don’t place them on the menu.


*
The Hope Diamond

My guess is
the same god that wants me stupid
also wants me to suffer.
I ask myself what could be all powerful about that?

I wonder is God like a friend or a lover?
I carefully chose my friends
whereas my lover found me
against my greatest plans and well thought rules.

And if this is to be like marriage,
may I file for divorce if things go astray?
Or am I stuck with this match,
like I am stuck with my deformed ear
there underneath hat or fringe of hair?

I never thought of my relationship with God
like a necklace I could take on and off at will,
though the more I study it seems this beautiful thing
enhances my beauty if all is right
and will strangle me if it gets hung up.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 4



FREQUENTLY


When my daydream gets so threadbare I no longer use it, I must turn to other sources. When I cannot conjure on my own and elucidation makes me cross eyed, I must turn to HP. I have puttered and prolonged the way to naming this legendary and fabulous enigma. I drew out even longer any desire for close association with the same. I have milled with the millstone and surfed in the whirlpool, dragged my feet and thrown a fit, but this only stalled the inevitable result. Naming and interaction is the need and now is the time. I have a Higher Power and I choose to call it Frequently.



Dreams grow wings if you let them.
*



Eggshells and Bethlehem

A stable is a place to keep a horse
and in fairytales a place to birth a baby,
but stable is the story I told myself about you.

Solid, a model of strength
and here you are a tripod,
upright only if the pressure is evenly applied.

I blame myself for lopsided need
and try to find a way to keep this coupling standing.
Stripped down to minor contact
I wonder if you actually remember me
and then I wonder if I remember myself.

This is what is at stake, this is the trophy I lose
when I fall for you and you fall down.
Where is the girl I worked so hard to create?

Broken eggshells litter the nest
and I look for the chick I used to be.
I fear losing you,
I cry at the thought of losing us,
I die at the loss of me.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 5

DOLL

“Why is your face all red?” asked my sponsor.
“I didn’t get my way,” I responded.
“And this crimson appearance is the result?”
“You see that it is. I was very careful about what I wanted and worked hard to be reasonable.”
“And Baby, you were. You did nothing wrong. Your ego was in check and you kept your expectations in proportion.” said my sponsor.
“Then why didn’t it work out my way?”
“I only have a sad and simple answer for you. The result had nothing to do with you, your wants, expectations or desires. The whole experience boils down to only one thing: It was not that type of party, Doll.”
“Oh.”



Promise yourself tears like rain and smiles like sunshine.

*




Discussions with my Disease


“You’re not the girl I used to know.”
“Not the girl you used to love is what you mean?”

“You’re different is all I mean to say.”
“The rest you leave there to rot, unsaid?”

“Something has happened to you.”
“Is it something that you do not like?”

“I don’t know who you are anymore.”
“Or is it that you never knew?”

“One false move could break us up.”
“All your moves are false
why will one more cause such change?”



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 6


THE ONE I BOUGHT

There are fairy tales I never gave credence to. Multiple bear stories don’t move me. Cats with footwear have not warranted a second thought. True love-----now that one I still buy hook, line and sinker. Work hard and true love will fix the rest; that is what I have always believed. The evil spell I have walked under during my sad little life will be broken only by the durable and all-fulfilling love of my betrothed. Each time this plan fell through, the blame was leveled at the wrongness of the match but not the wrongness of the plot. Anytime I work to be restored to sanity by one person, I have displaced a rightful power and thrown myself to the sea.


Let a whisker width of optimism carry your day.

*

Enclosed Space


In the echo chamber it is the cymbals
which cause the most pain.
The drums resound, deep and loud,
but it is the crashing of brass that drives me wild.

Cotton, wool and sealing wax
cannot put my head at ease.
Resonate walls with their hollow effects
create the feedback loops of hurt.

Like the endless reflection of parallel mirrors
the sounds come back to me with relentless repetition.
Aural illusion might have been the idea,
but chaos is the result.

Leaving the space between these ears
will be, will allow, the band to play on
without the benefit of my torment.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 7



HOSTAGE DOLL


A doll stands wedged between two mailboxes, naked and exposed, the edge of the road passing her by. She is there to pay for my self-loathing. I throw my treasures in the air as skeet to be shot and shattered. Hate is the obnoxious microbe, which sours my digestion and rids me of nutrition and affection. I purge love and tenderness. I rip the covers from my playthings and leave them to bleed. I hide in my self-destruction. I put garish displays street-side and cry my tears alone. I can not ransom innocence to pay the price of fear. I must bring in the broken babies and put hate out on the curb.


Tickle wit with realism.
*

Weight Problem


I have trouble raising my 50 pound hand in meetings.
In between meetings I have the problem
of trying to dial the 500 pound phone.

Which leaves me with this 2,000 pound weight
on my chest and no air to breathe, no life to lead.
There is the difficulty of the relentless tyrant,
my would be sponsor, the person I fail to ask.

Plus the home group that does not support me,
since they do not know my name.
All the while folks laugh and talk and have a good time,
I can see none of them have suffered from my weight problem



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 8



THREE ROOSTERS


The three roosters come to the meeting to hear themselves crow. The membership purely spectators in the longest, lowest, loudest sobriety competition. Those of us in the fray are like picked-on-puppies who learn slowly not to put our heads up to spare our eyes and hearts. The same noise comes repeatedly. Suspicion is never aroused; the heads nod at all the right places, orchestrated for ego and nothing else. The meeting is closed with a momentary prayer for the still suffering in and out of the room. I pray that will be enough.


Tour your past but leave at closing time.

*

Abraxas



I was waiting for a magic person
and then you appeared.
I was dazzled;
I was under your spell.

In an attempt to prove myself
your natural assistant I sawed me in two.
Then I stepped into the vanishing cabinet
and promptly disappeared.

I was not wrong to see the miraculous in you,
but I never looked from your visage once you arrived.
The world around me melted at your entrance
and I flowed down the drain along with it.

I somehow expected a response from you,
but why respond to an empty room?
So, I will plug back into myself and power up.

Power draws power
and I will see if I can draw you once again.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 9



GULPING


The plug that lodges in my throat from too much, too fast, causes the anxiety to rise in me. The panic fulls my contracting muscles into rock solid revolt. 'I can’t live' is the predictable result. Gulping attention, acclaim, excitement, sex does the same thing. My heart clots and my personality stops in mid flow. Everything, in carefully chosen well-chewed bites, makes the process proceed. My life works along workable paths if I stay away from oversized freight. I can never swallow myself whole; why would I keep trying to imbibe giants like desire?


Tumble your heart like a stone then warm it.


*

Prize Catch



There is a reason that fish flap and twist
when they are caught,
why even though they are in the air
they fight for the life that once was theirs

Only martyrs go without a fight,
it is good to know that at least this vice is not mine.
When I did not love my life its loss was not an actual change,
there was nothing to hold onto, nothing to struggle for.

Now I thrash at the feel of my loved life slipping from me.
It is good to know I have passion enough to rally a defense.
My life can be taken from me, but I haven’t lost my will to fight.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 10



DANCE OF DEATH


Honeyed words pour from painted lips; shades of doubt color my mind. Stained glass eyes look to blank walls and picture the gallery of imagination, attempting to sell it for hard currency. Sirens sing from the throats of mute men; the screams which rise in me fall on deaf ears. Paradox feeds controversy but it needn’t. Evolution from a cesspool is repugnant though progress is steadily made. Inertia is violent if that is from whence it came. Afterbirth is always bloody and humans not always nice. I must live and heal as others climb up and slide down. I must keep the beat and forget the dance of death.


Float your expectations and check for daggers underneath.

*

Dido
Either I can have a bad relationship that I never wanted
or no relationship and the painful isolation of having been lied to,
deceived by someone who, in theory, should have been trustworthy.
You are off to war and I am agape
not having realized until too late that you are a soldier.
The fact is that one of these things will occur;
you will be killed by a machine which cares nothing for you
and sees you as its enemy or destroyed by the organization
that sees you as its own.
Or you will throw yourself on your sword
and keep from bothering anyone else with this task.
There is no scenario where you are the One you promised me you’d be.
No homecoming, no welcoming arms to hold me.
I stand on the sidewalk,
a garbage pail of cold water poured over my shock and dismay.
To my grief you say that you have heard it all before,
so why did you set me up to say it all again?
I am heart stricken and cut in a place to obvious to hide
and too hidden to speak of.
You have no time to talk, no aid to give, no love to spare.
I thought I was yours, but see that I have been swept from your life
by the flood of a large gauge hose and water of questionable origin.
Everything is wet but nothing is clean.
This is an unholy act and I am defeated and living in Carthage

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 11


BOTTLE THE ACID


My sponsor said to bottle the acid and so I did. I sat back in smug reflection until the plumbing backed up. I grabbed the fast solution and poured it down the drain. My sponsor smiled as I learned the baser things will eat my life away, too. I can never just decant power and expect it to sweep clean the clogged pathways in my recovery. Sloshing caustic medicine into open orifices brought me here. I long for the ease of a liquid resolution. In the end, I must clean the pipes myself. The traps are simpler to cleanse the less I’ve lied. Telling myself I don’t have to get my hands or heart dirty is the biggest lie of all.


Eat lunch with relish.
*


Sanitized
All the water in the well, gone dry, belongs to me.
Such an offer, how could I refuse?
I stand as near the edge as I can get
and try my best to peer, is the goldfish alive?
For you see this is still my best hope,
you, the source are also my wishing well,
more than just survival you are prospect, neigh dream.

You say that what’s left is mine,
but you think of it as incidental, not a need, merely a want.
Someplace deep, beyond where you admit,
you know that life is dependent on desire,
but will play mine off as casual
when it becomes inconvenient to your drives and blindness.

Eunuchs do not immediately perish,
but you must confess they do not live.
I stand here a lock to which there is no longer a key
and whether I am open or closed it doesn’t matter
for the partnership of change is desecrated
and I do not care for a waterless solution.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 12

THE WORM


Because there is never enough punishment for those who inflict hurt, I punish myself. Only I can tell if the depth of the pain is a match; only I can judge when enough is enough. This is the turn of the drunken worm who lives in my brain. The belief that what began in pain must end there, too. Even now in recovery, I persist in hurting myself a thousand tiny ways. setting trap after trap to catch the perpetrators, I make my heart a mine field, a place unfit for me to live. I must sober the worm and let myself off the hook.


Dip intentions into action and let them firm up.

*
Circular Needles

I react badly when I find a loose thread
because I never know what might be unraveling.
I have knit my heart out;
have dropped an occasional stitch to be sure.

Unbeknown to me these little holes in my logic
wait for the stress of overextension
to run through the length of my life, untying earnest work.

If I could catch these unsecured thoughts
before it all goes too far ,
I might have a chance to hook back into the main fabric
and prevent this unfurling of collateral.

When the cord is cut and the line flaps freely real panic ensues.
Even if capture of both ends is possible,
knots are awkward, unseemly and gauche.

I was planning a seamless life, smooth and beyond reproach.
My fear of reprisal flares
before the ever-burning coals of abject self-doubt
have a chance to be felt.

This banked inferno generates the things which bake and fry my nerves,
burn my threads and disintegrate my mantle.
I need to put out the fire before I re-knit my world.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 15



IN THE MEADOW


Being the only tree in the meadow often leaves me feeling lonely. I tell myself of the camaraderie I imagine in the forest. These images are more poetic than real. I believe in community and support; I think of the woods as this place apart from the complications of my exposed life. I shrug off the very real competition and struggle from sharing every inch of root space and the search for each square of sunlight. There is much joy in being an individual. An eco-system of diversity allows me to fully develop. I can spread my branches and my roots. I can offer shelter to those in need of my reaching and my shadow; tender flowers and tired birds find me a haven. I have unique abilities in this field. Space can feel lonely but it is full of possibilities.


Press up against your iron will.
*

Poe-etiquette


Cosmic questions cross the sky,
I wonder but don’t ask why
I pitch the tent, but don’t stay the night

I borrow money and don’t pay the rent
I sooth myself but can’t be content
I earn my keep though it is all been spent

The real true meanings are pushed away,
Has ready tragedy come to stay
Forever darkness, no more light of day
Cheerful greeting left to lay

All the poets bring their knives
For blood letting’s become their prize
Here I sit and tend the boat

Rocking dingy out to moor
I play the Raven, black and poor
I dare not speak it but in my mind sing
“Never more”

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 14



RED ROSES


From tight green buds come beautiful red roses. From small verdant places I blossom, too. I open to richness unexpected and fullness unbelieved. I look at laundry crumpled, never anticipating the look of clean sheets blowing on the line. Doors I perceive as blocked by vast boulders are thrown open by willingness. Who I am today is no one I recognize; I didn’t see myself coming. I write though I can’t spell. I love though my heart is broken. I think though my mind is warped and I trust though the amulet is long shattered. Promise is not a laid out plan but the continuum of change. I can fight it or let it carry me where it goes.



Smile at similes.
*


What I Heard Through the Snow

The commentator’s voice fades in and out
as the reception is lost and found
among the static of my drive home.

In here is a pattern, a connect the dots matrix;
I try to feel my way too
as I weave past the slow and stubborn traffic.

Like a call from the wilderness
distorted through a storm, my frantic thoughts obscure,
sometimes distort the content, the intent,
the soul of a message I so desperately need.

Broadcast warnings, safety suggestions,
help and hope are torn to slivers
and rewoven in my careworn brain.

The distraction of the road allows the subliminal heart beat
to tattoo in my ear then my chest, all the way to my toes,
bodily acceptance overpowers my relentless mind
and clarity is achieved, no matter the drifts.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 13

OPEN WINDOWS



I roll down the window in the rain hoping reality will soak in with the droplets. I tilt up my face as I leave the car and let the water shower my features. The downpour is the jolt to living for which I have prayed. I stand on my lawn and rinse the day out of my hair; I clear my brain in the fresh rainwater. The driving rain pounds the house and trees but I feel massaged and cared for. My skin, reflexive, teaches my mind to absorb and hydrate. I turn my thoughts to Greater Powers. Even if the doors have been closed, I can open the windows and let the rain come in.


Soap the windows on some of your ideas so you can work in privacy.
*


Down to the Watership


The immoderate champions immoderation;
the glutton recommends consumption,
more often than not a drunk will pour you a drink

It is part of the social norm to conform
to the addiction of the day.
If we are all high we laugh at each other’s jokes
and there is less finger pointing about the mess.

When we are all in this together we sink or we swim,
but we mustn’t look around.
Like the rabbits who cannot ask, “Where?”

We try to look at ease with dying
and contented with our lot.
More must be better
for we can’t survive on less than what we’ve got.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 16

THE BEAR

Living with my disease is like having a sleeping bear in the house. I knew it was there, could hear it snore. I never felt comfortable or able to turn my back on it and get on with my life. I felt under certain threat. Fearing the bear would wake when my attention was elsewhere, I proceeded to poke my sleeping bear with a stick. I prodded it to wakefulness; in retrospect, it is clear I was unprepared for a wakeful bear, even with my full attention fixed on this brute. The bear, which is my disease, roamed about the house and made forays out into the world. I had no plan or tool for these events. Finding a legion of people who had worked out living arrangements with their bears, I happily joined their ranks. My bear wakes and sleeps at its will but I am no longer afraid or unskilled at handling this creature. Today I am so grateful for the bear in my life and would never want a life without it. I live in a world filled with bears and would be at a loss as to how to exist if not for the practice and success with the bear that is my own.


Draw a picture of time.
*

Limen


Do you leave when it is time to go
or are you the type who exits early?
Does departure time find you lingering
trying to squeeze out one more minute
rooted in this spot?

Are you the kind of person who loves the street,
but avoids the parade?
Can you bear to go, bear to stay,
bear to think that the world exists beyond this door?

Do you move with the other sheep
when all the crowd says, “Baa.”
Are you fleet with a sky full of clouds obeying the breeze,
flaunting the tides?

Do you change with the seasons
or are you passed from hand to hand,
living your life in the snow of a globe?

My life is my life,
but the most vital evidence of how I live it
is what I do on thresholds.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 17


BOUQUET

I love the flowers in my garden. Their upkeep is my solemn trust. With my shears, I must cut, clear and swift, the runners that detract from their health and structure. When fruiting is heavy, I must spare the stalk and choose what stays and what needs to be taken. I am scrupulous in my observation of form and function. The bucolic scene thrives; the pageant of color sweeps the rows. I bend to nurture and stretch to prune. I pay over-much attention to the plucking and forget I need to bring the blooms home.


Allow a dark worldview to illuminate a lightness of spirit.
*


Tea Totaler


My alcoholism was anonymous
even while I was active.
My destruction was internal,
outside evidence kept to a minimum.

It is easy to understand why so many
from my past as well as my present
are shocked to see me a member
in good standing for a club they never saw
me pay the price to join.

But cost doesn’t always advertise in the public square.
I know the score, the numbers etched upon my soul.
I need to be well even if you didn’t know, I am sick.

I take the medicine;
offer a smile to those who think it prophylactic
and keep upon my path.

Just because you didn’t know the contents of my bottle
doesn’t mean I didn’t earn the tag on my tea.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 18



CLONING DAYS


The novelty of sobriety causing sweet days wore to gauze and I attempted control. I cut, pasted and sutured elements of good living in an effort to make 24 hours of personal perfection. I was so sure I could replicate these jewel like days. I would make perfect spheres, everything round and even, one after another like a string of pearls. The more I tried the harder God laughed. Days are their own planets; Saturn is different from Mars and today will have just as little to do with tomorrow if I let it all work out. Perfection is a thing, which is born to live, not a thing I can craft in a dish or a test tube. Life must will-out or chaos will prevail.



Take two words and make a seesaw in your mind.
*



Who is Who

Remake the bed for the restless child in you
who sleeps better if attention is paid to the small kindnesses.
Placating her saves you the sound of her plaintive cry.

If you teach yourself
or allow yourself to grow fond of her, this child you,
these simple chores will seem light, refreshing, natural.

If you fight her she will grow strong
and you will grow weak.
Don’t resist nature.
Don’t resist your nature.

Take a hug to share
as you would take an apple divided
on a walk in the woods with a companion.

Share emotional embraces,
let your thoughts surround her
when you make plans and do deals.

If you treat her as if she is the best of you,
you will become the best of her.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 19



THE LANDING


Risers and runners lift from where I stand. Here I make my decision. I climb and face the challenges of my life. Each new test returns me to this square; the steps ascend in every direction. No matter how many times I have scaled this set of twelve, I must start anew with even the slightest change of direction. Like facets on a diamond’s base, the flights emerge from the tiny base and hold the world of possibilities within their meticulous surface. I look into these precious mirrors to see who I am and where to go, though none of this would be possible without a place to stand.



Chart the constellation of your features.

*

In the Beginning is the End

I wonder if the road would show the reflection
of its end would I walk down it still.
I always decide that I wouldn't want to miss anything,
not even the most painful things,
yet this may simply be a flaw in my upbringing.
An overvaluing of survival.

What of you?
If the knowledge of beginning and end
were within your grasp would you begin?
Would you flee the end?
This end or every end?

Or is it the beginning that you fear?
And why not, for doesn’t every beginning
hold within it every end?

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 20

THE PALMIST


Last night I had a silly dream. I was in a tent at a carnival and the woman across the table held my hand so dear, looked into my eyes and said, “Today you will go to a meeting that will save your life.” I thanked her and left full of anticipation. When I awoke, I was filled with the same strong sensation. I rose, washed and left for the meeting with anticipation. I paid close attention to the coffee maker, those setting up chairs with me, and the newcomer. I listened carefully to the speakers and the sound of the group’s voice closing in prayer. Nothing out of the ordinary happened… other than my realization that every meeting saves my life.


Believe in contradiction.

*
Notice

I put myself on the auction block
and wait to see how high a rate
I will have to pay to become slave to my illusions.

I have worked so ardently to free myself
from past enslavements and here I stand naked on this block,
selling myself and hoping I will fetch a price.

Poisonous pedagogy is atomized, contained in every breath,
I don’t know how to live apart from it
and thus I stand waiting to be bought.

It no longer matters how I got up here the first time
for who cares that slaves enslave.
All that matters is that there seems no safe way off this block
or out of this web, or down this street;

The world seems a bad neighborhood everywhere I turn.
Yet I must admit that standing here affords a view
I would not have if I were buying.

If I am a slave I can have hope of someday being free,
if I am a owner what hope might there be?



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 21



FABULOUS


“I don’t care what else is on the inventory. You still have to take responsibility for fabulous,” said my sponsor with a determined look on her face.
“But you don’t understand. The other things on the list make it impossible for me to be fabulous. You just can’t see how incapable I truly am,” I say as I collapse into a pathetic heap in the overstuffed chair.
“What you don’t comprehend is that fabulous is not affected by your other little grumbling. You can’t tarnish fabulous; it doesn’t wear away with burden or neglect. This is why no matter how far you bury it, or misname it, or even flatly deny it, fabulous shines like a beacon and you end up with every Todd, Nick and Martha on your doorstep expecting you to be who you are and let them warm in the glow. So, my cherub, you can fight it or live with it, but fabulous is here to stay.”
And this ladies and gentlemen is how my sponsor wins all the arguments.



Pour a rainbow into your dreams.
*



Do Not Enter

Putting all the mess
securely behind that door is no protection.
If the keys are changed will I be able to open it?

If the locks retumbled will I crack the combination?
Like a demon sealed within a womb
emergence is inevitable either upon this mortal plain
or cellularly encoded and reborn at a later date.

Prison is what holds captive the innocent,
evil is always at liberty.
Walling off my parts and pieces
severs limbs and destroys thinking.

Loads of cheesecloth is what I need; filter and refilter,
catching all debris. Putting the toxic things
to better use and making myself free.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 22


INVENTORY

“When you say ‘self’ who ever do you mean?” asked my sponsor. “Do you mean the lovely velvet child or the facade you built to show others?”
“Well, I wish I could answer you, I do,” my reply.
“I see the shrine you construct in your sobriety. I love that you made it. When you talk about ridding yourself of ‘self’ I doubt you mean this edifice. Do you speak of some creature in the past? Do you know of whom you speak? Are you parroting then assuming this thing exists solely for you to now dispose of it?”
“I thought ‘self’ was self-evident,” I feebly interject.
“I want names and locations. If you only suspect some of these entities please provide me with a full accounting of your suspicions. I also want, to the best of your ability, the origin of these individuals. I am unwilling to cosign their disposal without a proper bookkeeping. I see by the bright look on your face I have made myself clear,” she said with conviction.
“So, this is what you meant by self inventory,” I say and sigh.


Draw a maze of exit from a dilemma.
*


The Tide in Texas

I cannot tell you of my pain,
how the liars took me off my land,
how my heart lay shattered all around,
how I’m so foolish and left in town.

I cannot show you the big red ball,
which to me is a shame
or how it bobs and sways or how the tail of it hangs
out of reach and taunts me all the day.

But growing up to face the facts
and finding my strong legs
has put me to another tact
and sucks the mud away.

Sharing my disappointment and my grief
is like adding ballast to the boats.
It lifts us all instead of sinking me.
Not much of a price to pay.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 23

TOO FAR, TOO FAST


Balloons filled with hydrogen race the atmosphere and fly away. The effect is stunning, so much lift for just pennies. The easy way has no line, no waiting; fast dirty service is available. Risk assessment is counter-balanced with dramatic outcome, low initial cost and instant gratification. How can I not want to rise above the crowd? How can I not want it now? Hydrogen is quick and plentiful, volatile yes, but why should this bother me? I have a Higher Power to protect me. It’s not as if I were playing with fire. I am only tempting it.


Tell the tale of your life from the perspective of your thumb

*
For Want of Frith


I feel like I am standing on a trap door,
every flex in my footing triggers insecurity.
With my arms spread wide,
I think the wiser move might be
to hold them to my sides.

For if the little square did give way
my arms might be sheared off
with no time served for the tears I’ve cried
or the blood now shed sprinkled on the earth.

Step from this I tell myself
and do not make delay
for all the ground is not a trap
nor all the world a stage.

But is it not the trade in pain
that sticks me to this spot
and keeps me here for all my life
just waiting for the drop.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 24



WATER BABIES

Timeless babies bobble in their underwater positions. Voiceless cherubs bounce and wink the river of their wisdom streams to my feeble mind. The noise of silence wrinkles and tinkles as the waves crash soundlessly above. My head fills; I must surface but beg not to lose my connection when I break the tension of top-side sobriety; I turn these angels to screened-off faithfuls. I owe all I have to these aquatic infants. Every hope, all my fear is held to test in the face of swimming heroines and their embryonic grave.


Read a poem to a plant.


*
Living as a Megaphone


He whispers in my ear,
I part my lips and let it all run out.
Vacant tube of a thing,
his words pour through me
nothing to stem the flow,
He hides behind me, the bully that he is.

I stand with rings painted bright concentric, bold.
I am nothing;
I know it
and don’t need him to tell me,

My inactions speak louder than his words.
He is not the one who bore right through my core;
he is just the little worm who is living there secure.
I will have to purge him out to be his megaphone no more.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 25

ALONE IN A NEW WAY


I am restored. I have my sanity like a spring coat. I am not sure I need it but it’s nice to have nevertheless. I prayed for this state of reason believing it would give me entry to a world where I was a late arrival. Much to my chagrin I have found myself obscenely early to a party I am no longer sure will ever take place. I stand in the entrance hall and practice new dance steps. I search the space for prospective partners but rarely see anyone who is swaying to the same beat. I am grateful for my sanity even if I have to enjoy it alone.


Write a sassy letter and let it dance.
*


I am Not an Island

Upon finding myself alive
I decided to throw my life back into the sea.
I was not living on this dry and sandy shore.

The baking sun does nothing to improve me.
I was belched forth onto the beach,
but never belonged there.

I tried to see myself as evolving,
tried desperately to sprout some legs.
Sucked air through my gills and attempted to sing.

I am not ready for this today.
Perhaps this is my future,
the way the current will carry me that I cannot tell.

I do know I need the water on my scales
and pressure in my lungs right now.
I do not know what tomorrow brings

Or what I am capable of
just that I will not fault myself
for not having been born a dove.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 26



ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE


Just because the crows fly away when I arrive doesn’t mean they are afraid, but they might be. The obvious answers are usually the correct ones; I must leave room for the unlikely answers, too. Sometimes a spade is a shovel and a gofer is occasionally a retriever. The world is a wonderful and fearful place where possibilities are endless if I am willing to allow the light to strike these sheltered doubts. Any day, anywhere, an alcoholic can stay drunk or get sober.


Practice your game face so you don’t have to play a game.
*

Chock Full of Nuts


I am not a coffee maker.
I come from a long line of non-coffee drinkers
and I don’t drink it myself.

I made the coffee for my home group once
and was asked not to do it again.
This is when I realized my service talents
must lay elsewhere, and they do.

I am a good sponsor for those who want what I have
or at least want to attempt what I am trying to get toward.
I am a good representative.
I can carry the wishes of my group to the district.

I am learning to share my story and carry the message
and hope to do it well.
So, my question to you is
to what service do you most naturally bend?



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 27



RECLAMATION ARTIST


I stand over the refuse can and peer in; I drive slowly past the piles of curbside discards. I have so much trouble accepting there is no reclaiming most of this ever-growing mass. There must be an alternate plan but I can’t see it yet. I surround myself with hopeful stacks and wishful trinkets. I want to make a new world from the old, save past relationships and make them somehow fresh. I don’t want to drown. I fear I can’t think fast enough to keep the wave from breaking over us all. I will maintain an open mind and be grateful my life was retrieved from the dustbin. I’ll steal peeks at what has been put out for lost. I was once lost, too.


Read your favorite book one page a day.

*


When I rise up and when I lay down

In order to be happy with you
I have to learn to be happy without you.
I gasp at the pain of it

I desperately wish that the above statement were not true,
but alas, you are gone in a way that I can never reclaim you
and to hold on to what of you is still tentatively available
I must release my frightened grasp.

A wisp of smoke is not the bonfire of our past,
but it is what remains and I breathe it in as best I can.
Immediately I realize I am holding on again.

I breathe you out, let you go.
I want to run screaming throwing you from my bonds,
yet another of my attempts at control.

So, now it’s time to pray.
Not a prayer to get my way, not a prayer to make you stay,
not a prayer to make you gone, just a prayer to live on my own.

God help me please to live my life,
Please guide me away from strife.
I am lost and cannot find my way,
Father, hold me till the light of day.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 28



ONIONS


“I heard people in meetings sharing about peeling onions. They said they peel layer after layer until it’s all gone! What the hell is that all about?" I demanded in the general direction of my sponsor.
“Zealotry, it’s about zealotry. I peel my onions too. I have many layers of dried up, paper-thin, rhetoric that I use to protect myself. I have to slit this papery husk and eject myself from the illusion to get at the living and vital usefulness underneath.”
“Then what?”
“Then I try to let God decide where is the best place to add my flavor. Stew is good but salad is a treat. I can go anywhere once the waste is stripped away.”
“What about the issues you haven’t worked out yet?" I bait my sponsor.
“Well, those are other onions,” is all she would say.


Allow a child to make you laugh.
*


Halfway Home


Too far to turn back to the origin,
not quite close enough to my destination;
I am halfway home.

I sometimes forget where I have come from,
forget too where I’m bound.
I gently remind myself I’m making progress
no matter what I know.

I am not where I started,
not where I am going,
but I am not without.

There is plenty to do and much to look forward to.
I lift my feet one at a time, left then right.
I try to keep the steps equally spaced,
to prevent past curves and circles.

Lost is not as bad as it sounds
though I do dream of clarity,
stone -free shoes
and a home cooked meal when I arrive.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 29



HEAT EXCHANGE



I stand in the shower and let the water run. The water carries away my temperature in exchange for its own. I leave the enclosure restored. Mentally, a meeting does this for me. I change hot topics for more moderate positions, cold indifference for warm regard. Stepping into a group of my fellows carts off my excess ego and flushes my pride. Isolation is taken and camaraderie left in its place. I am always changed by standing amid the rush of sober minds and faithful service. Balance comes from proximity and willingness. Everything is reduced to letting myself get wet.


Measure your growth on a doorpost.

*
Exercising Futility


Asking the confused for explanation
is like asking a blind man the color of the sea.
It isn’t that he couldn’t tell you,
but how could you be sure?

To exercise futility is more than just a game
or the words to a song
your mother sings when lost or far away.

To take the fish out of water
and train it on a bike is meaner than I need to be,
but isn’t it my right?

Just to do things because they can be done
or try them because they can’t
is more the worse for everyday a tragedy in pants.

Puzzle out the little things and practice when you can,
for putting on the frazzled mind
is cruel to the poor sweet-hearted sot.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 30



SMOG


When I burn out, the smoke affects everyone in the surrounding area. I forget to keep my wick trimmed and lamp full; I empty out and my light grows dim. I am responsible for maintenance and upkeep. If I don’t protect my own radiance I will lose it and the darkness will be felt throughout the neighborhood. I can’t risk the death of illumination or incur smoldering haze. Fortification of my sobriety is a simple task if I make proper use of resources. When I turn energy to obligation I am distracted and separated from my source, then the source I am to others is extinguished. I can only light the darkness where I am; I can’t illuminate someone else’s path. Nor should I pollute the way with smoke and vapor due to a lapse in my spiritual condition.


Place the period then write to it.
*





From Mind to Pen to Paper

What a relief to have exteriorized all the swirl of thought,
which normally swarms my mind,
waiting to take the stage and run through their numbers.

Then like deciphering a code
I was able to cross out all the irrelevant and redundant information,
leaving me with a clear answer.

Once there standing on its own;
it was obvious and easily explained
how two plus three is five.

I just love anything that can be explained all on one hand
and there it was tidy and neatly fitted in the nest of my palm,
easy to grasp hold of with my fingers or my mind.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 1

THE POODLE


Those pointed toes, slender legs carry her across my outstretched mid. What a blessing to be sober long enough to have never done any unseemly or frightful thing which might have caused apprehension in this firefly of a dog. I read until she lays her neck over my mouth for her kisses and ear rubs. She is the center of the universe and I needn’t compete. I am content to serve as resting place and nursemaid. I no longer look to be everyone’s pet. I can pamper and indulge this little one. She has the whole stage to herself. I can be her faithful audience having given up my farce.


Carry a picture of you in your wallet.
*


Trouble with Geometry

You are not allowed to get into trouble on purpose,
that’s the rule and if you do
you will get no sympathy that’s the corollary.
Life is too hard to go looking for trouble.

Running toward danger,
whining about self-inflicted pain.
The unspoken law of risk taking
is that failure is dealt with in silence.

Writhing on the ground
after sticking your head in a hornet’s nest,
leaves me and the world I know
to be speechless in your presence.

I know you desire consolation from me.
All I know to say is that your actions
are incongruent with your life.




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 2


CURRENCY OF FEAR


Fear pays the way for my disease to enter. Once inside fear seats itself front and center. Fear is the currency that allows entry to the far reaches. The coinage is ancient and steeped in tradition. There is no time or place that hasn’t been moneyed with fear and its derivatives. I can’t hide from it so my job must be to educate fear. Fear is real and has a place as protector and warning. But fear expands with ignorance and devalues the purpose of caution. Fear cannot buy safety, though I can use it to pay the toll across the bridge to balance.



Speckle your tongue with new words.
*

Origins


At the root of it all is darkness.
The place from which I grow,
the structure that holds me fiercely upright,
is pressed on all sides by dirt.

When I get right down to it the ethereal leaves
and twigs, even the branches, do not exist,
except for my foundation in the composted death
and recycled life; the ground.

For is it God who rains down from the heavens
light and water or is God truly living
at the center of the earth,
warming my toes and securing me to what is real.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 3

LIBERTY HOPE?



If you had to choose, would it be liberty or hope? Liberty is highly recommended, but without hope, how would you know you were at liberty? Transversely if you have no liberty, how could you have hope? Removal of liberty removes the possibility of hope. So, why ask for a choice to be made? Well, that’s the joy of liberty. I am free to ask anything and you are free to imagine anything and hope for more.


Plan a diet for your fears.
*

Tyler’s Truth


The snow is dying,
pouring itself into the creeks and riverbeds.
sacrificing its crystalline structure and community
for the ubiquitous oneness of liquid.
drawn by the gravitational lure of the ocean.

Unity conquers the frozen individuated whole.
pulled from coast to coast the sun tempts the water’s life,
the sea gives up her soul to the sky
to be reborn as snow once more.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 4

RENTING JOY


I cannot buy happiness. No matter how much money I spend, how hard I work, I can never pay bliss off on lay away. The angles of escape for glee are phenomenal. I see runaway emotions and must concede ownership. When opportunities arise for satisfaction I pay the fare and take the trip. The boat isn’t mine to keep but the tour is forever in my heart. I can’t take it home to bury it in the yard. Like a wild thing I can leave joy where I find it. I never need to cage or bind it. I need to enjoy each measure while the music plays. I remunerate for time in proximity; delight arrives and stays as long as it likes. I linger at the table and enjoy my dessert. Leasing elation is an occasion of celebration. Living moment to moment has given me this chance. So, I take it.


Copy your favorite shape.

*

What is at the Eye of the Storm?


Serenity is the alignment of three knowledges

1. Knowing that I am not without skill, talent, gifts.
2.Knowing that I am not without community,
connection, comfort.
3.Knowing that I am not without God,
whether or not I believe God is able to intervene.

When I am in full or even partial possession of these three
I am safe from storm, or no, drought,
or no, fiery hairy pestilence.

Without this knowledge everything is
storm, drought and pestilence,
no matter what anyone else says or all evidence to the contrary.

I will make my own mess when bereft.
I will pay a large price for ignoring the facts
and the lion’s share of this loss is loss of my serenity



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 5

UTILITY OF EMOTION



I plug into the utility of my emotions. These utilities aid my life as all utilities do. The duel prong of anger serves to light me up and gives me strength to set good boundaries. The four-line clip cord of pain allows me to keep in touch with my Higher Power, my friends, and my fellows. I have nothing to share if I can’t stay real about my pain. Fear is hard to contain and is carefully piped. Explosions of fear can start so easily it’s a good thing its foul odor can be smelled in the air. The coaxial cable of joy screws neatly into the back of my mind and gives me endless delight, color and sound; these are the privileges of sobriety. Emotions are plainly utilitarian but they help me survive and make living into a life.


Touch all the letters in your name.
*

The Biggest Chicken

I love to be mystical,
but the only dragon in my life
is when I let things drag on and on.

Procrastination is the winged beast in my world
and when she is slain the sun comes out
and I can count my blessings and plan for my possibilities.

The deep ditch left by depression
is where the lizard lays; siphoning my time
and sucking clean the bones of my wasted talents.

I have lunged and poked, stabbed her with my steel
and blown holes in her with my revolver,
but not until I sever the tendon with which she holds me
in her grasp do I have any real chance to be rid of her claws.

Once free of her I must be forever vigilant
lest her smothering song lure me back to that evil nest
where I feel as helpless as her egg.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 6

OPTICAL ILLUSION


From the right angle a hatpin can appear taller than the Empire State Building. I can skew my perspective to such an extreme or let my disease do it for me. I can believe myself to be other than I am: the sweetest, kindest------smartest, quickest------smallest, slowest-------lowest, meanest. I can see myself as all this and more as long as I squint with one eye and look at only half of any issue. I can play the parts and act as if these things are true. I can even get others to play along. I can make fantasy fact if I lower the floor. I can die in the basement, many do. I can turn my face from science and be the center of all that spins..…OR….. I can climb the stairs to ground level. I can turn my mind to facts and fractions. Leave my better-than, less-than universe and see the height of everything and stand tall with both my eyes open.


Put a surprise in your pocket.
*


Keeping My Seat


I can sit through this. I can do it,
even when I don’t remember that I want to.
I will get through this no matter how it tweaks me
and I squirm in my seat.

In spite of the unfairness of it all,
I can do what is right, because that is what is best for me.
Acting out or giving up are options that I have.

I like me too much to choose so poorly.
When this is all settled I will still have me
no matter what else I gain or lose.

If I don’t like me anymore I have lost everything,
if I can hold my head up, proud of my behavior
this is the most valuable gain.

Love is only love
if I am still here to feel it,
so I will sit still.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 7

COLD AND FLU SEASON



The spiritual cold and flu season is upon me. I am awash in reaction and confusion. I have been overexposed to the dry thinking and barking orders of the cough so associated with this disability. My eyes swell and blur with my refusal to accept reality. The tickle of discomfort from inhaling disagreeable ideas is small in comparison with the nausea I suffer when I swallow every line of nonsense put forth from my dizzy and congested mind. There is no pill to dissuade my symptoms; I must raise the heat on this inertiac little bug. Parasites breed in the stagnant water of my paralysis. If I move in my sobriety, sweat a little and flush my system, I should be able to shake this insidious germ. Then I can reach my hand out to the people who caught the spiritual flu from me.


Write pretty words on pretty paper.
*


Tooth Fairies and Super Heroes

I never know who the tooth fairy is going to be.
Who might be the one person
who will know CPR in my hour of need.

Which unlikely friend will whisper to me
the secret code to my mental lock.
I have been caught off guard by the power
of the most unlikely wallflowers.

It is important for me not to prejudge,
but even more important to leave space for surprise
and the delightful aptitude of those around me

For that matter from strangers on the street.
it is good for me to remember there is change in my pocket
and a Resuscitation Certificate in my wallet.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 8

PASTRY




Like French pastry, sobriety gets richer with each layer. As I investigate these layers I approach the buttery center. The fat seeps through the years, makes boundaries crisp and intimacy velvety. Ingredients, which ordinarily wouldn’t mix, somehow blend and counterpoint one another in a flaky shell. Fruit and nuts improve every bite. Though there are times which are a bit crumbly, most of the structure is strong and the invention skillful. Pastry and sobriety are compositions of strength and brilliance, which are meant to be taken internally.


Juggle solutions.
*


Night Clothes and Bed Clothes

Is there any indulgence
quite like that of clean sleepwear
warm from the laundry?

Pulling on jammies over squeaky clean skin
and the little shutter that goes with tired hedonism
is a pleasure without formed words,
left for grateful sounds and little moans.

Hard work creates more than stability,
more than cash flow, more than mere exhaustion,
hard work changes my mind about delight.

It allows me to see it in the most obvious,
most subtle of places.
My bed has become haven, hospital, refuge
and I am tucked up in my nest, safely out of my mind.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 9



SHIMMER


The water ruffles over metallic sheen, lap after lap screen the view, and still the gilt reflection shines in my eyes. Hypnotic, the undulance pulls me near. I stand on the edge, gaze, then gawk; I follow the underwater movements and iridescent tremolo. I forget place and time. I lose sight of the facts. Gold isn’t the only thing that shimmers. Sometimes that glint is just a fish. Life is full of fins and fantasy. My sponsor suggests I stop looking for my life in a wishing well.



Think of all beans as magical in some way.

*

Special


Is it the wiring between my ears,
the size of the pump in my chest?
The difference which can be seen
when you look from me to the neighbors?

I know that you feel me to be special.
I feel me to be special, too,
just like you.

Defining that thing, that combination
which unlocks the mundane
is more than just an attempt to point a finger,
it’s a search for that little light.

Close and closer we pull together
and that is special but now I will whisper it,
tell you the secret truth is my ability to play.
Come play with me!


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

Comic Transformation

http://www.thefix.com/sites/default/files/styles/article/public/ianharvie.jpg?itok=T32yorh1


http://www.thefix.com/content/introducing-ian-harvie-transgender-comedian2095

[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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 30


DEFINITIONS


I am close to my Higher Power but I have no words to describe It. I have found it best to say nothing unless asked. When I do speak, it is always about the path I took or the way I held my face. I know the things that changed, and the wind that blew. This is not the sketch most people seek. My skin is brown and my smile broad; this is not from over-exposure to beams of light. Closeness warms me. I glow from standing near. I know the face and form is different for every day; I must not stop for definitions.


Taste silence and smell the words.
*




The Acts of Hope

I cover my head when I pray
in hopes that God wants me sheltered.
I attend meetings to keep alive the hope
that sobriety is the end of isolation.

I talk to the people in my network
hoping I have something helpful to share.
I sit down to the blank page with hopes
that HP still chooses to collaborate with me.

I pick up my paintbrush filled with hope
that color is still my friend.
I inhale air along with hope that each breath
is worth the effort and I am worthy of this life.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 31

MY BABIES


Too often I have abandoned the infants of my creativity to doorways and charities. Having little patience I did not raise them to their intended station. Joyful parentage need not stop at the cutting of the cord. Downplaying the importance of each birth, I would leave beauty and art to be foundlings and the province of others. I can share the guardianship of these precious gifts and be more than a brood mare for cunning and craft. I have neglected things apparent for the promise of each new conception. Overpopulation weakens the body of my work and leaves my portfolio listless and immature.


Touch your finger with your nose.
*

Charmed by Snow


Warm weather snow falls in fat full flakes;
I am living in a world of dreams and sweet peas.
Sudden dustings sparkle and surprise
leaving as quickly as they came;
yet the world is kinder now.

Beauty is an ambush of the heart.
My breath alters, accelerates,
speeding me to a smile, an illustration of joy.

Crows walk the edge of the hedgerow,
prattling on as they do;
snow to their ankles and food on their minds.
I drive over the mountains
discovering myself as the recipient,
the receiver of all this great gift, this life.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 1

GAME PLAYING

My Higher Power doesn’t play me like a board game, doesn’t monopolize my time or put me in jeopardy. My trouble is my own. I pursue trivia at my discretion. I take or reject risk at will. I scrabble my thoughts and am sorry when I make mistakes but don’t expect to live in a candyland. When I stick my hand in the mouse trap, or fall down the shoots and need to climb the ladders, I know the game may not be over, but it is far too late to play let’s make a deal.


Keep a game with you.

*
Porcellano


Some days I feel like a porcelain doll;
hard head, hard hands, hard feet
and everywhere else is soft, gormless.

I feel useless and act out my feelings,
stumbling through a day of pointless inactivity.
I know that I belong on a shelf
or propped upon the pillows of a bed,
not fine enough for curio or collection,
merely someone of marginal decorative value.

I have gotten away from the meaning of me,
the thrum of God’s intentions
and am trapped in this world of elaboration;
everything is embellished and nothing is real.

It is time to put my foot down.
To feel the earth solid and right;
to catch my mind and take it out
of its greasy spin from what is descent.

I am not a China doll
and it is time to walk away
from these purloined thoughts

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 2

TOOTH FAIRY


I slide my hand under the pillow and am disappointed not to find a quarter. I feel I deserve one though I didn’t leave a tooth; I did leave my bite. I’ve toned down my bark a bit too. It has not been easy; I have spent much of my life snapping and growling at the world around me. I have shortened the leash on these reactive behaviors, many I have put to bed all together. Improved conduct is prize enough but I surely would enjoy a winged visitor if only just for fun.


Applaud your performance.
*

In Plain Sight

When there is a problem, I hide.
As the good places diminish
I end up standing behind a pole.

The trouble with this is
that something always sticks out.
I try weight loss, I suck in my tummy,
I try to blend with the scenery.

Once spotted I act nonchalant;
“I’m just hanging around with my skinny friend;
nothing is the matter,” attempting to cover
with a casual aside what is apparent to everyone but me.

I would be better off parading naked
than endeavoring this piteous disguise.
I can’t fool the crowd and trying to makes a fool of me.

What I have forgotten is that clarity and diligence
removes the target from my back
and makes me invisible to almost everyone.
When I solve my problem I solve this problem too.


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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

The insanity that precedes the first drink - I thought that had been removed from me but I was dead wrong. In a moment of intense emotional pain, it was back - calling me to numb my feelings. I was just sitting in a bowling alley - one with three bars. Everyone around me seemed to be drinking without any problem. I watched the lady across the room take a drink of her Pina Colada. "I think I need a drink," I said out loud to no one in particular. "The Watermelon Margaritas are excellent," said my friend who did not know I was in the program of Alcoholics Anonymous. My friend was proud of me because I had finally furthered my career and would be making more money. She had no idea of the obstacles I had to overcome to get where I was today. She didn't know about the loss of career, the DWIs, the disappointment I had caused my family and friends over and over again. "We should go let off some steam and drink a few one night," she said. "Yeah," I replied, knowing in my heart that I had never "drank a few." I was panicked. I really wanted a drink right now. Less than two days away from my 5 year sobriety date - the most time I had ever put together - and I wanted a drink. "I'm going to get us cokes," I said. I really was thirsty but I'm just going to have a coke. As I approached the bar and saw the bottles lined up behind the counter, the thought crossed my mind that I could do a shot real quick and no one would ever know. My parents who were so proud of me for staying sober and finally advancing my career would never have to know. My young daughter who was counting on me to be there for her would never have to know. The people at meeting would never have to know on Birthday Night. But I knew I would know. And I knew that it wouldn't stop with just one drink. How would I get home? Would I drive my daughter home drunk? What if I got that third DWI and went to prison? What about my new job? "Two cokes and a refill on the Dr. Pepper," I said. I went back to the table. "I have to tell you something," I said to my friend. "I can't drink. I will have 5 years sober in Alcoholics Anonymous on Monday."

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 3

SHARING


Please take a bite of my PB&J. I made it myself. It is fine as it is. I slathered the bread and cut it so neatly; still I can’t help but want to offer some to you. I know that to stand and smile next to you, watch you lick the peanut butter from the roof of your mouth, have you dab the jelly from the corner of my lips, will make this sandwich even better. You bring so much to this meal, something bright and so clever. You bring you. I can pull things together and set it all up but somehow my creation is never quite complete until I share it with you.


Withhold a convoy of criticism, advance a brigade of cheer.
*

Big Name

My name has a foreign sound;
my head turns when it is called.
I recognize this as training not identity.

I remember teaching the dog her name.
I called it while petting and praising her,
soon the name was hers.

Now, I think of God.
Did we call long and loud enough
to trigger name recognition on a vast intangible?

Is this how we tagged and labeled the unknowable;
assigned it a place on a shelf;
somewhere to be called up from?

Does the noise sound as strange as the syllables
of my name sound to me?
Does it matter as long as we answer?



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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

I made it! I have 5 years sober today! These past few months have been the craziest ever. I was plagued with fear of success and self-sabotaging behaviors. I have had many periods of sobriety these past 30 years but this is the longest. I breathe a sigh of relief as I begin my 6th year and a new chapter in my life.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 4


ACCESS

Writing to you, my Sweet, allows me to give what I have available at the moment it comes into my possession. You reading me lets you invite me in when you are ready or willing, possibly both. I can store succulent treasure for you without the least consideration of freezer burn or apathy. You are here when I want you, yearning and prepared. I am yours for the taking in the classroom, the bedroom, or even in your bath. I can whisper or shout to you, rant or tell jokes at you. You can embrace or ignore me, introduce me to friends or keep me your own personal province. We are intimates because I bare my soul to you and you take me into yours.


Recommend your assets.
*

Sleep Tight

Did you dream?
Sleep the sleep of faultless souls?
Or twist the sheets
as in that Gilbert & Sullivan treatment?

Are night time wrestlings an indication
of decadent daytime activity?
Or is it all simply a matter of happenstance?
Possibly something I ate, thought, wished for?

I think to myself,
I should not have gotten into that unmade bed,
should have made it up; the bed and my mind,
should have straighten out the crumpled mass
of discarded dreams from yesterday and started fresh

But instead I climbed in with it all tumbled and tossed,
lumpy and coarse, no smooth sailing in this tangled sea.
What time I would have saved by leveling
the playing field and plumping the pillows.

All is not lost, there is always tonight.
Sweet dreams straight ahead


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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

Being honest and standing up for myself is one of the hardest things for me. Being such a people pleaser, it is extremely painful. But I know in my heart, that if I do not do it, I will not make it in the program. To Thine Own Self Be True.

[LaDivina]

I love how hearing something at a meeting can spark something in my own head. Last night the speaker and another person sharing talked about how once they put down their binge/trigger foods (my substance of choice,) all the feelings they'd ever had in their entire life came crashing down on them at once. After that happened, one woman said the thought came to her that "[eating] this will make me feel better."

The spark in my head said, "it won't make you feel better, it'll make you feel LESS."

Something important for me to remember on days when I struggle. Thanks for "listening."

[LaDivina]

And congratulations EnchantedNightDweller, that's awesome!

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 5



STUBBORN


When the donkey won’t move forward it’s time to stop running. No need to make an ass of myself through force or coercion. The dumb animal may be mute but its actions speak. Reluctance is a warning. If my animal nature is balking, listening not shoving is the preferred course. Super intelligence can’t best good horse sense. I must stand with my intuition; that creature depends on my survival for life.



Balance your shoe with your foot.
*

What are We Fighting For

Instead of competition for dominance
we would benefit from cooperation for survival.
The struggle to become the very best destroyers in the world
very well might make us postmortem champions.

Why is it that the lions don’t work to eradicate hyenas?
They could, but they don’t.
Why not, is the ever present question on my mind.

I have no answer as to why we strive to conquer.
A thousand platitudes come to mind,
but nothing fast or tight, nothing that holds water.
So, the question remains; why are we hell bent?



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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

Just had a major moment of clarity while driving home. A sure sign that you are doing something that's not good for you is when you don't share it with your sponsor. You don't share it, because you know she will ask you those questions that make you think about what you are doing. And then you will realize just how insane your thinking really is.

[EnchantedNightDweller]

"We realized that the people who wronged us were perhaps spiritually sick. Though we did not like their symptoms and the ways these disturbed us, they, like ourselves, were sick too. We asked God to help us show them the same tolerance, pity, and patience that we would cheerfully grant a sick friend. When a person offended us, we said to ourselves, "This is a sick man. How can I be helpful to him? God save me from being angry. Thy will be done."

Alcoholics Anonymous - How It Works p. 66 - 67

[femmsational]

"We realized that the people who wronged us were perhaps spiritually sick. Though we did not like their symptoms and the ways these disturbed us, they, like ourselves, were sick too. We asked God to help us show them the same tolerance, pity, and patience that we would cheerfully grant a sick friend. When a person offended us, we said to ourselves, "This is a sick man. How can I be helpful to him? God save me from being angry. Thy will be done."

Alcoholics Anonymous - How It Works p. 66 - 67

This quote has literally saved my ass a couple times.

How can we, as recovering people, hold anger and resentment towards others who are us?? We just can't. Even when it's right in your face and personal as all get out.

Thanks for posting it. I obviously needed a reminder :doh:

[Daktari]

"We realized that the people who wronged us were perhaps spiritually sick. Though we did not like their symptoms and the ways these disturbed us, they, like ourselves, were sick too. We asked God to help us show them the same tolerance, pity, and patience that we would cheerfully grant a sick friend. When a person offended us, we said to ourselves, "This is a sick man. How can I be helpful to him? God save me from being angry. Thy will be done."

Alcoholics Anonymous - How It Works p. 66 - 67

A 4th Step Resentment Prayer:
"God, Please help me to be free of anger and to see that the world and its people have dominated me. Show me that the wrong-doing of others, fancied or real, has the power to actually kill me. Help me to master my resentments by understanding that the people who wrong me were perhaps spiritually sick. Please help me show those I resent the same Tolerance, Pity and Patience that I would cheerfully grant a sick friend.** Help me to see that this is a sick man. Father, please show me how I can be helpful to him and save me from being angry. Lord, help me to avoid retaliation or argument. I know I can’t be helpful to all people, but at least show me how to take a kindly and tolerant view of each and every one. Thy will be done."(66:2, 66:3, 66:4, 67:0, 67:1)

**Dear God, I have a resentment towards a person that I want to be free of. So, I am asking you to give this person everything I want for myself. Help me to feel compassionate understanding and love for this person. I pray that they will receive everything they need. Thank you God for your help and strength with this resentment. (BB, Freedom from Bondage: 552)

These instructions are for the above prayer (Big Book, Freedom from Bondage, p. 552):
'If you have a resentment you want to be free of, if you will pray for the person or the thing that you resent, you will be free. If you will ask in prayer for everything you want for yourself to be given to them, you will be free...Even when you don't really want it for them, and your prayers are only words and you don't mean it, go ahead and do it anyway. Do it every day for two weeks and you will find you have come to mean it and to want it for them, and you will realize that where you used to feel bitterness and resentment and hatred, you now feel compassionate understanding and love.'
You can, also, include the Freedom from Bondage Prayer in the 4th Step Resentment Prayer.


I use this instruction and the prayers a lot :cheesy:

:tea:

[EnchantedNightDweller]

This quote has literally saved my ass a couple times.

How can we, as recovering people, hold anger and resentment towards others who are us?? We just can't. Even when it's right in your face and personal as all get out.

Thanks for posting it. I obviously needed a reminder :doh:

Your welcome! It's my favorite prayer in the Big Book, lol, I guess because "resentments are the #1 offender"! That and finance and romance. I needed it as a reminder for myself today.:praying:

[EnchantedNightDweller]

Rule 62 - Don't take yourself too seriously! :huhlaugh:

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 6

ALICE


Because I even wore out my welcome at the Mad Hatter’s house, I can sit on my hands at my sponsor's table and listen, listen, listen. If I had been able to make a place for myself with the looking-glass folk, I could never have let myself lose my eccentricities and join in the fellowship. Going down further than a rabbit hole, I lost my need to chase or scramble after bunnies for time or card tricks. No more illusions for me. I am awake and shaded by the tree of AA branching over me. Sisters I didn’t know take my hand.


Dance with change.
*



I didn’t mean to make you laugh


You think I’m witty, well, yes, I have always been like this,
no one knew quite what to do with me as a small child,
but I have grown into this acumen,
or possibly grown out into it, is closer to accurate.

I was dark witted when I was young,
I think of myself as less so now,
optimism is a blessing I have gained through the years,
it feels good and I keep it close.

I need to be a blithe spirit to travel the road I do.
Tears have their place, I know that for sure,
but I rather not go around with a puss on all day and all night.
Additionally it is so much about perspective; you see,
the honey makes the peas taste funny
but now they stick to my knife.


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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

August 6

ALICE


Because I even wore out my welcome at the Mad Hatter’s house, I can sit on my hands at my sponsor's table and listen, listen, listen. If I had been able to make a place for myself with the looking-glass folk, I could never have let myself lose my eccentricities and join in the fellowship. Going down further than a rabbit hole, I lost my need to chase or scramble after bunnies for time or card tricks. No more illusions for me. I am awake and shaded by the tree of AA branching over me. Sisters I didn’t know take my hand.


Dance with change.
*



I didn’t mean to make you laugh


You think I’m witty, well, yes, I have always been like this,
no one knew quite what to do with me as a small child,
but I have grown into this acumen,
or possibly grown out into it, is closer to accurate.

I was dark witted when I was young,
I think of myself as less so now,
optimism is a blessing I have gained through the years,
it feels good and I keep it close.

I need to be a blithe spirit to travel the road I do.
Tears have their place, I know that for sure,
but I rather not go around with a puss on all day and all night.
Additionally it is so much about perspective; you see,
the honey makes the peas taste funny
but now they stick to my knife.


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

I love that and need that! Thank you LWF!

[EnchantedNightDweller]

So I partially confessed to a few people about the crazy stuff I've been up to the past few weeks. Now to get up the nerve to tell my sponsor. When she gets done laughing, she's going to pinch me and make me do a lot of Step work. Lol

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 7

PRESTO!

Just because I own pointy boots doesn’t mean I can corral the cows. I have in my possession many things of subtle intent, but they can’t just transform me. The wings from Halloween don’t make me an angel. The Big Book on the shelf won’t sober me up. Nothing holds the magic to change me. I can only change with help. Action, action and more action is the magician's sleight of hand. It slides my hand from glass to grace. I don’t need to pull a rabbit from my hat.


Play with your oatmeal.

*

I Beg

The embarrassment of need
is a haunting guest who will not leave.
I turn in a tight circle trying to find a way
to detach this wart and move gracefully
from the site of devastation.

But it looms large
and overshadows today’s possibilities
and robs tomorrows gold.
What I cannot do for myself,
the magic I cannot yet perform,
stands between me and contentment.

It stands there wearing your face;
touching my mind with your fingertips.
I pray that you are not the answer
for I cannot depend on you.

I think of you and the little bell rings
and I am hungry.
Desire is a gift, desiring you is the burden
whose shadow I cannot escape.

I close my eyes to the light you emit;
I cannot close my heart, all that’s left is pleading;
please come home and fill me or leave
and lock the door and let me grieve in peace.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 8

PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS


There is a penny in the bathtub. I wonder who stood in there with loose change. Possibly confusing it for a wishing well, the penny was tossed in. The stories I could tell the hopes that tantalize my mind, elves and leprechauns, dreamers and optimists all trundle through my thinking. When I don’t know the answer, I can now at least look for the best, the sweetest thoughts. I don’t run to the dark and threatening disasters. I have lost the lease to my personal black cloud, the one that used to follow wherever I went. I can smile now and think of pennies from heaven. The first drop landed in my tub.


Think of what a spider and a whale have in common.
*

Stand- Hear


The spins and pirouettes I have preformed
in an attempt to avoid facing the music,
were impressive but futile and ultimately
delayed the beauty possible for me in this life.

When I stop my running and turn on my heel
there is a world of harmony waiting
to take me for a turn out on the dance floor.

Melody is not what I was expecting.
I was so sure I would be drummed out of my life,
not trumpeted in.

My surety set in motion much of my convoluted activity
and caused me great distress.
It is high time I listen with eyes open
and my reactions leashed;

Allowing the tune to introduce me to life
and lead me to my bliss.



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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

"Putting out of our minds the wrongs other had done, we resolutely looked for our own mistakes. Where had we been selfish, dishonest, self-seeking and frightened?" Alcoholics Anonymous p. 67

This concept has been the cornerstone of my recovery. My alcoholic mind will keep me from facing the truth about myself by distracting me with what others are doing. It doesn't matter what others are doing. I can't change other people. I can only change myself. Good meeting last night. Now, for that talk with the sponsor...

[EnchantedNightDweller]

"We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us." Alcoholics Anonymous p. 84

I finally told my sponsor about what I had been up to. What she said surprised me, "Sounds like recovery." "No," I said, "It took me too long to let go."
But as I drove to the meeting tonight, I thought of all that had happened and how I had responded. I thought about how I had said, "What kind of an example would I be to my daughter?" These types of thoughts didn't used to come naturally to me. I used to be so selfish. All I cared about was instant gratification, how I could make myself feel better. I didn't think about what would happen to my daughter if I was killed or killed someone else in a car accident. I didn't think of how she would feel if I was in jail. I didn't care if I lost my job and couldn't provide for her. I didn't care that she looked up to me and would model everything that I did. I didn't care that I was her mom and that she was counting on me to do the right thing.
I just couldn't see those things back then, it didn't come to me at all much less "intuitively." Knowing right from wrong and doing the right thing is not always an easy choice for me. Sometimes doing the wrong thing seems so much more attractive until I find myself there. Just like they say that a head full of AA will ruin your drinking, it also will ruin your plans to do the wrong thing.
So I texted my sponsor and told her what I had said and that maybe she was right after all. Maybe it is recovery.

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 9

HAWAIIAN GRAFFITI

White pebbles spell themselves across the black of lava grown cold. Personal announcements proclaim love, school pride, religious freedom. The care of placement and consideration of design make the roadside an ongoing mineral memo. What message would I care to share? What words would prompt me to bring a pail of crushed marble to the edge of the road? Is there a truth so urgent I would take time from paradise to spell it out? A few more miles and I see the words I live by strewn down the thoroughfare, “it works if you work it.”


Joint your possibilities.

*

Pick up Your Hammer and Saw

The task infers the tool, I know this,
yet I resist clearly mapping my insanity.
I look into the well of my despair
then quickly I look away,

I fear informing God what I need
lest the need be filled.
I need to believe that a power will heal me,
but if I am provided with the force of life,
I shrink from the prospect.

This too, must be added to the list
of my emotional woes and mental shortages.
This too, will be healed.

I look at my problems
and then realize, that like the moon,
who pulls the water from dry shore to dry shore,
solutions are installed in heaven and earth
if I know what the problem is.



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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

"I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn't my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in. It's a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault. I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

I walk down another street.”

― Portia Nelson, There's a Hole in My Sidewalk: The Romance of Self-Discovery

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 10

MORTIFICATION


Lime with envy, I built a wall around. Love and hate are enclosed, brick and stone. Rigor of extremities, the discipline of ages falls so short. I make no in-depth connections; I coat externals with glue, stack reactions and let the bombs fly. I mix and crush old habits and bad ideas, make a paste. I am setting myself up again. Abstinence becomes the pestle of bludgeoning and abasement. I am hard and I am hollow; with wounded pride, I subjugate my soul. My life is reduced to a powder. I am mortified.


Spread oil from your navel out.
*


Michal Rovner


I have numbered all the blocks in my ancestral walls.
This has enabled me to recreate them
stone by stone everywhere I go.

It all fits to create the tomb I now have to learn to leave.
I must change the equation and reorder the numbers
allowing these rocks to be recycled
and find a wonderful useful life
as a stairway out of this pit of despair.

What was once an edifice to lives unlived
is now able to facilitate elevation,
a restoration of a level playing field.

It was not wrong for me to catalog the stone
and there was no way for me to leave them behind,
but nothing matches the satisfaction of using them to build a life,
except for the ability to live in it.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 11

I KNOW


I know more than I understand. I know more than I let on. I know right from wrong, left from right, uphill from down. I know you have my best interest at heart. I know I often don’t. I know it hurts when I fall but holding on isn’t easy. I know that wanting is not needing and needing is not enough. I know old thinking breeds old action but new thinking is often wild and requires two minds for review. I know to look three ways before crossing the street because trouble sometimes hits head on. I know that if life is the question yes is the answer.


Instruct the youth living within.
*


T before S


When happiness is hard work
I have to learn to look for the lie.
There must be a lie, for happiness flows
unrestrained when not dammed.

What was built too far up river for me to see,
dries out my once liquid existence;
leaving me to flounder in the shallows.

I can’t allow myself to flop in the muck
of waters muddied with deceit.
I will permit myself to look for clear bright prospects
from melting glaciers and accustom myself to the invigoration
of a life lived under a loving watchful eye.


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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

"Every time a person imposes his instincts unreasonably upon others, unhappiness follows."
"Demands made upon other people for too much attention, protection, and love can only invite domination or revulsion in the protectors themselves - two emotions quite as unhealthy as the demands which evoked them."

Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions p. 44

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 12

WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS DUCK?


This duck looks fine sitting on the edge, the rubber face frozen in a permanent grin. The appearance is flawless as long as it is not called to duty; no one will ever know. Stay still. Don’t jump. When dropped in the water, this creature, born for the tub, lays on its side, one eye looking at the ceiling, the other straight at the bottom. Floating is occurring but something is oh, so wrong. As indelicate as it may seem this duck needs a very big squeeze, no kid gloves and tender touches. This duck has sucked in old bath water and misused ideas. Only a big push in the right direction will get this rancid stuff out, and though the duck will get bent out of shape there is no reason it can’t bounce back. That’s the wonderful thing about rubber; it is flexible and resilient even if it doesn’t always volunteer.


Set up a lighthouse for the rockiest shores in your life.
*

Seen on the Street


Sometimes graffiti improves a place,
other times it degrades it.
I now wonder; is this defined by the breaking
or breaching of public norms?

Or is it built from the intent of the artist/perpetrator?
Possibly the pedestrian traffic or the light of day
determine the difference between art and recalcitrance.

What if all these factors,
flashing like a neon kaleidoscope
facilitated what this all really means?

What if it all signifies nothing
other than yet another way for me to entertain my brain
while avoiding work?

I guess I better get back to the spray cans,
I have a wall to cover.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 13

HOW RED IS RED


I check my color and contrast; I paint the setting sun. Add a bit of yellow and fill to the edge burgeoning poppies. Add more blue and paint the blood which pools around my mind, the equalizer of all my mental conversations. Too much is never enough. As the story goes, I pursue my shades and signatures. Too much for the fingers and not enough for the toes, I disregard fraudulent crimson. I scale the mountains of intention looking for perfection. The leach of my addiction drains the other colors from my rainbow. My sponsor asks only one question.
“How red is red?”


Allow your thoughts to be neighborly with your feelings.
*

Phillips Head


What’s stuck in makes the thing.
What sticks out is all that’s seen.
I can tell so much from what is left out,
yet there is much I will never know, can never tell.

The twist, the give, the opening to variation
is known, but never acknowledged.
Somehow indecent if spoken
or thought of too loudly, insinuation is ignored

Society allows us to focus on
what is held after or due to this act.
We have built the whole world
on what we can screw together.

But we will merely hallow this,
never embrace the fact until it falls apart.
Then we exclaim over the rawness
of how it caused us to be turned around,

The risk and wrongness,
ignoring just how much good
can come from just a simple screw.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 14

NEVER LET GO


When it grows dark on one side of a transparency the other becomes reflective. When addiction doesn’t hold a flame for me, I see the true face of its results. Because I know now the destructive possibilities, I must print the picture and post it on the wall, for the day may come when addiction appears as a light for me and the mirror will be gone. I need to keep clear the truth even when my eyes lie to me and my sensibilities catch on fire. The glass can be the boundary or the tumbler. The glare of day can be harsh or bright. Light is forever shifting. I cannot count on shadows for predictions. I must know it when I see it, chant it to remember and hold hands and never let go.


Sort advice like laundry.
*


Participant Observer

Underneath it all I am more than naked;
I am hidden by exposure.
My body can never be as nude
as life with you in my thoughts.

My mind is a polygraph you wander through.
I have determined this is more than safe
and unlock the closets.

You are not my warden looking for contraband,
nor the janitor looking for trash,
you are here, you are my friend.

Having a better look around
simply to know me better
and to love me well.

Your unfamiliar stride is exciting,
I show off the places I long for you to see
and stand aside from the rest,
it is all yours to look through.

I do not resist.
You are my peaceful guardian;
I am your willing charge.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 15

THINGS WHICH ARE THICKER THAN WATER

“Pudding, mud, ice cream, cement, sauce, paint, sap, drool, gravy, wood.”
“What is that?" I ask my sponsor.
“A list of things thicker than water. There are so many; why do people get so hung up on blood?” responds my sponsor.
“Survival? Or maybe comfort? Tradition?" I counter.
“I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure there are many benign reasons why we strong-arm one another into relationships with family we may or may not be ready for.”
“You mean the families we drank with?”
“Or sometimes drank to get away from. But it’s not the family; it’s us. We have to learn to do what we need to do. We can’t force ourselves into relations with anyone for any reason other than it’s what is best for our sobriety. Shoulds and oughts have no place in the family situation.”
“So I can just walk away from them one and all?”
“You can’t do anything in that sweep of the wand. In the same vein, don’t obligate yourself to people due to viscosity.”
“Got ya. There has to be a real choice made.”
“Sounds like a promising start.”

Have what you want unless all you want is MORE.

*


The Dark Fantastic


When the tornado touches down worry ends;
the anticipation is over and thought stops.
Tragedy is funny that way.

In the aftermath I find out what mattered
and what didn’t;
whether I have helped or injured myself
trying to plan for the worst.

I fail to realize there are cloud filled days
when nothing happens
and days when trouble comes from out of the blue.

What matters ultimately is if I was happy yesterday
all the way into today until the thunder struck.
Greed is not: living for today;
greed is my attempt at gathering the future
while dragging the past.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 16

I AM


I am my own hope.
The spring of willingness flows within me and makes everything possible.

I am my own dream.
Colors and sprinkles fly in my mind and mix with a sprite's laugh and make me enchanted.

I am my own joy.
Filled with wonder and delight, my quick turns and ready mind warm my heart and pink my cheeks.

I am my own prize.
New and exciting, every day that I am myself,
I win.




Pith is dry and dead, be marrow.
*




Dewy, Cheatum & Howe


I must radically sever the close connection I have
with self-seeking, self-pity and dishonesty.
What will I use to pay the retainer
for the representation I will need to pursue this divorce?

Willingness is the earnest money,
which will start the ball rolling,
hard work pitches in its share
and faith pays the note each day I apply it.

All this and more is what it takes to divide
the endless stream of my compulsive thought
into a survivable day’s worth of life.

I have the prospect of being happy as a divorcee
or I could be a miserable widow
if I stay wed to my disease.



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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

:bow:August 16

I AM


I am my own hope.
The spring of willingness flows within me and makes everything possible.

I am my own dream.
Colors and sprinkles fly in my mind and mix with a sprite's laugh and make me enchanted.

I am my own joy.
Filled with wonder and delight, my quick turns and ready mind warm my heart and pink my cheeks.

I am my own prize.
New and exciting, every day that I am myself,
I win.




Pith is dry and dead, be marrow.
*




Dewy, Cheatum & Howe


I must radically sever the close connection I have
with self-seeking, self-pity and dishonesty.
What will I use to pay the retainer
for the representation I will need to pursue this divorce?

Willingness is the earnest money,
which will start the ball rolling,
hard work pitches in its share
and faith pays the note each day I apply it.

All this and more is what it takes to divide
the endless stream of my compulsive thought
into a survivable day’s worth of life.

I have the prospect of being happy as a divorcee
or I could be a miserable widow
if I stay wed to my disease.



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

So Beautiful, LeftWriteFemme.

[Daktari]

http://i132.photobucket.com/albums/q8/scoobs63/images_zps15eb9ef0.jpg

Sherrie, you celebrated twenty seven years of sobriety this week. It's an amazing achievement.

It's a privilege to call you friend

http://i132.photobucket.com/albums/q8/scoobs63/27years_widget_zpsbe06abd5.jpg


Much loves y'old-timer you! :raspberry:
http://i132.photobucket.com/albums/q8/scoobs63/th_34034c25-321c-4646-b949-8c768da2b82f_zps3705110d.jpg (http://s132.photobucket.com/user/scoobs63/media/34034c25-321c-4646-b949-8c768da2b82f_zps3705110d.jpg.html)

http://i132.photobucket.com/albums/q8/scoobs63/27-750x420_zps6a799da9.png (http://s132.photobucket.com/user/scoobs63/media/27-750x420_zps6a799da9.png.html)

zaAqze81y4Y

[LeftWriteFemme]

August 17



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 the wild flowers… bluebells, paintbrush, lupines, and all manner of reedy grasses… these places cordoned off from mechanization and Agra-business. Held in trust are the bones of loved ones and the soul of nature. 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 that 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 the seeds worth saving, and planting my Higher Power’s will for me.



Make a list of decoys.
*



Endlessly Moving Maps


I try to survive by memorizing the chaos.
I do well up to five layers deep
and then lose it, as the details become too great.

I am staking my life on my ability to track the patterns
in a storm while at the same time treading water.
I think this skill kept life and breathe in me for many years.

Now I fear I’ll drown in this roiling mass.
I must touch down my tender toes
and learn to walk this twisting path
and keep a pace with this spinning world.

Everything moves and I am overwhelmed.
I have forgotten my flesh and blood nature;
have mistaken myself for a stone, one which dare not roll,
one which has no part in this endlessly moving map.


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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

http://i132.photobucket.com/albums/q8/scoobs63/images_zps15eb9ef0.jpg

Sherrie, you celebrated twenty seven years of sobriety this week. It's an amazing achievement.

It's a privilege to call you friend

http://i132.photobucket.com/albums/q8/scoobs63/27years_widget_zpsbe06abd5.jpg


Much loves y'old-timer you! :raspberry:
http://i132.photobucket.com/albums/q8/scoobs63/th_34034c25-321c-4646-b949-8c768da2b82f_zps3705110d.jpg (http://s132.photobucket.com/user/scoobs63/media/34034c25-321c-4646-b949-8c768da2b82f_zps3705110d.jpg.html)

http://i132.photobucket.com/albums/q8/scoobs63/27-750x420_zps6a799da9.png (http://s132.photobucket.com/user/scoobs63/media/27-750x420_zps6a799da9.png.html)

zaAqze81y4Y

Congratulations on 27 years!:birthdaycake:

[LaDivina]

Congrats, LWF!

[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

[Daktari]

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 :tea:

[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! :nailbitin:

[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

[Daktari]

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! :nailbitin:

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! :cheesy:

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 4

WATERLINE



The interface of water and land is compelling. Soothing but dramatic; I’m drawn to this transition. I stand and watch the lap, lap, lapping of the liquid to the land. The gift of one place to another calls me. Change and transition exhilarate my senses. Whether it is rock or sand, river or sea I feel the pull to watch life in response. Boundaries are beautiful. Borders allow safety and recreation, not just risk. When I embrace this in life I embrace it in me.


Do it twice, once with the pattern and once without.
*



The Naked Not the Dead


Because comfort is sometimes no comfort
I can shave my hair and walk bare in the naked world.
Removing pretense helps in unexpected ways.

Foolish action becomes formulaic
when you are scared or hurt.
I lived through the summers of blood;
the winter is not enough to stem the tide or heal the wound.

I have no want to raise the dead,
but how to save the living?
Poverty is the inheritance of so much misguided lethargy
and I must shear off the illusion of maturity
and let the children speak.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 5

DO NOT BE A FRAUD

“Fake it ‘til you make it" is like saying "keep drinking ‘til you get sober,” complains my sponsor.
“But what about the things I can’t do yet?" I ask.
“You work on them; that’s all. You work. You adjust your attitude, practice the steps, carry your behind to meetings and talk with me and the other people in your network.”
"Yeah, that sounds like a breeze."
“Easier than staying sober while lying. In this program we try to stay in the moment and be honest. Pretending to feel differently than you do at any given time defeats your ability to be present and makes it hard for people to trust you.”
“But it’s so awkward,” I grumble.
“Which is why we of the alcoholic persuasion try to find short cuts, but don’t get sucked into them. Tell the truth and do the hard work of sobriety, and stay away from the persons who try to sell you a softer way.”


Let people give advice to you, never take it from them.
*

No Reason

Reason falls through,
where it lands is a place of unknown
seascape and unrelenting tides.

The roar in my ears furthers the disorienting effect of relocation.
At first it seems easier to let go of reason
but when I descend into madness I scramble for purchase;
looking for sanity like a cleft in a cliff.

Loss of skin and blood is nothing to compare to the loss of my mind.
I believe I could be more easily separated from a limb or two
than to lose rein on my brain.

Reason falls through;
I must follow even though the terrain is arduous
and my heart is sometimes faint,
for without reason there is no reason
and without reason there is no life.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 6

FUNK AND WAGNALL’S BACK PORCH



Bottoms come sealed in envelopes from unknown accountants. Amazing how many nominees and how few winners! The audience, filled with past recipients, holds its collective breath and prays for this year's finalists, and prays a bigger prayer of thanks to this year's donors, the ones who prove with their lives that it hasn’t gotten better out there. The speeches are the same, a gratitude list and maybe a punch line, the smiles and tears fresh but familiar. And when the lights go out on this night, the days of diligence begin once again so no one need lose their seat and we can all celebrate here, next year, together.


Open even though the hinges are hidden.
*

Nightcrawlers and Nightingales



I wriggle blind eyed through the dirt;
friction, my friend giving me something to push against,
resistance aiding my travels.

I worm my way through life
and believed that was all there was; having never seen the sky.
I traveled far and wide once I had taken to the air.

Open eyed I push against a thing I cannot see
and peer down on the dirt I left behind.
I soar rather than struggle
and go the distance leaving my mind open to the next frontier.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 7


THE FRUIT BOWL


Meetings are living and precious fruit. I must squeeze every drop from them, even the lemons. I am privileged to be among the succulent growth and pungent fragrance of determined hearts and minds. The infusion of strength, the vitality received from the essence of truth gives and gives to me. I am refreshed by exposure to raw talent, revived by action and growth. The diversity of shape and flavor cheer and inspire me. The contrast from bowl to chalice is dramatic, ever a reminder to stay where it’s fresh.


An offer is better than a gift.

*

Genius



I am often bonded to a self which thinks I know everything
and when in doubt believes I should know even if I don’t.
Freeing me of this requires the constant support
of friends and neighbors’ assuring me that in a capricious world
willingness is a more practical resource;
it packs neatly and handles most jobs with aplomb.

Staying consistently free from the bondage of self
requires truckloads of willingness
and the spirit of humility and sometimes even forgiveness.
I am freer when I like myself,
for the true bondage of self is the hatred of self.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 8

WILL YOU GET TO THE OTHER SIDE?



Chickens stand together on the edge of the road pecking and scratching; people make fun. People tell jokes but it’s not so funny when we are the ones playing on the tracks. We forget that all the excuses about longing for excitement and not wanting to be cut off from the world sound like so much cackling to the ears of people who value their lives. Life in the pasture or the backyard is fulfilling if you want it. That kind of life is no adrenaline rush, but then again isn’t adrenaline just another drug?


Tell the truth as if it were the weather.
*


Helping Hands?


Why would you go to a rattler for a snakebite remedy?
It feels so much like the hair of the dog that bit me.
The truth is I must, must stay away from the quick answers.

I am a slow healer, but I do heal if I allow myself to do so
unencumbered by poison or untruth.
When I am returning to the vomit of my past
it is incumbent upon me to search for the old lies
and/or the new ones, either or both will get me drunk;
do I even need the help of a prescription pad?



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 9

HARVEST TIMING


The harvest fits in the growing season and the oak fits inside the acorn. My sober mind fits right in my sober time. The soul of everything rubs across the hind leg of a cricket to sing. The infinite machinery of the universe spins but you stand there questioning the existence of a Higher Power. Well, that’s who you are, but I have only one question for you. Who else could have made all the best tomatoes come from Jersey?


Catch rain on your face.
*


Barnum, Bailey & Me


When I wake to find a whip and a chair by the side of my bed
I know I am in for a circus of a day
and the tears of this clown will not change a thing.

I ready myself for the tightrope walk
and watch out for stray elephants.
All the trained poodles in the world
can’t make this into a day in the park.

Painted ponies prance through their paces;
I try to stick to my own act,
meanwhile remembering that no matter how difficult
these routines may be it still beats a seat in the stands.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 10

DO YOU HEAR THAT SOUND?



I was running on empty and thought I was getting along that way but the smoke gave me away. My life had caught on fire and I burned it to the ground. I thought nothing had been apparent until it all lay in ashes. My sponsor said, “No, we all knew when your tank ran dry. The sucking sound could be heard for miles around.”
I asked her, if that were true, why I hadn’t heard it myself?
She said, she guessed I had my denial turned up too loud.


Box a gift to be set free at a later date.

*

Oh the Wells Fargo Wagon


Tying myself to one rail of a set of railroad tracks
gets me the same results as tying myself to the other.
Swapping one chemical fix for another
is like changing my socks in a rainstorm,
nothing dry will come of it.

Not seeing potential harm does not eliminate the harm.
Like a child with my hands pressed firmly over my eyes I yell,
“You can’t see me,” and run headlong into disaster.

Whether the train comes and makes a mess or not
I make my own soup Ducky
and must get on track by staying off the rails.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 11

YES, THAT TOO



When kindness becomes a weakness, when mental agility becomes emotional instability, it’s time to reassess everything. I cannot leave any thing off my inventory because my grandma, or society or the preacher says it’s a good thing to be. Every blessing can be a curse; all my characteristics have their dark side. I have to list the entirety of my cargo and keep a watchful eye. I have to moderate my investment in all my abilities or I could lose myself. Warmth is nice but I don’t want Death Valley. Integrity requires balance or depraved indifference will be the outcome. Weak and strong, right and wrong, it all goes on the scale.


Be generous with yourself, then others.

*


Louet


Consolidating fuzz into yarn
makes me a friend to sheep everywhere.
Spinning the filaments of truth into cables of life
does not impress the mutton in anyway,
but sure does my mental health a world of good.

Free floating fiber is bad for my lungs
and piles lint all around.
Giving things a firm twist
pulls together what used to be fluff
and keeps me warm and dry.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 12

WHY NOT HOME?



Power is not production and production is not art. I have to keep pulling the car over to the side of the road so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living. But I still want to go home. I will never give up these roadside excursions into the river of thought, though I do wonder why the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel? Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed? The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere as long as it’s at least five miles away. Power is not production and production is not art. I let it pour through me; it’s not mine to sort.


Learn to read God’s handwriting.

*

Hypothetical


Is my inability to understand what creates mystery?
If I were brighter, swifter, keener,
would life be free of unknown communion?

Would comprehension eliminate revelation?
Would I lose perceptual apprehension
by arming myself with knowledge of forethought?

Could I end mysticism through education?
Should I even if I could?



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 13

RECOGNIZABLE NONEXISTENCE



You will never take time to tell the truth. You will always take time to tell a joke. As you run from your life I see the familiar vapor trails of an unlived life. When I flee my life through caretaking I leave the same mist of unfulfilled desire behind me. I look at your potential and the damage that you do by not being here. I turn the magnifying glass on me and search for the same trends. I feel abandoned by you, the you, you never were but always should have been. I pray for the key, which will get me on the other side of the door you never opened. I hope to live life as it is rather than the comedy it can never be.


Cross the rivers in your mind.

*

Cadentia



The randomness of love
is matched only by the randomness of loss.
What slips into view or out of grasp
whispers beyond my control.

Like cookies baking in a nearby oven
I long for the sweetness to be inside;
even if it is simply in an olfactory way.

The similarity of the pain of what I have
and the pain of what is no longer mine
haunts me; scares my security,
rattles my hope, affects my sleep.

For minutes make a life
and moments are all it takes to remove the very same.
In the end all that I know is that loss does not remove love
and love does not remove loss.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 14

KILLER SQUIRRELS AND OTHER SOBER DRAMA


I can tell you stories to make your hair curl: death-defying fifth steps, speaking commitments with microphoned podiums, sponsees with killer squirrels trapped in the house. Courage and sheer determination are needed to face plague, after crisis, after pestilence, and yet with sober mind and willing heart these travails are surmounted and we live on. Tears turn to laughter with rescue and remedy. How strong we feel as the cape is passed, when the one-time panic prone sponsee becomes the model of calm and stable sponsor. Hoards of relatives at holidays and interactions with bankers, police officers and all manner of people in shiny shoes are handled with grace and boundaries. Porch loving skunks, children becoming teenagers are faced with humor and wit. Things, which in years gone by would have sent us screaming to the phone, are now casual asides during after-meeting discussion. Life does keep on spinning but we learn how to stand still.


Spend a day on a lily pad.

*


Heartfelt


Boab trees litter my dreams;
gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun,
I wonder at the tales they tell though
I am far too young to understand.

The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life;
they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind.
Coming to age seems merely a step
when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life.

Too long drought, too deep rain,
are places I can pick my face up from,
stand my ground or be on my way.
The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams
and I will return to my life.




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

Sept 15

WHINING BRATS


Some days whining brats come at me from all directions and my hair won’t curl. Apathy chases me around the house. I wonder how it has more energy than I do. My mind twists into a wrinkled mess; I drag my good foot and hop on the bad one. And even on those days I still rather be me; I never long to be the innocent victim or the spiritual leader, the tough guy or the PhD. No matter how bad it gets or what the struggle is, there is no place sweeter than in my head. Many are the days when I wished not to exist, not at all, but never to shuck my skin for the skin of another. Now that I manage, breathe right and face each day with cheer I know it was almost worth it and might be worth it yet.


Write your name on a piece of paper and slip it into your pocket.
*

Warhol Wouldn’t Be


There is no trick to art.
If I work to make my pieces fit with the familiar
I lose my individuality.

If I make what is truly me
I fear there is no line in which to stand.
I must make the work, find the market,
live life and die happy;

All this with no map
and a world filled with people
who tell me what to do,
but none who can guarantee the outcome.

My unwillingness to fight,
to look at and feel the ugliness of life
is at the core of my impediment.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 16

ROOFTOP COFFEE



Who is more powerless: the person driving down the road with his cup of coffee on the roof of the car, or the one who sees it happen? Lost in mental chaos, lost to the small things, I set the cup and forget, or content and serene, I am examining details and notice the oddness. When my mind wanders I am helpless in the whirlpool and suction. When I am grounded I am struck by the separate sealedness of the carnival around me. Potential rides on the top; will it fall forward or back? Will there be a sticky haze on the front windshield or the rear? Or I could remember at the stoplight and spare myself everything but the embarrassment. As the observer I try to be helpful, I point and jump and shout, calling the predicament to the attention of others in an attempt to increase my chances of success. We all stand as the coffee speeds away to unknown disaster.


Wear your boldness like a mane.
*

Hand Washing


I live a simple life now;
I handle life as it is dished up.
I no longer need to make use of the dish prison.

Living an orderly active life I find it untenable
to have my favorite spoon or bowl held hostage
until I make enough mess to run the dishwasher through.

I don’t live an ‘Eight is Enough’ type existence
and need not burden my psyche
trying to save my hands a little soap.

I save the Cascade for visits to waterfalls,
Jet Dry for landing strips.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 17

HATCHLING



When the shell gets too tight it’s time to hatch. I can’t tell you it’s safe out there, just that it’s time to go. The leaving is not easy. Exodus fulfilled by the use of one small tooth. This experience may or may not prepare you for the rest of your life, so much still depends on predestination and your attitude. I mean are you a chicken or a hawk? A peacock or dove? Or is there something of which I am unaware? Did someone sit on your nest or was it covered in sand? Are you turtle, lizard or snake? See, so much is out of your hands, but still your actions are your choice.


Touch your books and pet them.

*

Ovoid

I can pretend at this normal life for a period of time
then the plaster starts to crack on this white picket fence
and it’s all down hill from there.

I am better than I was;
I am happier and more well adjusted,
yet I am still far from fitting with the standard fittings,
I am an off size, my threads run counter to the average fixture,

I spent too much time on the rack
to resemble anything from off the rack.
It’s not that I am so special;
it is just that I am Special Ed.

Performance anxiety and paranoia regularly take me out of round
though even with these kept at bay I am not your normal nut.
I assure you that you can dress me up and take me out,
just don’t try to take me home.




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 18

SMARTS



Intelligence should be used as a tool not a weapon. Intelligence is as common as silica and can be used to do anything, so, why not as a helping hand, lifeline, foothold? Intelligence doesn’t preclude ignorance, arrogance or stupidity. Nor does it eliminate selfishness, greed or anarchy. Intelligence is not a substitute for wisdom and cannot hold a candle to kindness. Intelligence makes things possible, help and hurt; intention makes the decision. Intelligence is like a hand full of sand.


Pair your books for companionship.
*

Buffoon


Never juggle knives and butter at the same time
or you will just spread your problems around.
Passing on the knives is the first best idea,
leaving the butter in the dish is the second.

I have gotten many funny schemes into my brain;
gotten them in with ease,
it is the getting them out of my brain I struggle with.

Crowbars and coercion have been my favored tools;
ineffective though they may be, I am persistent,
while wishing to be dexterous.

It took me years to realize the problem with juggling is
that it begins with me throwing things
and ends with disaster if I can’t catch it all.

What slips through my fingers
through daily living is hard enough
what I throw into the fray for showmanship is, too much.

I needn’t be the fool flinging my pins
when my goal is to stay on them.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 19

HUMILITY


A great woman walks my street everyday. She carries a tall walking stick with a loop for her hand. Each morning I see her low crown of hair and the half-smile, her friendly wave when I catch her eye. Each morning when I see her I see the secret play across her face, humility. This is the secret she cannot share. I know she would sing it from the mountaintops if it would help, but humility is not a secret you can tell; it’s a secret you have to live with. As I slowly learn this precious thing I see it shine in others. Recognition of the persons with inborn dignity and a keen understanding of their personal value lights inside me. When I see this fine woman walking with purpose, I appreciate myself better and am so very grateful for those who keep humility alive by living it.


Know your friends well and your books better.
*

Toolbox

I know just how hard it is to pick up the right tools.
It's like I know I have a hammer in the drawer,
in fact I have two, so, why oh, why do I feel compelled
to hit things with the heel of my shoe?

Trust and believe it is ineffective at best;
additionally it is embarrassing.
I wish I could say I have done this a handful of times,
unfortunately, I have done it over and over,
it’s hell on my shoes and worse on my morale.

Using what is at hand or foot may seem practical,
but it is not prudent.
Walking myself through the step by step process;
reading and following directions is easier
but only when I disengage the lie that says it’s harder.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 20

JUST A TASTE OF SUNSHINE


The sunrise is so beautiful I want to taste it. Like a child who needs to put everything in her mouth to really know it, I feel the need for a bite. I want to participate in every way. I want to blend with the color of the sky, join the horizon and dip beyond. Look at me, who in the past sounded every retreat, now I leap toward life. I stretch my arms to take it all in, merging with the continuum on this greatest of adventures. The sun raises the charge and I lick my lips in anticipation.


Find the stop signs in your life.

*

Mercy

The rearview holds the vision,
the sad figure on the corner as I drive away,
all that is left to me are memories of God,
the rest I ejected and sped from as fast as I could.

I cannot face what is left
when I make God homeless and unloved.
Though living together was tough sometimes,
living alone is unbearable.

Nothing cooks right, cleans right, tastes right or smells right,
even the moon won’t rise right when I am strictly on my own.
And God wasn’t built for the streets,
that corner is not someplace my Higher Power fits in.

We are meant to be together
and apart the world spins off its measure.
Pitiful is what I am, so I swing around the block,
fling open the door and take pity on God and go home.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 21

SELF-SEEKING IS A DEBIT



Trying to get credit for everything I do has run me into debt in my anonymity account, which draws directly from my humility bank. I cannot expend my resources seeking acknowledgement and expect to retain much dignity or class. How can I build within while constantly grasping for nods and smiles from scenery and landscaping? I want approval so much that I have lost my center. In an attempt to top the charts I forgot my song. My ego writes checks that my soul can’t cover. I run my potential into the red looking to get my name in black and white. If I keep my name out of lights I have a chance of building up my dignity.


Own your own blocks.

*

No Jinn

I molested the touch control lamp.
I had no trouble turning it on,
but could never figure how to turn it off;
therefore I let the light shine in the daytime.

I called looking for guidance,
“lick your fingers then try again,” was the glib suggestion.
I offered that I was not interested
in becoming that intimate with said lamp.

Sometimes connections are made easily,
other times they cannot be made at all,
still there are times the renewal of a connection
is determined by my willingness to up the ante.

Am I willing to put a little spit into the effort
or will I leave the light to burn?



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 22

MEGAPHONE


The point of surviving, or maybe the goal after survival, is enabling the voices of victims to be heard, starting with my own. I allow the surging waves of thought and feeling to rush the gates and exit. I try to bleed the bad with and without the use of leaches. So much is stumbled upon rather than sought after. Some things hound me; I run down the street with memory at my heels. I must let the screams out or become them. Today I talk, tomorrow is for others. When I pour forth, I open the way for the rest. I have become the megaphone rather than the cheerleader. It is good to be of use.


Pollinate ideas.

*

Peace Time

I have been to the wars and through the wars
and now sit on the stoop and wonder;
will I learn to live here in the world of everyday
after having had to spend so much time running for cover.

Each time I return to what I believe is my home
I sit and rock trying to pour my soul back inside
from my hipflask where it was held for safekeeping.

I try not to spill a drop
for it is worse than shed blood and harder to rebuild.
My soul has grown pale from confinement and lack of sun,
but it still exists and for that I pat my back
and suck on my Lifesaver;

I could have done worse, was unable to do better.
I console myself with the knowledge
I never started the conflict just learned to survive it.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 23

WILD


When I run wild through the rain my hair streaming behind me, water fleeing my face, I see with my heart the thousand other rains pouring from my past. How I peel from me the soaking luggage covering my naked pain. Nothing drives me to the cozy retreat of my bed like the humid chill of an early fall drizzle. I slip my trembling skin between the comfort and the comforter, flex my toes, towel my hair, wipe scenes of lost love from my pale, pale soul. Leaves rush my gutters, clog my mind. I see the change in me as I turn heel to heel, trees spinning bare in a blank wet world. I know this ever relived fluid, this recycled life.


Interest yourself.

*

What is Dear?


I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life
instead of being taught that life is dear,
but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know
and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves.

I wish I had learned earlier
to love the life I was taught to cling to,
but I am grateful I have been bound to life
long enough to find the joy in it.

I have found that knowing joy
causes me to cling all the more,
cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task.

I am angry for what I wasn’t taught,
but sadder still for what they didn’t know
and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition.

I wanted better for them
and they wanted better for me
and this is the circle which closes
around the dear that I hold onto.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 24

WORKS



I cry the waterworks so necessary to the healing of my heart. I explode with the fireworks required for anger to set living boundaries. I sleep the sleep of angels, as I link to dreamworks allowing mental maintenance to occur. Slipping into my political face I make time for public works. I return to my abode, call the pie maker and order ‘the works.’ Have it delivered so I can face the mountain of homework waiting for me and bearing my name.


Suggest solutions in your diary.
*

No Dialing Tonight.

When it is late at night and I can’t sleep
I wander and putter and plan my dreams.
I hold out hopes and wash their faces;
pray for rain and clean all traces.

Thunderstorms rumble and lightning strikes;
I tune up the plumbing and wipe down the pipes.
All the paint and promises in the world won’t change me;
I’m still lost in the dark without you.

Tear stains are friendly till I wash them away
leaving blotchy eyes that can’t be explained;
an aching heart that keeps on ticking
and wishes that can’t come true.

Sunday morning is here, too soon
and life rolls on whether you think it should.
Tiny thoughts come out to play
and sad, sad fears keep them at bay.

But the dog is curled up under the covers without a care;
I long to disturb her but do not dare.
She is the queen here and I’m but the naïve;
I’ll tend to my writing and try to be brave.

For the dawn will follow this endless nocturne;
the whole world will be safe once more.
I will cry but it’s all too late;
though you are merely a phone call away.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 25

OPTICAL ILLUSIONS


“Like my new frames?” I ask my sponsor.
“Who wrote your prescription?”
“Oh, the lenses aren’t new, just the frames,” I reply.
“You want to be seen differently but you want to see things the same old way. My question still stands. Who wrote you the script for those funhouse glasses you have used all your life? Did it ever occur to you the distortion is ground into the glass? Remember, some people need you to see things as other than what they are. Unhappy families look great if you can’t see them too clearly. It’s hard to know what to say to keep the peace, said Grandma. She never took off her specs to see there was no peace to keep. So, I will ask you again. The view of the world you base your choices on, who chose the color you see it through?”


Breathe to improve your mind and mood.
*

Green Wood

When a nail is hammered into a living tree,
the tree is forever changed.
Even if the barb is pulled out
he tree will never be the same.

If the spike remains and the tree lives;
over time the nail will be incorporated,
the tree will get on with the business of living
and carry the thing as just a part of what it took to get here.

What was trauma is trauma,
but life is big and the longer it gets
the larger the life, is the hope.

Piercing experience is engulfed by rings of fresh wood
and a will to grow beyond the moment of impact.
The tree branches out and even a hundred nails can’t stop that.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 26

SCREAMING LETHARGY



The screaming lethargy of being alive after many years of wanting something else, the exhaustion of pulsing, breathing, waves and waves of thinking. Yet as tired as I am, I am. Here without a doubt, I stand. No crawling for I have not fallen, no climbing for I have reached the plain. I wait for the rain to wash over me, the truth to run through me, time to pass by me. As if on a free trip to an unwelcome destination I arrive with randomly packed bags and low expectations. I’m here now. The train doesn’t seem to be moving on. I might as well leave the station, nothing to do on the platform. There may be points of interest or flowers to be smelled. I step haltingly and fear making any connection to this unbidden place. My name is unknown; I befriend the lamppost, the birds, the street. I am tired of travel, fearful of arrival. Fury courses through my veins but the weather is pleasant, I might take off my coat and stay.


Plan a trip with no destination.
*

One Street off Amory



Apology holds change at arms length.
Apology is the thing I was taught to wait for
as a sign that things will improve,
but apology is not a harbinger of change.

It is quite the opposite
it is the guarantor of business as usual;
no amendment need occur,
apology has been made and life goes on with no alteration.

Without variation we all stay sick
and apologizing for that won’t get us better.
Restitution, amends, revelation, revolution
these are the things which make the world bright,

Apology is just a scrap with which to wipe your ass.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 27

PIROUETTES



I turn and spin; the world flashes as I go. I am erect, proud of my self-possession. I can stand the forces of vector rotation, public opinion and gravity. Sobriety has made a dancer out of me. I sprint the stage and take my place. I know the moves and trust, as best I can, the choreographer and the choreography. I feel the wind move on my body as I revolve, the blur of existence spreads out before me. I can let it all pass. To spot myself and keep my upright posture, the only place that requires my clear and unobstructed view is the line of sight from my sponsor’s eyes to mine.


Let your work speak.

*


A Verse to the Wise

Encoding truth into poetry
makes reality survivable by giving readers
the opportunity to dig truth up like diamonds.

Throwing certainty in people’s faces like cold water
gives them a wakeup call but nothing to embrace.
The beauty of semaphore is the dance
that need not be understood by everyone who sees it.

Communication through device
leaves headroom and breathing space
while acceptance might be reached.

The current of a conversation
often leads me to face the facts,
but a tsunami of candor could drown me.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 28

LINEAGE



People stand in the queue and I stare, lost in contemplation and compliance. I weigh the conflicts and complications. Is this the method to clear identification? I think I am better known for the lines I’ve crossed, the times I press between warm souls and force myself to the area beyond. How can I wait my turn for generational stew when the fruit trees bear life for those who break free from ruts and rumbles to bite deeply the flesh of the future? I can’t stand here though I love so many in this line, I cannot love the line itself. I must step through, breathe, stretch my legs and mind, take leave of grids and locks, to live a lonelier but healthier life, all caused by a change in direction.


Enjoy change like flowers before the fruit.

*

Kicks


New balance is more than a brand of sneakers.
New balance is a joyful revelation
made possible through constant vigilance.

I am tap dancing into a vision,
no more soft shoed wishfulness.
I can lift my feet knowing I can keep my up right posture;
my musculature robust from climbing
the steps and accepting direction.

This bright tempo delights me;
I feel stretched, subtle, able-bodied.
Life off the balance beam offers me the world
in which to embrace my equilibrium.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 29

DEATH PRACTICE


“Why do you practice death like it were a skill? Do you fear you lack ability? Or, because it’s your goal, have you made it your hobby?”
Beleaguered by the questions of my sponsor I search quickly for some believable response. “I confused calm with death and thought I was practicing the former…..Death came for a holiday, how could I refuse it?…..It’s a test drive, if I like it I can keep it.” My sponsor doesn’t think I’m funny.
“Check your motives, wants and desires. Make sure death is what you really want, that it’s not just your fallback position because you fear life. Don’t get me wrong, I hope death is a good thing, but why try to chew tomorrow’s food when your plate is full of today?


Ride change.
*

Moniker


The Hurt carry on the tradition,
would never think to give it up,
don’t even know there is that option,
strap on their weapons without a second thought.

How can there be a second thought
when there never was a first.
Hurt is a reflex
and it moves its way through the world
like dominoes tumbling;

Everything’s knocked down
before you ever saw it standing.
So, what’s the use anyway?
So, I fall down and in that action push you forward
and we are all together in the mud.

But it is so hard to recognize anyone in the mud,
including myself and especially you.
If I hurt you that makes it hard for me to see
anything about you except my wish for your departure,

Which I subconsciously hope will take away the guilt
I can’t afford to feel.
If I make it out of the mud I can’t afford anything,
but if I don’t pay up I’ll be in new mud soon,

So I must break tradition
and the first step toward that is seeing it
and the second is calling it by its name.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 30

WEE HOURS



In the wee hours I hear the high pitched wail, the tiny pest whining in my ear, the onset of my thin stretched nerves reaching their end. A few more hours are required of me tonight. I rally my spirit and lift the edges of my willing resolve. Long slow nights carry me to the far corners of my mind. I am more average than I had imagined or hoped for. The commonness of four AM brings the base to disclosure, the charmed exposure of predawn wakefulness. The fuzzy vibrations in my brain make me feel deep and real, vulnerable to all the normal limitations of nature and caprice. The sun will rise, ending this night. My sentry over, I will fall to earth, and rest, and bed.


Change everything, change yourself.
*


No Substitute for Fire
I wanted alcohol to do better for me than burning did.
I was constantly disappointed, yet I kept trying.
I was not to find pleasure in that bottle
though I had no problem finding addiction there.

This is how I came to believe
that there is not an upside to everything.
Booze took me to surprising destinations,
but never the ones I desired.

I sought release,
the release I got from a wildfire spreading across my skin
and this might have been mine
had I poured the liquor on rather than in.

But in me it did no good,
it never let me exhale
the way that the “right” kind of pain did.
What I got from alcohol drove me though;

Fear rode me roughshod and I found my way home,
it was a bumpy road,
but once there we doused the flames
and I live the upside I had come to doubt,
because fire is no substitute for life.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 1

OLD BOOKKEEPING, NEW PAINTING


What will become of the fine lines I use to divide good news from bad? How will I handle a life with no screen to keep the silt from shifting across my personal landscape? A delicate crosshatch had kept little checks in little boxes; now the checks are bouncing randomly, no pattern or restraint. My old bookkeeping has come to an abrupt end, leaving many questions and much uncertainty. I lift the green visor from my brow, looking for answers from the periphery. Taking the long view I put down my pencil and pick up my paints, sling the easel over my shoulder and walk away from meticulous survival. The fine lines I have now are in my brush strokes and even bad news is somehow good.


Donate some time.


*


Saltbox House

Refusing to make reasonable demands
is quite as dysfunctional as making unreasonable demands.
The opposite of an extreme is often twice as crazy
and harder to explain.

I open my mouth and dry toast is the reply.
Nothing should be said when nothing can be done
and to do nothing is harder than one might think.

I fold my hands but my lap rejects them;
I quiet my mind but my soul objects.
I must let my heart sing
and trust you enough to ask for help.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 2

A LITTLE EXTRA HOPE


“What will you do with a little extra hope?” asked my quizzical sponsor.
“What good is a little hope?” my retort.
“A little hope got you sober. What can you do with a little more? Could you take out your dreams and fly them on a breeze? Could you throw yourself into a wave of intention and see if you can ride it out? Breathe easier, smile broader? Take my hand tighter and walk the road awhile longer before you run for refuge? Now let me ask you a better question. What couldn’t you do with a little more hope?”
“Fail.”


Wash as a meditation.
*

Sackcloth

Tragedy is a tale unfinished.
Life is far longer than calamity can endure.
I will not give up, not even when hope is lost.

For life carries forward;
more is filled with optimism.
Threads break, but the fabric is woven still,
flowing off the living loom waiting to be used.

I will cut my swath and fashion a garment to wear
and if sometimes it is filled with ashes
I will sit and grieve
all the while knowing that this is never the stories end.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 3

SEAM ALLOWANCE


The space given and taken, the space used to bind us and sew us fast.
The permission for humanness and the need for seams to make us whole. The narrow margin, a shoulder on which I lean, the slender strip a place of refuge.

Darts are snipped to hug the curves; I bend to fit to life.
Our nearness; being my own part and part of more.
Planning, and a pattern cut to order with allowances made for fraying and fragility, allow me to feel woven into a web of what is and still hope for more. The unfinished garment is taking shape, easing and stretching.

And before my eyes, pins held between the teeth of God.


Keep strong words on a high shelf you have access to.

*
Have Faith
Strange and wonderful tragedy
takes you away from me
and I don’t know how it is that you return,
but you do and I thank God,

But I’m not sure it was God’s idea
that you went away or that you came back,
though, I am sure, He missed you every bit as much as I did.

I revolve the freshness of you in my mouth like candy;
I swirl, but don’t want to crack open.
Honeymoons are for people who live comprehendible lives;
we fly to each other and cling like raptors plummeting to the ground.

You leave your mark upon me I do the same for you;
we are none the worse for the wear.
I stand in the gush from the hydrant,
soaked in the pleasure, forgoing the safety.

The world may burn down again tomorrow,
I remember that it has before, but I am wiser for the singeing
and weathered with soot in my eyes and charcoal piled roundabout my legs,
yet I’m still standing and you are back from the dead
and I think of you as Lazarus.

And now we will live the comedy
for life is what lay ahead,
we took the hit of death before its time
and so must be off the hook for the rest.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 4

BELLS



The bells are ringing but no one sings. There are no peals of laughter and that’s just fine, for pleasure is not the only response to sound. Shock and distain are other options, too. I have what I want in relationship to the buzz in my ear, equal opportunity attitude, pro and con. Some songs bring joy when they end. I have to lower my expectation of pleasure and value my distaste for tinkling sounds or any other preordained sweetness.


See through your problems.
*

Jeopardy
Today I tore down the isolation booth.
I didn’t live in there exactly;
sometimes I stuffed God in there
and went out for a ride.
I left that shack stand for far, too long;
a testimony to ill conceived,
ham-handed, control freaks everywhere.

I said all I wanted was some peace,
but a vacuum is not tranquility
and escape won’t substitute either.

Since the live studio audience has gone home
and the house lights are dimmed,
I feel pretty foolish for playing
round after round on my own.

This game was never any fun
and the sponsors were death merchants and scavengers
whose interest lay in destruction and nothing else.

I must not cast aspersions, I didn’t care
that the contest was merely an upright pit
with a lethal pendulum, I used it as a hideout and a lair,

A place whose walls
I could keep between me and my Higher Power
and an activity I could depend on
to keep me free from living a life.

It all came to the ground today;
I walk over the splinters and shards,
I know there has to be a better game
and I’m ready to play.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 5

WHAT IS PAST


The past cannot hold me in a loving embrace. I run too often looking for affection and recognition in things long dead and purportedly buried. I return to the ghoulish obsession of digging up old hates and sorrows, longing for support and finding only the cause of the ulcers in my soul. I wallpaper the crumbling facade not wanting to cover it up but to hold it together, trying to unify something, which is totally shattered. When I view it with a sober eye, the past is nothing but a slideshow under a strobe light. The pulse triggers the impulsive belief that it was all real when, in truth, it was the lie I survived. No life existed in the past and only now is there air to breathe. The past is all vacuum and I don’t need to be sucked away.


Take an enemy’s inventory and don’t give it back.


*
MCBuddLake


Barefoot smokers sit downstairs
chatting on cell phones as I wait.
Wait for the Doctor to come and tell me what?

Tell me that I am ill or hale
based on a hammer hit on the knee
and a deep look into my eyes.

I will leave this place hours late
for a life I barely understand
but am grateful to be living.

Like one of the dancing flowers from Fantasia
I am swept downstream,
but it’s an amazing journey even while I wait
in this six by eight room.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 6

REMEMBERING


Remembering is the oxygen my brain pumps to my soul. Remembering gives me mobility and traction. Everything in my life that is positive depends on my remembering. It keeps apathy at bay and complacency locked in some far off cupboard. Remembering gives today the misty sweetness I have grown to love. I can live to my potential and enjoy the process, watch misery move away. I can dream the future every night because I remember who I am and what I am capable of. Never can I be haunted, memory keeps me from reactionary visitation. Though some fear the past, I know holding it in a close embrace allows me to dance to the rhythm of truth.


Think of names for your sneakers.
*

What Oliver Could not Know


One of the complications of being an orphan
is not learning about the failings and foibles
which visit themselves on all parents.

Living estranged from God has this same blind spot.
When you live with someone day in and day out
you understand their dimensions;

Depravation causes celebrity
and the casting of very large shadows
in some very odd places.

The intimate knowledge of a guardian
allows for relaxation and experimentation.
Isolation creates an overload of anticipation;

Fear of risk and the yearning for attention
swing a pendulum to the point of weaponry.
Familiarity is a breeding ground,
which means many things grow.

Life in a vacuum is devoid of life
and nothing grows up.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 7

FRUSTRATING IMPROVEMENT


Improvement is frustrating, lonely and yet exhilarating. It somehow starts with moths in the stomach and ends up with that warm soup satisfaction. Struggle, waiting, followed by further struggle; progress is made by tugging one string then the other. It is hard to accept scaling the ropes alone, but tottering assent is always this way. Once at the top I realize how easily I could slide to the bottom, sometimes friction is all that keeps me up. Establishing a new altitude is challenging; I must ground myself in a new way. My talents hinder and aid me. I must open the correct doors in my mind and avoid the traps in the floor. Stuttering through requirements and obligations I transform but only slowly, earning each drop of comfort from a job just done.


Think smart, speak clearly.
*

Wasilla


I don’t appreciate those who wear ignorance
as a fashion accessory,
but then I have to work too hard,
not to wear intolerance as a badge of courage.

So what can I really say, while I’m on this topic,
what kind of game is “Playing Dumb”
where do we get with that as the vehicle?

I don’t know why grown folks
act like corralled farm animals,
nor do I comprehend the idea of salvation
through unnecessary sacrifice,

But here I am in a society riddled with it
and I try not to drink in the face of this idiocy.
this is a job for which I am unprepared.

I have spent so much time feeling my internal lacking,
that when facing the siphon created by the general public
I start looking for a glass and some ice to tinkle,

I have tried this before and it solved nothing.
I can climb under this pile of human failing
or try to crawl on top.

What I really must learn
is to look at it without a drink in my hand.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

Have any of you heard this before???

Blue-eyed people tend to have a higher alcohol tolerance and are therefore more likely to be drunks!

A study that used data from two archival samples to tested the hypothesis that light-eyed people are more likely to abuse alcohol. The first sample had 10,860 Caucasian male prison inmates and sample two consisted of 1,862 Caucasian women.

Both samples proved to show that people with light eyes, or blue eyes more specifically, had consumed a considerable more amount of alcohol than those with dark eyes. Previous studies have shown that dark-eyed people show more physiological arousal and more sensitive to medications than light-eyed people.

The point here, is that dark-eyed people may shy away from drinking heavily, because they are easily made drunk and this keeps them from developing a physiological dependence. Therefore, blue-eyed people may engage in drinking much more, because they aren’t so physiologically dependent on substances causing them to overdo it and become dependent on alcohol. So, if you’re blue eyed, be careful, because you might become an alcoholic.

http://www.omgfacts.com/lists/11023/Blue-eyed-people-tend-to-have-a-higher-alcohol-tolerance-and-are-therefore-more-likely-to-be-drunks

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 8

ALARM CLOCK


The dream-killer plays its harsh tones. I pull my lids, so unwilling to wake. The tip of my tongue, dry to leather, welcomes the wet of my toothbrush. I grin a foaming smile. I run through my night's travels; I mentally wonder the highlights, ponder the implications and meanings. Dressed, with open door breeze in my face, I leave nighttime escapades for daytime pandemonium. The only thing that won’t leave me is the last image before the gong sounded.


Tie paper dolls of people into books that may help them.
*


The Problem with the Peter’s Principle

Is there a harsher lesson than learning
that love is not the same as trust?
This is a fact all the more painful because it is true.

Affection is not the safeguard of sanctity.
I am learning to steel myself to survive ardor
and its blatant disregard for honesty
and still I am caught by surprise
when the slight of hand is revealed.

I think of love as a building material,
most use it as a method of clear-cut
or a fire which extirpates whatever I hold dear.

I can trust people to be who they are
and do what they do,
but if I have to spend my time watching for the ordeal
I have no time for the ecstasy.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 9

VIRGINIA CREEPER


In a clearing grows a vine; as seasons change the leaves turn pale. This type of vine grows throughout the wood, but does it grow pale everywhere or only in the sunlit space? I see the trembling of the lovely foliage and wonder the destiny of the flora. Does growth have a will of its own? Does it grow to the light or is it a must? Can I turn my face even if Virginia Creeper cannot? And if I can, should I, just to prove a point?


Keep a spare heart for your overflowing love.

*

The First We

Before powerlessness can be dealt with,
before unmanageability can be faced,
it is imperative that the “WE” is embraced.

It is the first and last job of sobriety.
Initially the human “we” is faced
and finally the I and Thee.

But the full spectrum of “we” is there to allow
the creation of possibilities in my life.
As the human body is 97% water
the recovering alcoholic is 97% “We”.

What I could never do on my own;
We do with ease.
On my own I might not be much
but together We are everything!


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 10

ALSO A GIFT


Sadness is as life affirming as joy, but in the same way that people eat together but defecate alone, joy is encouraged in public and sadness is a private matter. Happiness is embraced and discouragement relegated, even though personal experience shows disappointment is often a point of growth. What beauty and change stem from disillusion, but still it is hard to look directly at grief and not flinch away. The temptation to feign pleasure and leave sadness swept under the carpet is strong. It is an unwelcome job to be the defender of grief, a job that should be unnecessary, in the same way that the valley between the mountains is unnecessary to defend. We are not giants who can step from one mountaintop to the next.


Try a new game for body, mind and laughs.

*
Ping Pong Balls and Possession

I keep an aquarium with a goldfish on my counter
and sometimes he splashes my work
proving to me that the thing I think I have contained
often has a mind of its own.

I have heard that goldfish don’t remember much,
but mine always knows which side of the tank
provides him a view of me.

Memory may be reflexive.
Assumption possibly is as well.
I must keep a fresh account of what is within my grasp
and what can swim away.

I have heard the many fish tales
from the part of me that likes to lie.
The scales shimmer and lure me to pretend control
when in truth it is all just a game of chance.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 11

DENY ONE, DENY THE OTHER


If you want to deny the problem, by necessity you must deny the solution. Resolving a problem whose existence is rejected creates a split in the crust of collusion. Oftentimes, the convolution and reconvolution of addiction causes a bloated roiling mass that rolls through the streets of sanity. How can a wedge be cut in a creature so dense? How can I work on piecing together remedies when I am readily assured by fellow sufferers there is NO DIS-EASE? Can I trust my personal depletions? Can I employ faith to a resolution when faith is utilized to fortify the contagion I’m told doesn’t exist? But if not faith, what?


Count out all the buttons in your box.
*


Alarm


I have lived life like one long fire drill.
Is there smoke? Not always, but I fear flames.
The alarm in my head is with me always
and I walk from my life single file and silent.

I don’t move on, this is only a drill,
‘I don’t want to take drastic action, this will pass,’
is my constant thought,
though, I can not remember a time without the buzz.

I have stood outside my life so long
practicing in case of an emergency
that there is no life to protect.

I have been conscientious to the point
of being consumed by caution.
Balance requires risk.
I must be brave enough to have it all.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 12

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH


I was driving around in my car, eating a meltingly ripe persimmon. On the radio came a fiddle-playing band performing their rendition of In The White Room. I was traveling with the three drafts of my first step, version one consisting of 690-some words and the final consisting of only four. Joy is not enough. That’s it. The whole thing. Today my life is unmanageable due to the fact, having a balanced life, feeling my wide range of feelings including joy, is not sufficient to eliminate the pain and damage of the past. My horrific childhood has not healed, has not mended seamlessly. I have joy today, every day at some point, in proportion to my sober choices.
I fail to realize the promise doesn’t say heal the past; it says I will not regret the past. I don’t, at least not any of the choices I made. Other peoples’ choices are not mine to regret, so I can’t do that for them. I will not wish to shut the door on the past, and I don’t wish to. I want it healed. I may not get my wish. Just because I am doing my part to heal the past doesn’t make anyone else do it. I can’t strong-arm the perpetrators into recovery the way they strong-armed me into abuse.

Joy is not enough, but it’s a hell of a start.



Lend your assets; keep your defects home.
*



Matching



“Matching calamity for serenity,”
is a task requiring attentive diligence.
Each tragedy has its unique blast pattern
and necessitates a precisely cut cure.

Coverage is one concern and depth is another,
the weight of the healing atmosphere
must equal the corrosive depletion caused by ruin.

I have to make available the wound
in order to receive the remedy;
anytime I camouflage or barricade my injury
I have eliminated the opportunity for a corresponding solution.

Knowing this fact
and answering it with right action is the job of a lifetime,
but I cannot think of a more productive use of my time.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 13

BATTLESHIP


If the first is a guess, what is the second? Paranoia? Or worse? Action is a blessing, reaction a debilitation, and to twist from reaction to self-doubt sinks the battle and the battleship. When I can’t make sense, the gift is stepping back. Better to put my hand down than to lose the farm. When I find myself in a minefield, I can walk gingerly or wait for aide from above, air rescue or other. The option of rethinking every step sets me dancing; the tune, which begins this hurky jerky polka of death, stems from the metronome of criticism playing in my ear. When I am overwhelmed with critique I give up acceptance of chance or the joy of spontaneity, throwing myself into a pit of apprehension. I am safer being wrong occasionally than unsure forever.


Study an old map and find a new way.

*

Message with no Bottle


I found a note while I was cleaning the art cupboard.
It was written in my hand.
I don’t remember writing it, or thinking it for that matter.

The note said,
“Total disregard for the survival of your soul”
and I have no idea if it was a warning or a suggestion;
a place to start or a destination at which not to arrive.

If it was written during one of those dark days
it could be the former,
I hope it is the latter;
a sign post on my recovery road.

I bring it out here to write to you about it,
share it and take me to a place
where I am no longer alone with this flyer.

I sit down to the keyboard
lift the note to read it again with care.
I scan the edges for clues
and see that it is a memo sheet torn in half.

When I flip it, on the back I see,
“2 loaves & 5 fishes to feed a multitude”
and though I may not believe in that miracle
I do believe in this one.




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 14

MY MOON


I anticipate the crowning of your face as you birth the sky. Your rhythmic visitation sates me. The gravity of my need keeps you close. The tide of my heart pulls you from shore to shore. We live in the sweet ecstasy of tethered love, our souls slingshotting across the open palm of heaven. Your empathy for me transforms these shards of ice to a tender heart… satelliting. I orbit you empowered by your kindness. You are my moon.


Paint your face and print your profile.

*

Fair Fish

Tiny thoughts ping pong around my head
hoping to win a goldfish,
but what do I need with a five dollar fish?

How often do I pay too dearly,
for what is merely an animated ornament?
When I falter in self-esteem
I look to decorate my life through hostage taking
and other unfair practices.

I know I want to feel safe,
know that hiding gives the illusion of that.
It’s like the joke told about banging sticks
to keep the tigers away.

Does it work? Yes, of course
as long as you are in a place with no tigers.
I can distract myself,
but I can not distract life;
life goes on and takes me with it, no matter my disguise.

Given this I can either spend my time
with a blindfold and a cigarette waiting for the end
or walk the midway and go ride the tilt-a-whirl.




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 15

REJECTION



Rejection is a game of endurance, a boundary enhancing process, a test of survival. Rejection sought or unsought is a challenge. Sometimes rejection is a flare lighting the need for a change of tactics or direction. Though, it is hard to view rejection as a beacon rather than condemnation. Rejection is also the counterbalance for acceptance. Risk is nothing if rejection is not part of the equation. I cannot value a yes if you could not say no. Rejection is the safety valve when putting myself in situations where I don’t belong. I get sent back to the world of possibilities when the kindness of rejection ejects me from the wrong choice.


Look at the keyhole then look at the key.

*
Autonomic


Alcoholics in isolation go no place good.
Isolation is too expensive to keep;
whether it is a bad habit or worse.

How I hold to a receding thing such as this?
I am amazed that I accomplish this difficult task
and fear my ability to do something simple like breathe.

I wonder often why destruction is so seductive when life is fine.
Yet, I hear the cloying whispers of lonely isle shores,
I must bind myself to friendship
and hold firm to companions for the water is no place for me,
I have forgone my once liquid life.




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 16

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 winter’s day, peer into warm lit windows hoping You will be home. I seek, to keep me 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 and 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, and 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 the 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.

Weigh your demands and don’t let them tip your scale.
*



Bowman Beach


The swirl with the flash of teeth
that I backed away from turned out to be dolphin,
but that didn’t make me safer,
strangers are strangers no matter who their PR team is.

When I am out of my element fear grows long leads
and I am bound by these limits.
Who I am under new circumstances
is a discovery I make as time flies by.

Can I swim and play with exuberance
or will I drown trying to catch up?
I am able and disabled,
the line is tied from the back and I don’t know its length.

I unreel as much slack as I can and test my reach,
but still I must keep my wary eye and be careful of the deep.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 17

FISHING FOR CONTENTMENT


Fishing for contentment is a wonderful pastime but what is used for bait? Is there a delicacy to dangle before contentment to lure it into my life? Can I crumble the best biscotti and leave a trail to my door? I don’t believe contentment swims around waiting to be caught. I think it’s more like the wild yeast that finds its way to my starter. If I put the ingredients in my life, contentment will rise to the occasion.


Renew your own understanding of the word NO.

*
Where do I live?


Fleeter of foot is my goal.
I race to catch the prize thoroughbreds as they flee.
I play chase, I win, I lose, I fall in the mud, I break my leg.

None of this does anything for the horses either,
they are loose and confused;
off like a shot, but nowhere to go.

I buy better shoes, hire a trainer,
put reflective tack on the stallions and the mares.
In short I go broke.

I had the world of possibilities before me and it ran away;
all because I didn’t close the barn door.




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 18

MY HEROINE


The corpse that is my childhood is mine to protect from the wolves and rats of denial and collusion. The infant who commits suicide in self-defense is my heroine. The pure thinking of an uncluttered mind seizes on the only possible way for me to survive. Her death at her own hand is my rescue. If the bad had killed her I would have died with her. In her plan, I was left as the seed she ejected in her assent. She is gone from this place; I feel her only as the wisp of memory. The tiny body laid flat on the carpet, her pressed pinafore somehow more alive than she, is the unfinished business of prevention. As long as I see her there and do not walk away from my responsibility and never forget she protected me with the life she never lived, I am free to live this life.


Throw ice cubes up for God to catch.

*
Earl Grey is not my Friend

Scabby knees is what I look for;
I need to be with those who climb,
not those who slide.

I hate to say it, but looking cool
and sitting on the sidelines
does nothing for me or my sobriety.

I have to build those calluses,
require patches in my clothes,
carry a hammer to pound in those spikes.

If I don’t see tools in your hands
and bodily evidence that you have been using them,
I really don’t have time for you.

This is a “let’s go, lets go” kind of recovery for me
and if it isn’t for you then have fun
and I hope you have a good seat,
but I am not staying for your tea party;
I have no time for tarts.




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 19

MARMALADE


Marmalade, bitter and sweet, spread across my spiritual toast; zest and sticky solution mix and cover the surface. I bite down taking in the start of my day. Past this point anything is possible, fame or disaster, a dreary fog-filled morning or cloudless afternoon. Seeing the passing populous, I alternately advance and retreat from this human wall. Response and responsibility tattletale their way to my reactionary will. The tightrope sways over river of potential; balance is more than a desire, it is a necessity. So I enjoy my breakfast tea and watch the marmalade melt as I dip my bread in my well-steeped brew. The parade will start soon enough; I need this time before I launch into the fray.


Start a fire in your mind.
*



Self Importance


When I am over sensitive and everything
that everyone does looms large for me,
I am more likely to think
that I am a driving force in the lives of others.

It’s a funny connection in the same way
that when I scratch the dogs tummy her foot paddles;
when I am not getting my needs met
I tend to believe I am in this world
to meet the needs of others.

Often when in this mindset I also delude myself further
to worry that I may be the only person
who can help these other people.

I have been training myself to throw a flag
on any and all plays where I am that important.
I try to bring all action to a stop
and get right sized about who I am
and how important I am and to whom and why.

It’s not that I don’t have value,
I have the same value as everyone else,
but when I shortchange my needs and my feelings,
over responsibility to others mushrooms
and this is not good for anyone; me least of all.

As with most things,
if I find out what is right for me
it tends to be right for those around me,
even if I can’t see that at the time.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 20

WALKING JOY HOME


I make sure to walk joy home not because I doubt her ability to find it alone, rather because it gives me extra time with her. I used to fear joy, that I would be intoxicated by her presence and lose my well-hardened grasp on realism. Now I see that without joy in my life there is no realism, that it was only cynicism masquerading in its place. Joy is simple and unassuming. I often confuse her with ecstasy and scoot away in shy terror. Joy is nice to have around. She is not just a party animal; sometimes I invite her over for a cup of tea. When we are done I take the winding path to savor every step up to her door.


If you can’t lay down your burden move it from hand to hand.
*

Resilience

When I experience trauma or drama
my heart and soul return to the toddler state;
I feel the urge to stay up and push forward.
I resist help and rest.

I try to override animal need in favor of intellectual prowess.
Bleary eyed and red-faced, I soldier on,
only managing to make my life into a ceaseless fight.

My charm and wit wear thin; then wear out.
I need to recharge my batteries,
need to hit reset and restore my default settings.

It is hard for me to accept that I must lie down
in order to get up again.
Restoration is impossible to achieve from my battle stance.

Resilience is a bouncing ball.
What I want to rise I must first throw down.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 21

REFLECTIONS OF YOU


When people meet me they listen and stare, then the familiar words tumble from their mouths, “there is something about you.” I know it’s the reflection of every person I saw at the meeting last night, the sober voices that created them, also the mirror of years spent in rooms just the same. I know this is what is seen in me. The bright light shines on me and the prism of time fans the colors to my new acquaintance. I thank my Higher Power for letting me be a spectral instrument and I am grateful to the fellowship for shining the light on and through me.


Recycle absolutes into planters.
*



Canine Comprehension


I wonder what it is that the dog knows.
True love, quantum physics,
the ratio of lift to thrust required to make the ball fly,
how food shared from my plate
is better than food from her bowl.

This begs the next question.
What do I really know; song lyrics, nursery rhymes,
old scores from old grudges?

What I hope I have learned;
is the space it takes to keep an open mind,
the willingness required to make a real change,
and the width, depth and breath of honest affection.

If I haven’t learned these things
I will put them at the top of my list of things to do.
Because I believe I can teach this old dog a few new tricks.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 22

THE PRIVILEGE OF SUN RISE


I wake, 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, earthbound 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.


Don’t become overly fond of nothingness for it may consume you.
*

Jacks


Born crazy, is that better than becoming deranged?
Do birth affects excuse my unrepentant glee?
Does irrepressible sardonic wit
explain the order of restless exposition?

Can you count on Cicadic enthusiasm to carry me,
or flightless fancy to keep me down?
I am beyond redemption, beyond reception, beyond device.

I arrived riddled with chaotic cracks,
but I am more than just a glaze
and deep down I’m more than sound,

So walk with my wild side
and your thoughts I’ll rearrange.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 23

WAITING FOR THE RECOVERY OF OTHERS


I sit on my hands and wait for these bright pennies to earn the lessons of time. I dance my little dance and move on, dropping the pretense of patience. I search other forests, fields, and meetings and encounter many fine plums, though none are the gems incubating at home. I make acceptance my goal and breathe through my days. I watch the bulbs ripen and bloom. I wonder at their beauty, inhale their sweetness. I have lost track of my personal progress. I behold, with charmed dismay, the open chasm before me. I must turn from the flowers and let the new lessons begin.


Don’t show your broken places to everyone, but do show them to someone.
*



Spectrum


The quality of the poetry
is so dependent on the quality of the lighting.
Improve the color palette and yes, you’ve guessed the result.

So, I say to you, “Turn up the lights.
Do not write in half-dark grief and limp through the words.
Spotlight what you can and illuminate the rest.

You needn’t make a sound,
needn’t pitch a tent, needn’t build a bridge,
though you may, may if you wish.

And wish is what I do, wish for better light
and when the clouds break loose in the sky let the sun pour in.
I lift my pen and make it all;
for what was needed was this better light.”



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 24

BIRTH OF AN APPLE


When an apple gives birth what is the result? Seed or sauce? Crunch or crisp? The act of creation is so much an act of sacrifice, how can it be limited to only one kind of delivery? The children of effort produce fruit of their own; who am I to call them other than my kin? How many times have I thrown over bluster for blizzard? But snow is snow. I can accept every squall if I keep clear and willing. I may finish my days in a winter orchard if I spend my life picking not choosing.


Keep two lists: what you want and what you have.
*


Behind Closed Doors


The children of happy fathers make no sense to me.
I have known no such peace.
What is it to live in a world where there is a man
who likes you, someone who approves?

I feel like my chin would have always been out there to see,
no ducking, no need to hide,
had there been a good man to whom I could turn.

The dark circles under the eyes of my soul make me old,
old and different from those kids, mere children,
safe in a home with a happy man whose joy it is to be their Dad.


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

[EnchantedNightDweller]

Going to birthday night to see my dad celebrate 32 years of sobriety. And my mom celebrating 32 years of standing by his side in Alanon.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 25

ABUNDANCE OF WATER


Waterfalls fail the catch basin and run off to make mud slide from the hills. Power showers down, but the channels it uses are not always beneficial. High tide with the push of tsunami wipes out the coast. Water is the stuff of life, but God forbid it gets out of control, there is no living with it. I cannot regulate the weather but today I have a plan. I don’t have to stand out waiting to see how much will come down. I may not have every contingency covered; I do have a backup for the worse than average season. Yes, I did dig myself a French-drain, but I started by not living on the flood plain.


Travel in your own good company.

*


Basket Ball



Idiots out number poets, this is a fact,
though I do wonder why.
It cannot be an easy lot spending your days
in slow witted discharge;

I would think they might at least try putting pen to paper.
I think I would rather live in a world filled with bad poets
than drifting on this ship of fools,

The troubadours rise with imbeciles as their cover
and poems fall from favor.
I wonder how I could make verse a contagion,
how could I make it spread?

You may laugh at me, but think what some guy did
with a broken peach basket and a rubber ball.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 26

FISH OF CHAOS


Out of chaos come very tiny fish, well, maybe not fish but a very swimmy feeling. How can I go around with my feet off the ground, my mind racing on a squirrel cage? Breathing helps, breathing is someplace to start. Once I get breathing regularly, I can gingerly probe with one foot for a place to stand. The chaos may race around and past my legs like so many eels on a summer’s evening, but with time and practice I can step from this current as well. Out of chaos come very tiny fish, but I can come out, too.


Wring out every drop from your books.

*


Circuit Speaker


It isn’t until I listen long to the Northside poet
that I realize there is such a thing as a Chicago accent.
I hear it as I never have before.

I don’t hear it in my beloved Rodger,
hear only the hope he brings to share.
As I get ready to walk to the podium
I wish that no one hears the Jersey in my voice
only the experience I bring to share.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 27

SLIPSTREAM



I look in the rearview mirror; I see the headliner and a river of road flowing out behind me. Dual viewing is the kind gift of hindsight. I can see my internal workings and the past laid bare. The beauty and sadness can transfix me. I will lose my way if I keep looking back. I catch glimpses and move my eyes forward. I can’t advance without a full vision so I remain grateful for the mirror. Awareness and cognition, the brakes and gas, I have the full package; I just have to make sure to steer.


Tell a joke to a cat.

*
Picard

The little tin whistle I yearn to play
squeaks in my head
warning that I have no time to learn
and a tin whistle though slender is not easy.

I think if I had a magic wrinkler for time I might learn,
I remember characters that have, but I rethink this
and remember I don’t want to win the lottery again.

I am too good at too many things
and have no time to enjoy their full round pleasure.
I have no need for additional longing or extended guilt.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 29

PIECES OF SKY



The sky falls in pieces and clutters around my feet. Scattered are the moon, stars and sun. Fear and desire have consumed all the rest. Great tides of resentment wash away reality and replace it with illusion and propaganda. What am I to do when want drives the course? Satisfaction is unknown; the luminous butterfly I believed extinct has not yet come to me. I leave the shards of life to tinkle as I stumble through them and forget to ask for wings of sweet contentment from unexplored realms. Paper dreams burn with fervor; I peer to see what stands behind. The gracious weather carries me as a seed to a vaulted canopy, celestial spaces, buoyant and fertile. I will grow away from the rarefied fragments of unrealistic vistas, sinking roots deep in cohesion and truth. Pieces of sky melt to rainbows; home is the nature of things.


Jingle your intellectual change.
*


On a Half-shell in Front of Tiffany’s

Pretty petty pearls wait in oysters
more perturbed than annoyed.
I string my tears for the sake of posterity
leaving the dreams to fend for themselves.

I am nothing if not splendidly prepared
for a life less steeped in wishes than realism.
Opening volleys tell a tale of round irritation,
but I am not finished just yet.

Joy comes from surpassing obstacles
and wearing healed grief
as precious gems around my neck.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 30

LEAVES IN A PILE


As a great pile of dry leaves, lay the problem. Running through it to show my disrespect accomplishes nothing but to scatter my dilemma and widen the area of distress. Covering and composting only allows the burden to indwell, leaching into that which feeds my soul. Burning puts it in the air I breathe. There is no galaxy far off enough to keep its reflection from my face. Attack, flight, banishment? No! Insulation, conversion, contortion? No! I pursue none of these; I can not control things exterior. I can not feed my power, light and life into the pile. I have only one goal: not to become the problem. Not to dry or dehydrate. Not to fall from my hope and collect in the road. My goal is to hold fast to hope and serve as conduit and companion to a life bigger than mine alone.


Practice little words like ‘oh’, and ‘hum’
*


Entrenched

I have dug myself a trench
and invited my friends and family.
Truth is, I drug many and tricked others
and there they are in the trench
I have so recently climbed out of.

It is a nasty place and I feel horribly responsible,
but here is the sacred truth;
I can’t climb down there again,
not even on a rescue mission.

I am obligated to help them, this is for sure,
but the fact still remains that it is not safe
to get into the water with a drowning person,
even if I am the one who caused the drowning.

If I am to be of any help at all I must get my footing
and keep it safely on the bank
and only then might I be able to throw down a rope
or lend a hand to anyone, especially those I love.

I pray for the sturdy stance of helpful strangers
and try my best to cause no further harm,
more than that will have to wait
until my cleats are soundly lodged into the earth
and my head is squarely upon my shoulders,
for headlong and mud covered I am no help.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 31

OPENHEARTED GRIEF


Tell a tale of openhearted grief and closed-minded terror. Bend the limits of misery. Pour over the damned feelings and tired excuses. Level the cupful of measured tyranny and wipe the drooling face of denial. The children will not dance tonight; the grass is wet with their tears. The dogs circle the encampment of desire and come to sleep when we are settled. Silly ruffled whimsy won’t carry the freight but the bus pulls into the drowsy station filled with tea-lites and pantomime. This story will close with a hand on the doorknob of hope, an eye on the jelly sandwich of contentment. Whisper the lullaby to the ones who stay to hear it. Morning cracks the shell to daytime. Shattered pieces litter the night; tremors shake my peace of mind. Sum up the analogies of broken hearts and twisted minds.


Draw from your toes, fingers and memory.
*


Desert Island
When I am left to amuse myself,
more often than not I turn my wicked wit
to redress those whose neglect I sorely feel.

This is childish, this is pointless
and yet I do it and do it well.
I am, too good at being alone and I resent it
and resent every necessity for honing that skill set.

When in the past I have made my mind up
to accept seclusion each overture is a slashing intrusion.
I am not a happy medium,
though I do doubt if such a thing exists.

I am an attention seeker
and when I am not I am an isolation monger.
The wavering nature of human interaction
is an uncertain sea for me, alternating downing me
or leaving me washed- up on some remote shore.

Even amid those I love the most,
I am a skinless writhing neonate,
hyper-reactive and living on the edge.

I somehow know the answer is self-esteem
or spiritual development,
but when in the midst of this imprudent reaction
the paths to these are lost.

I try to hold my breath when underwater,
when on the beach I try not to breathe the sand.
If I survive today I may grow out of this tomorrow.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 1

SLOTH TOES


A sloth is known by the number of its toes not its name or love of art or music. I can’t prevent foolish labels. The oddest attributes draw attention and acclaim from the scorekeepers and flag-wavers of the world. Going my way in this life I am seen by clock-watchers as timeless and by trumpeters as soundless. I am not defined by these. The number of my toes or the time I keep, the sound I make, is more than who I am. An explanation of me will not fit on an index card, nameplate, or job title. As long as I stay clear of these traps and classifications I am safe. If I buy in or fall down my sum and total will neatly fit on a toe tag.


Stand in your own light.

*

Liminal


Not everything which is birthed arrives here alive;
sometimes struggle is answered with stillness.
I love thee in thy loss
for there is no life to love thee in.

Hope can be a bubble that breaks
returning to whatever it was before that perfect roundness
and yet the roundness is not a mistake.

Reflected beauty is beauty all the same.
Some sparks aren’t meant to become flames,
but their glow still warms my eye.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 2

VICTORY


Victory is a funny thing. Bursting across the finish line ends the joyful competition and begins the wait until the next endeavor. Pushing for success drops my life off the radar screen. Power can propel me out of range, the center of my life overshot in and attempt to be a winner. I am stripped of my commonality in striving for singularity. Looking for acclaim leaves me lonely. The winner’s circle is very small, and while the flash explodes, the development shows I am now alone.


Curiosity and beauty are their own reasons.
*


Bride in a Bentley


Who determines your worth,
the one who sets your ransom
or the one who pays it?

Will you recognize yourself
once you have been bought and paid for?
Will your life exist upon your return?

How many times has the road and its inhabitance
taken me far from what I’ve known
and extorted an exorbitant remuneration for restoration?

Redeemed is what they call it when the price is met,
yet this might not be the feeling it evokes.
Deliverance is never 100%
and reclamation is not always possible.

So keep your mind free,
but know your own worth.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 3

SPONTANEOUS WILLINGNESS


At my local coffee-mart there is a strip of cellophane tape adhered to the mid of a Plexiglas panel built into the barrier where the line forms. Only at a certain angle can this satin finish tape be seen. When I first caught a glimpse of it I recognized others had stood there and responded to the sight of this strip by prying bits of the edge with fingernails; I was drawn to do the same. I could not pull much up, but each time I stand there I work diligently for the moments it takes to make it to the head of the line and be on my way. Unseen others pull fragments while I’m away. Over time we will accomplish this task, unbidden, unknown to each other except through this common goal, spontaneous willingness to do what can be done.


Build a boat in your mind and push off.
*

MISS DIRECTED

I called and rambled at my sponsor.
After a significant time had passed,
she stopped me and asked with a tone in her voice,
“and why are you calling me?”
Startled, I replied, “for your advice!”

“Are you sure that’s why you called?
Because I can give you my advice,
but I have given advice to you before
and received only a severe case of the ‘Yeah, Buts’ in return.”

I was about to say ‘yeah, but you don’t understand’
when she cleared her throat to quiet me
and continued what she was saying.

“Seems to me you really want more than a sober ear,
you want magic.
You want me to take your crazy, dramatic thinking,
put it in a hat and pull it out formed, as all your dreams,
and then you want credit for making it happen.

But, Kitten, I have news for you,
I’m not Mr. Roark and this is not Fantasy Island.
This is sobriety and you can’t just have your way.”

This is when I realized I was on a dry drunk.
I don’t know what the first signs are,
but I do know when your sponsor asks,
“and you’re calling me, why?” the jig is up.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 4

CONTROL


I have everything in the world but control and yet it seems to be the only thing I yearn for. Past history has made it difficult for me to have faith and I have clung to scraps of control as an alternative. I have hope but I have hope in the way a disgruntled gambler has hope. The horse may cross the finish line first but it’s a long shot. This is the trouble with control. If I could ride the horse, I might be able to exert some sway in the situation, but since my jockeying would only make things worse, my inability to secure the outcome leads me to despair and here I am. I am not in the race. I will not risk betting on the horse. I have no skill accepting the capricious nature of life and work hard not to be capricious myself. This maybe the crux of my problem; I work so hard to do things right instead of having fun. I try constantly to keep things from going badly; I focus no time on creating joy in my life. I may not believe much, but I do believe God wants me happy. This could be the seed, which starts faith.


Feel free to laugh.

*

Natural Law


The boat captain can’t change the river;
navigate it possibly,
but rule it never.

Birds don’t control the wind,
only capitalize on it.
I can’t reign my sobriety,
I just get to take the ride.

My choices greatly affect the quality of this journey
but not the nature of recovery itself.
I am powerless over gravity
but am thrilled at my ability to use it to my advantage.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 5

BEFORE THE END OF THE ROAD


Before the end of the road tiny stone lay on the side, freshly painted lines glimmer in this twilight trance. Walking the macadam, the crunch underfoot changes my perspective. No steering wheel or accelerator, this is ankle express all the way. Walking the road step by step, on my own, I am part of the soft and growing world progressing on a plan of separate integrity. Moist, lush wonder is missed by the motor speedway I let rule my life. Honeyed sweetness covers the vegetation swaying in the undulating airborne pulse. I am tempted to lie down and have a roll, but my role tonight is to reach the end of the road. When my goal is achieved I may choose a woodland life or an urban endeavor. Seeing the end of this path is job enough for now. Decisions anticipated prior to arrival are foolish diversions. I need to stay, not stray, with the dancers in the wind.



Execute the detractors in your mind.
*


Let the Groundhog Sing It


Mistakes and poor choices save me
from attempting to climb out onto moral high ground.
Moral ambiguity keeps me protected
from the illusion of relentless righteousness.

Lopsided living is a fate I am spared
due to my flawed execution of perfection;
all in a day’s work for a functional human.
Left by the wayside is the fantasy that I am all right.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 6

PICK ME SIX NUMBERS



Knowing all the page numbers and quotes out of the big book, but not being able to apply them, is like knowing all the winning lottery numbers with the inability to buy a ticket. Telling my story has little or nothing to do with public speaking. Recovery has so much more to do with willingness than studiousness. Popularity contests, policing meetings and service politics is a circus I have attended far too often. Empty rooms sporting great curtains do not a home make. Comprehension is no substitute for acquiescence.


Stock your mental stream so there is something to catch.

*

Uggs



This is a big hurdle until it becomes a little step.
I will struggle with it as long as it takes
for me to see it as something I can conquer
a bit at a time, then, often as if by magic,
it will melt into curbside snow
and I can slosh through it in my boots.

I am vanquishing obstacles,
which seemed insurmountable mere months ago.
I am not so much stronger than I was,
but I have stopped feeding the weakness in my mind
and this has made all the difference.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 7

DETAIL DAYS



Detail days seem like lost, soulless days. I sort the piles of endless junk mail; catch up on bills, letters, laundry. I don’t leave the house, but in some way I feel like I’m not in my home. It’s like a day of pulling out all the needles, splinters and thorns that accumulate under my skin from rough weeks and road rash. I steel myself to the pain of relief and rescue. Cleared counters, emptied baskets, finished worry lists leave me with that newly moved in feel. Piles overwhelm me, but sometimes, details define me.


Can-can in your head.

*
Thief in the Night


The moon ran off the night you left.
Instead of west it headed south with you,
but I doubt it will stay.

You are learning to play a new part,
another ill-suited role
which I don’t believe you will carry off
with much aplomb,
Bad actors have no leg to stand on for critique

You may have found yourself
a kinder critic or a more likened mind.
What you have taken I can’t expect to return,
but what I have gained I will never give up.

I don’t think you ever intended me any harm,
but protection is something you never provided;
something which I was sorely in need of.

I was fortunate to return to the house of my father
for that is the shelter in which I can breathe.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 8

SLAYING OLD DRAGONS


Your roar is Doppler-low and I can feel my steps move the earth as I go forward. Former dominator, scary from every angle, I come for you today. The scales are falling. I don’t rip them but they fall. I can breathe at the heights of your lair; I am not shrinking. The booming voice you had is gone, the power spilling away from you. I don’t fly from you. Gone is the tremble you once instilled. The curtain has parted and you are revealed not as the dragon, the serpent, the monster but as the peacock you have always been, preening and screeching as ever.


Put your foot down and dance with the other.
*


Come What May



Inevitable things are very much like inedible things;
you can’t quite swallow them yet they are hard to throw up.
It can’t seem to get here quick enough to comfort my fear
nor will it pass with any speed once it has arrived.

I am like a boa with a hedgehog as my lunch,
the shredding is rightfully dreaded and in no way preventable.
Not everything that wings my way is anxiety driven,
but I have to admit that some things are.

I cannot spend my days wishing the storm clouds away
so I will put on my slicker and hunker down for the drenching.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 9

CLINGING



Large bugs cling to the soffits, upside down, as an alternative to the rain soaked landscape. I salute their efforts to find security in a shrinking list of possible locations. Awkward situations place me, fingertips and toenails holding position, trying to avoid life’s harsher choices. Bitter, chilling options are cheerful alternatives to no options at all. I can take the difficult positions as an advantage. I have survived and this is the goal of the game. I am here come what may. I make the best of the worst times so God can help me make the best of the best times.


Turn with the tide.
*


Picture Window


When God sticks His face in my window it brightens my day.
What that shining face looks like in other windows I do not know,
but I try to memorize the eyes, the brow, the winning smile
before my time is up and the wind shifts.

The flash of a friendly face lights up the house,
my yard, the corners of my soul.
I imbibe the rich glow before it moves on,
letting my core charge with incandescence, warming my mettle.

I am long and longing for this happy countenance
and only when the blocks tumble in my mind
do I realize that it is two- way glass in that window
and stick my face in it and offer it to God.




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 10

I DON’T SEE HOW


This is the smallest of the fragile excuses I use to keep from doing things to make me happy. Petty in a way I would never be with others, I rake my desires and tiny little hopes over the coals. Tired platitudes are plated up as first serves by my short order shortsightedness. Protecting crusted-over nonsense, I live the life of a lockout, not even a squatter on the fringes of my dreams. I stumble in my efforts to see hope, joy or my purpose, ignoring the fact that I must step from the box before I can see the horizon or more.



Rub your own head.
*

Olive Juice


For whatever the reason olives are often pitted
and once they are pit-less
there seems to rise an irresistible urge to fill that wound,
whether with pimento or children’s chubby little fingers
as they fish them from the can.

There is an opening, an answer must be found.
When I find my center gone
I have that same yearning, fill that hole!
It is an imperative,
a need that must be met no matter how poorly.

I will stuff just about anything in that gap;
the list is longer than the Bell directory
and yet none of it is an adequate replacement
for what has gone amiss.

So here I stand rife with questions.
What to put in there, what to keep out.
Is cream cheese preferred to cobwebs?
Prosciutto better than ice?

Nothing is better than some things
and the right thing is better than having given up.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 11

QUILTER


What more comfort can exist in the world than a conglomeration of turned edges and love? Fancy stitches or not, the assembled world of cloth stands testament to devotion and diligence. Careful collections, meaningful to the collector and mysterious to the possessor, fulfill the primal urge to shelter and be safe. Time is testimony to endurance. Thread against thread, solidarity is strength embracing flexibility. The bed of life is made and remade daily with the affection of kind quilters’ needles of love.




Find a room for zeal.
*




Wrong as wrong as wrong can be

To be wrong in my family and in my past
meant to be tortured and I prefer death to torture,
so being wrong meant death or longing for death.

I tried never to be wrong
as a way to stave of the desire to leap from tall buildings;
I did not turn into superman,
wonder woman or mighty mouse through my efforts.

I did turn into someone else;
I became a cartoon of a real person,
two dimensional and overflowing with irrational color.

Now I see how wrong, wrong can be.
Wrong is not an allowable excuse to be tormented.
It can be the turning point for knowledge if I choose
or the stairway to something deep dark and ugly;
my choice, always my choice.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 12

EIGHT MISTAKES CLOSER


I am eight mistakes closer to perfection. As long as I fall forward, progress is being made. I fail meticulously toward my goal, more cannot be asked. Loss, pain, frustration are strong teachers and great motivators. I suck each splinter for knowledge, extracting juice from every fragment for information. In spite of sprains and strains, I have stretched, attaining almost my full height. Growth is a wonderful thing, though cost is always involved. Mistakes are an unavoidable price but well worth the expense. They are an expense that pays dividends, dividends that move me toward perfection.



Stretch your body, flex your mind.
*


Clean Underwear

The ease of the trip is often determined
by the quality of the packing.
When I am entirely ready, travel is easier.

I wash the laundry early to give myself a head start.
Lay everything out and walk through each day’s needs;
roll up my outfits and tuck each into my bag.

I try to take less than half of my ‘what if’ worry items
and cut short my ‘disaster plan’ thinking.
If I pack positive thoughts and clean panties I am fine
and if I forget them …………………
I can always pick some up along the way.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 13

FLORAL ECSTASY


I could eat fields of buttercups and drink down ponds of water lilies. Wear foxgloves and a pair of lady slippers, too. I could wrap myself in bridal wreathe and underpin with nettles. I could rise with the roses, lay with the lilies, shade with the sage, sing with the trumpet vines and run away from home with a Turk's cap on my head and a pansy in my pocket, until the four o’clocks say it’s time to come home for evening primrose and then bed.


Increase your tool chest by one.
*

When I’m Gone



When I’m gone ……
I hope they’ll say I tried real hard and did my best
But more likely will be the lament;
she didn’t live up to her potential.

When I’m gone ……
I pray the song will be one of tinkling bells and uplifted voices
But more likely is a disparate confusion of musical chairs.

When I’m gone ……
I wish that my banner will be raised by knowing arms
But more likely will be a shuffle of my undecipherable notes,
then the circular file.

When I’m gone ……
I would like my dreams to fly
to the ears and eyes of friends and take refuge
But more likely these dreams will chase me down the long corridor
and be nothing but my shadow in the long dark night.

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

[girlin2une]

November 13

FLORAL ECSTASY


I could eat fields of buttercups and drink down ponds of water lilies. Wear foxgloves and a pair of lady slippers, too. I could wrap myself in bridal wreathe and underpin with nettles. I could rise with the roses, lay with the lilies, shade with the sage, sing with the trumpet vines and run away from home with a Turk's cap on my head and a pansy in my pocket, until the four o’clocks say it’s time to come home for evening primrose and then bed.


Increase your tool chest by one.
*

When I’m Gone



When I’m gone ……
I hope they’ll say I tried real hard and did my best
But more likely will be the lament;
she didn’t live up to her potential.

When I’m gone ……
I pray the song will be one of tinkling bells and uplifted voices
But more likely is a disparate confusion of musical chairs.

When I’m gone ……
I wish that my banner will be raised by knowing arms
But more likely will be a shuffle of my undecipherable notes,
then the circular file.

When I’m gone ……
I would like my dreams to fly
to the ears and eyes of friends and take refuge
But more likely these dreams will chase me down the long corridor
and be nothing but my shadow in the long dark night.

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


I love this

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 14

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 oils. 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 armpits, 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 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 to your own sponsees.”
I stick out my tongue in her general direction.


Creep toward the unknown.

*


Surfs Up

The first time I arrive at the beach the tide is a shock to me.
I had no way to anticipate it.
As the days pass I calm, realizing there is a rhythm
and that the sea won’t escape the shore.

Over time I begin to anticipate the movement
and then rely on it.
I learn to live with the in and out nature of the water
lapping the lip of sand;

What it brings and what it takes away.
I am human, I adapt, I survive.
How do I make the jump to blessing the moon?
How do I touch the divine?

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 15

DESERVING


Tender toes crushed by moving memories, fresh pain from ancient injuries, shock incurred from these lifeless reminiscences. Unhappy reconstructions slap unsuspecting faces. The people, who stood by to let the chips fall where they may, try to feign 'innocent bystander' now that shit is falling from the sky. Unexposed skin will burn when the flames leap high. Idiotic excuses will not retard the fire of injustice coming to call. Too late tears carry no freight with the past recipients of the it all runs down hill award. Cowards make themselves cripples and fracture at the force of incoming reality, and deserve more than they get.


Once well is a full feeling.

*
Induction

I have a massive energy transformer that lives inside me.
It is explosive in nature and risky to toy with.
But if used properly I can power my whole world
with the current which flows through it
to me from my Higher Power.

If I use it improperly
I can melt down my core and burn down my life.
The connections are of the utmost importance,
insulation is a priority as well.

I know that I am conduit and so much more.
I must do my part as the carrier and the arbiter of change.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 16

DOWN THE UPSIDE



On the downside of a rising star there is too much fear. Anticipation is recommended for ascent, delight should be encouraged, but all out alarm is usually sounded whether it is needed or not. Panic dims the shining pleasure of mounting the sky. Refuting celestial status, denying astral projection, I renounce myself. Attaining height, my position in space is apparent to bystanders and onlookers. I need to ride the comet and accept fate, my nemesis. Fortune shines on me, I should not squint away kismet.


Expand your spiritual muscle.
*

Who is the Parent?


There are more liars in my head than anywhere else
and they will say the most errant nonsense,
making it sound totally convincing.

First of all they use other people’s inventories
to leverage me into believing
that I am just what is needed
to lift each person’s universe from despair;

Then they insist that my life will be incomplete
until I have saved nations and secured borders,
all the while failing to mention
the deadly nature of these attempts.

None of this is a problem unless I listen.
Liars’ lying causes me no trouble
until I accept and act on this bunk.

This is where a thorough inventory saves the day.
When I am clear about the truth of who and what I am
I can’t be easily led astray.

I know I am God’s child and the resemblance can be strong,
but today that burden is not mine to carry,
so I can stay busy being me.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 17

TIMELY

Spend a minute to rub the sleep gently from your eyes.
Spend an hour smoothing lotion from one end to the other.
Spend a day in tribute to the gifts you give and gifts given you.
Spend a week researching your goals, dreams and hopes.
Spend a month routing energy to a viable flow.
Spend a year studying truth.
Spend a life living it.
Your life is worth all the time you have.
Take it.


Balance doubt and dreams.
*

Human Sacrifice


How much does it have to cost me
in order for you to feel better?
Why is it that my suffering improves your mood?

Does it confirm for you that you are not alone
when you are feeling scared?
Or does it give you the sense
that at least you’re not as pitiful as me?

Is it pleading that strikes a chord,
is it the animal pain which stirs your compassion?
What about this scenario completes the cycle for you
to be able to move back to your comfort zone?

What happens if I don’t fall to pieces?
If I hold my emotions to my chest,
take them to my sponsor,
in some way keep them from your hungry eyes?

Will you move on and leave me behind?
Will you climb over the hurdle
which currently stands between us?
Or will you store away this bitter thing
like a rotten nut hidden by a Secret Squirrel?

Youtube Vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9bRzQNkulA&feature=youtu.be

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 18

MAIL FRAUD

The open envelope betrays the tampering I suspect. Too bad my critics are snooping, not my supporters. When they are finished tearing open my mail, they tear me apart as well. Shredded, I feel unable to handle further correspondence. I shut down communications. There is no channel for benefactors to travel. My champions are at a loss to defend me from my opponents; the struggle flounders. Misunderstanding the meaning of messages, I have been mocked and enslaved. I would love to vanquish my foes, but you see I am opening my own mail.


Ask often all the questions.
*

The Story as a Stowaway

I want to tell you a story,
but I want to tell it to you quickly,
so I can give it to you and then you can carry it
on your way, for what good is my story to you
if you must leave it where it lay?

Your need to be elsewhere presses on us both
and I wish to give you what you can take rather than
to try to stall you here for an epic you might never lift
and certainly not dream of dragging along.

I want you to be on your way
and take a part of me with you.
I wish to sew myself in your mind;
tether my tale to your soul.

I believe in forward motion and the need to carry on.
Where you’re going I can’t go on my own
but I know that if I am funny, quick and lite,
part of me goes even to the end of your world
and my hope is to help you make it bright.


Vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLoOa_Mx-CQ


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 19

DRIVEWAY TIME


Layer after layer of blue stack the sky, the moon risen and the sun dipping away. I wait for the twin lights, the constellation of headlights---my ride to the meeting. It will be the entry vehicle to a world of population, leaving behind the galaxy of me, the single star. I stand silent and the feeling of fellowship carries the miles. Laughter flies the winds of memory and all the old jokes of truth and tribute are fresh and abide with me until the car arrives and we make it all new again.


Ride a horse to a pony show.
*


Blanda


I know how good a quarterback you are
on Monday, safely at home.
What were you like on the field, game day?

You act as if seeing your mistakes in retrospect
is the same as not having made them,
but the game is lost and a rematch is not a do-over.

The score is final, whether you accept the stats or not.
Defeat does not deter my love of the game
and doesn’t diminish my affection for you,

But history has been made
and I don’t wish to repeat it.


Vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-OBA7CiibNQ&feature=youtu.be


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 20

NUZZLE’S OFFERING


Like a vegan kitten who wrestles long tailed leaves and twigs, subduing them and dragging these prizes to the feet of human parents, I fight paper tigers and bring the tatters as tribute to my Higher Power. These bloodless battles are pure practice; future wars may not be as clean. I can not enlist my God to fight these skirmishes; I would never believe in one that I could. I accept Deus as creator and cheerleader, but champion, no. Foliage and foes are mine to fight. The spoils, I bring back for pats on the head and bragging.


Talk to things other than people.
*


Triumph


God and I are experience junkies;
part of why I am here is so God can take me for a ride,
but also for the treat of God tucking into the sidecar
and letting me take us out for a spin.

I am God’s audience and God is mine;
though we are not peers we are comrades.
Life is a serious business I am sure and
profit and loss are always there to be considered.

I can barely describe to you
how much being in love with my creator is a joy,
but even better is being the apple of my creator’s eye.



Vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T7X9dWsE86k&feature=youtu.be



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 21

FLORAL TROPHIES


Captured pet plants grow in my window. Why these specimens are given such regal care I suspect, but can’t explain. Delicate shoots pile out of sturdy stalks; roots force the confines of my decorative pots. How many neighborly blooming faces stare into my kitchen, greeting me mornings? I am amazed what good company my leafy friends can be when I am loving myself. Advantageous to my mental health, I breathe their exhaust and they breathe mine. Symbiotic, we live. I grow and flower; grateful these plants keep me.


Allow also small dreams that fit in your hand.
*



Jet Lagging


Baby’s feet kick in the isle
and we are all cocooned in our seats.
The movies play and earphones dangle in our ears.

We are jetting across the country in our own little worlds.
Landing can not happen soon enough for me,
not that I want to foreshorten the flight.

I just know I have a stack of lives waiting for me
and I would like to get back to living them.
I have been a week away, a vacation for sure and true
but I have my keep to earn, my obligations are many.

I hope to have done myself proud when I am through,
but until then there is much to do.



Vlog: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCezuhFpWTE&feature=youtu.be



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 22

JELLYFISH AND PEANUT BUTTER CARDS



Jellyfish and peanut butter cards make for busy days and cheerful nights, sunlit at the beach and lantern light filled with double-decker solitaire. Camping as a way of life suits some as they run from their lives. For the more balanced, camp is a temporary retreat. To the overly invested, camping is an aberration, a threat to the foundations of civilization as we know it. I can take a bit of sand in my hair, smoke in the air. Though I do dread the feeling of coming back to the life I love and feeling like a stranger. Temporary disengagement estranges me from the place, the things, the dog. I need time away, variety of experience, expanded horizons. I need my entrenched home life. I need it all and must accept the clock never stops running anyplace on the planet even if I am enjoying a good game with sticky camp cards, regaling tales of man-of-war.



Don’t break your wishbone.
*

One and One


The person who has nothing is vague.
The person who has too much alludes.
And these people may falsely mistake one another
for kindred
when what you draw your conclusions from
are the poems and sweet words,
which flow out of these divergent folk.

A paper house is built, but the living is impossible.
Tying strings to dreams doesn’t permit you
to fly away to fairylands it just leaves you prone
to lightening strikes and long wet wicks.

What could be the truth unfolded;
spread broadly for all to see?
Where could the roads so very far apart
lead to a home, a hearth, a life?

Or is this just a field of fantasy flowers blooming in our minds?
Mist is vapor pretending at a marriage
to a world it will soon evaporate and leave.
You and I are passing ships on a short sad night.
Vlog: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSJYcDs6BWE&feature=youtu.be


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 23

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL


In truth, pride goes wherever it wants, it’s pride. Pride wanders alone, for no one enjoys its company. Pride travels far but gets nowhere. Pride rises above reality and seeps beneath the surface. When pride wears out, love and honesty poke holes in it until it is grounded and transforms to humility. Pride’s past is remembered with flush and embarrassment. Recounting yesterday is pride’s unenviable task. Keeping it from recreation is mine.


Dress yourself with love.

*
No Mickey Mouse


The Wonderful World of Disney
belonged to normal children;
kids with Sunday nights
and not the tear filled screaming
which punctuated my weekends.

I had no time for the creative melodrama
built to add interest into the dull little lives
of safe little ones, there is no Disney for me;
no clean pasteled figures frolicking.

I know only the freshened wit of the wizened rabbit
and the frenetic slamming of that distorted duck;
these are there for me.
Teaching me the dark humor of the life I lead;

Preparing me to laugh at M*A*S*H,
yet still never cluing me to the fact
that Carroll O’Connor was only teasing,
so still I cried to hear his rants,

But the dry irony of Hawkeye,
war and blood, those I got.
I was carefully led there by the Merry Melodies.




Vlog: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7AIC03nvnM&feature=youtu.be

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 24

LIKE PEACE


Peace, like an elephant on my chest; I can’t breathe but at least we are not fighting. The rigid air hangs like sheets on the line, stiff but dry. Plastered smiles and short salutations get us through until bedtime, but what we can hold in standing up pours out lying down. Tender feelings are compressed and come out only as water. Anger bubbles and brews. Disappointment lives down deep and sours the milk of love. There are things worse than cross words. Moldering, festering, frozen words pound spikes in a relationship fraught with apprehension. The truth is I would let these pent-up things out, but I don’t trust you and I don’t trust me.


See through time.

*
How I’ve come upon the World.


My first exposure to Bogart
was as the man who was after Bugs Bunny,
and Lauren Bacall was only referred to as Baby.

I only ever heard Kaw Liga because
Stephen King referenced it too often
and I had to go have a listen.

I come through the back door on so much of the world
and it has served me rather well.
Yes, I often feel ignorant,
but at least the knowledge never sees me coming
and I get the drop on it.

There is a quality to not having been spoon-fed,
that keeps me sharp and allows for depth.
The universe sends me clues and I go investigate.

It cuts down on the agendaed learning of the social norms
and cuts me a wide swath beyond the common path.
There are times when conformity is key;
then again it’s a sweet thing to have a choice.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/vOk4ICNxMiE


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 25

THE FLYING MIND


When my brain flies out my ear, destination unknown, I am left mentally bereft. I feel intellectual convolution and show no affliction other than my inability to fulfill my assignments. I stare out sure a ring of blue birds circle my head, or maybe stars like any other cartoon patsy. What to do? These parodied wingdings ridicule me privately leaving the impression of idiocy with onlookers and supervisors. My focus and perceptions quaver and I lose my place. I have to find a way to spot and keep my emotional balance, the same way I stay upright during pirouettes by watching one doorframe or light switch. I need an unmoving object in a sea of swimming thoughts. I still need to make the mental turns but this should be much easier if I stop landing on my face.


Work with yourself.
*


John Grisham


My time hovering low over the ocean
has filled me until I am ready to drop.
The weight of what is inside me bears down.

I know with the slightest cooperation
I will become a rainmaker.
I am mostly fine with this.

I know from whence the rain was derived
and I can let it fall in peace.
What I don’t know how to handle
is the acknowledgement.

The difference between what I know
and what you might think is vast
and if I try to dissuade you
I sound disingenuous or fraudulent.

I have to get my head around the part I play
and accept the roses when they come.
I don’t understand how this looks from offstage
or what it means to those who watch.

I hope they will enjoy the work
but never mistake me for the playwright.




Vlog: http://youtu.be/VePH0r1p3_M


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 26

ASSURANCES OF GULLIVER


Poor Lilliputians and my egg shaped conundrum! At least they have the strength of their convictions when I have only pondering to share the space between my ears. What sense could the world make if there is no one right way and each person is free to open the egg from either end or leave the thing intact, having instead maybe a bagel? I have been looking for the combinations to unlock the universe when possibly it’s an egg shaped thing with no doors or locks and all that’s left is to break in or out.


Believe what you can do.
*



Poorly Chirping

She writes poetry like fusion jazz,
more fun to make than to listen to.
She stands at the podium serving as a bad example.

I pray as she reads,
“Lord, please don’t let me get sucked into
the self-importance of bad poetry
for the sake of peering peers,

Forgetting to write what is there
for the world, the readers,
the things which bring the word pictures
and sets them before me.

Lord, remind me that the writing is not done for me,
but done for as Billy Collins quotes,
for the love of strangers.”


Vlog: http://youtu.be/ded-ZwPisXo

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 27

THE STORYTELLER



Funny stories I long to share with new friends have to be put aside while the core of this entity is built. Mutual memory is the siding on a house framed in integrity. Treading together through the past, we strengthen each other's perception; it's the only support that can be offered without time travel. We take hands, then link arms, wander happily toward the future having the keys to history jangling in our fists; we can return whenever prudent or necessary. We forge a fresh path and hope for a pleasant journey; between us we figure we have slain all the dragons.



Invest in idealism.
*


At The Dodge


I remember so long ago
when I would come and sit and listen;
soak in the poets and the Consort,
sop it all into the sponge that listened and sat.

I did not know exactly what they were doing
and I didn’t know why I was there,
but I went and had a soak.

Now so many years hence
I am the writer I never knew
and I know just what they do ,
because I do it too!



Vlog: http://youtu.be/KdHEGLintMM

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 28

NAVY DUCK

When the postcard is hung upside down the plane flies away on its back. I know one of those irregular days with the disposition of a bee-stung mule is on its way to visit me. I have found diplomacy goes a long way and when it runs out, humor is the best fallback, nothing mean or sophomoric, but the ability to laugh is a fortune in the face of a bankrupt day. When the sun sets on these spare and harrowing days, I mortgage strength from tomorrow and right the picture then try to fly right.


Plod when you can’t skip.

*
The Twelfth of April


When I met you,
you were a power tagged and trapped in a box.
A tiger caught by its toe and yet I could do nothing
but fall under the spell of your roar.

The suppressed growl you leave for me
like an invitation I could never decline.
I write to you a note of explanation;
words testifying to my desire,
which I promise to hold back out of respect for you.

And a wish to survive my drive toward you
and your furious stripes and claws.
Your bite which I long to feel,
yet know I must not ask for.

When I inquire if you have read,
you say with sanguine smile, “Read it to me.”
When I am done and with tear stained face,
all you reply is,
“I have lost my taste for anyone but you.”



Vlog: http://youtu.be/BErwEM4t6Hw

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 29

ENDLESS PASTA


Having limits in a seemingly limitless universe makes me feel horribly inadequate. I am a sad little creature in the face of overwhelming tasks. Pressure and unwarranted ego compress my ability and eager disposition. I am forced to see there are chores outside my qualifications and willingness. Going on in the face of crushing requirements extrudes my life force into a plateful of capellini lying exposed with no gravy to keep me warm. It is hard to realize, in this world of wonder and delight a plate of naked spaghetti can’t do it all.



Put a penny in your sock.

*
Relay

I have waited so long for the chase, the trap,
the dig a ditch for safety, to be over and here we are;
ringed, safe and surrounded.

Now the sweet work of living the life
we have striven for, striven to.
I now long to be my best, do my best,
for you are the best for me and I am the best for you.

I tense and press against the blocks;
the race I wish to run,
but all I knew was to wait.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/Hl6Vd8z-p3c

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 30

FLAW IN SNOW

Waiting for snow. Waiting for cold fingers, slick roads, warm beds, reading by firelight. Waiting for the proof of lack of control. Waiting itself proves lack of control. I can dance the snow dance and refuse to buy new shovels, hang out laundry, put out every manner of storm tempters; still I cannot force the hand of nature. I must sit with my crystalline optimism and endure these cloudless skies. There will be snow, it will fall somewhere, but I mustn’t grow overanxious ‘cause it may never snow in Miami.


Treat yourself with learning.
*

My Most Important Meal


Sweet potato pudding sits on the plate;
I sit in my place and wield my spoon
until the plate is clean.
I’m fed, my day begins.

If this is the best part of my day,
life is still sweet and fine.
Time skips its way through and I meet and greet
the splendid and the few.

Picking my way, the raindrops step aside;
I am gratified, though I never mind the rain.
When the mud has settled and my bed calls me home;
I look back to the start of the day
and pray to begin the next one the very same way.




Vlog: http://youtu.be/0_muX8IfQHI

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 1

ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT


Arrested development was bad enough; the living death sentence it imposes is completely unacceptable. My childhood ran down the hill away from the mountain of confusion that is life in this society. My ability to mature was damaged and what I learned to do was mutate. I could move laterally but never grow up. I became the goose being grown for its liver. All the honk and squawk in the world couldn’t change my plight. I don’t have to understand how I was let out of the prison of addiction. As long as I don’t go back I’ll never fear breaking out in handcuffs or getting locked in my crib.


Effort is already made, just add your hand.
*

Flower Power


The man with the chrysanthemum on his head
walks up and down the isle.
Do I look like that, I wonder to myself?
Have I taken personal style to the point of caricature?

What is the boundary by which
the embarrassment is kept at bay?
Is there a point at which I can overcome
who I present myself as,
and represent the best of who I can be?

Who I might be if only I can manage
not to get carried away by impressionism?
I am given this dwelling and it suits me quite well,
when I treat it as a temple and not simply as a shrine.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/yHOob7gAEMQ

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 2

There are only 23 more shopping days left till my nervous break down


Shoppers beware: I have a careful plan! I can juggle these thirty things, keep these twenty people happy, dig around in the dirt at these three excavation sites and hold on to my sanity for twenty-three more days.
My sponsor says having a plan like that means I’m already crazy. My sponsor says I don’t have to please anyone but myself, my Higher Power and her. That can’t be right. What is the point of sobriety if I can’t do it all?
She says I don’t even have to please her or myself. What does that mean? How can I tell if I’m pleasing my Higher Power?
She says, “Shut up and you’ll find out.” Great! What a plan. I like my countdown better. Of course I do, it’s mine. My countdown, my life, mine, mine, mine.
Maybe my sponsor is not all wrong. OK, quiet......da,da,da.....da,da. OK, quiet for real. Hmmm. I don’t, don’t know. This isn’t working. I can’t do this. Why would I need to stop being me in order to get better?
“Who are you?” she asks. She thinks she’s so smart. I’m the one in the middle. She says the eye of the storm is empty and I need to get a life of my own.




Endurance lets you live in the house you built.
*

Anti-Forfeit Activity


I don’t want to write
bad, forced, poor, weak, care-worn poems,
but I won’t write any good ones if I don’t lift this pen.

The embarrassment I might feel for lackluster lines
is far less than the shame of empty notebooks.
I don’t always like what flows when I open the gates,
but I am sure glad the current is live and so am I.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/1K9UEf2__xk


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 3

MIRACULOUS


Sometimes the blind lead the deaf. The subtle signs are the bumping into trouble and inability to listen to reason. It is an expedition into disaster unfettered by common sense or boundaries. Tumbles and falls propel this pairing to unknown destinations. The attraction is baffling but undeniable. These pairs can be seen through the ages. In spite of this confounding coupling, sometimes the blind find their way and the deaf hear the call. And even when they don’t, life seems to roll along. But try to keep your eyes and ears open anyway.


Set the goalpost where you can see it.
*

Precious Cargo


Do I carry myself as well as I could?
Do I understand the value
of what is contained within me?

This journey matters,
it requires my attention and comprehension,
if only I am able.

When I fall short the road changes.
The distance I go has much to do with how well
and whether I acknowledge the nature of the cargo
with which I am embedded.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/iPT2N2sthu4

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 4

PERSONAL DICTIONARY


Everyone keeps a dictionary in his or her head. All the words lay on platters each with its own flavor and meaning. There are favorite menus, phrases, which form warmly in the mouth and hang sweetly for the ear. Other vocabulary is exotic, pungent, occasionally with a strong aftertaste or off-key ringing. Abundance brings a wealth of conversation and keeps the cold of boredom at bay. Free for the taking, words grow out of life lived. When we have lived separately, even if only in our separate heads, meanings vary and reference must be checked. Blue sky is blue sky, but do you speak of azure, cerulean or peacock? Life is so much show and tell. Drink the sunshine with your eyes and flow it out to me with your words.


Write on scraps then tape them together.
*

Night Spaces


When it gets dark it gets dark fast.
They say, night falls,
though sometimes it feels like it falls down.

What is little realized is there is a lifting
when the light has gone away, the sky raises
its roof and there is more air to breathe.

Long lost is the pink wisp
that heralded this night
and far ahead is the next wisp
of pink singing of the moon.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/N7qvZVKXWPs

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 5

THE BOAT

On my ride home from work there is a boat stuck between two trees in the middle of a horse pasture next to a riverbed so dry it's filled with grass. I think the boat is me. I feel for the boat every time I see it. Turned on edge, waiting for a river, which doesn't exist anymore and may never exist again. Placed on edge for protection, not comfort. Although having my bottom rot out, well, let's just say might be more uncomfortable. What good will I be even if the river runs again since I'm fenced in? My sponsor says I shouldn't ask any question which starts with the word 'why'. You know my reply.
If my Higher Power has a plan...if it includes a river and a fence… if I'm in this plan, me, the rowboat…I just don't see it. Not seeing my purpose in life is a theme in my life says my sponsor. I don't tell her the theme in hers.
Truth is, I don't want to face the fact I might float away. Even though I'm supported by two big trees. Even though there is a tall fence all around me. Completely in spite of the fact THERE IS NO WATER! My Higher Power loves me. I am the boat.


Enjoy the flowers and slide on the snow.

*
It All Points to Joy


Can Love reweave the fabric which hate destroys?
Can Kindness resew the field
torn through with disregard?
Can Beauty paint the world anew
after so much ugliness has rained down upon us?

My heart believes these three cannot fail
to make things right
for what other point could there be than Joy?

Vlog: http://youtu.be/chEY7foQ0Eo

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 6

MOSAIC


I couldn’t prevent this plate from shattering, so I saved all the pieces, losing none. I laid them edge-to-edge and made a design, secured it with thin-set. Pieces of pattern framed with grout are seen, as they never could be when this dish was whole. I am part of this construction more than just handing china onto the table. Integrity has been lost but replaced with fractured openness. The plate has lost personal unity to become an ingrained part of my personal archeology.


Fly your kite in the wind.
*


The Way West


The sun reflected in the windows
winks at me as I fly over.
The plane climbs higher
and the reflected light no longer reaches me.

I slip from my eastern bonds.
I am west coast bound.
The carpet of snow was laid down
to quiet the passage.

Clouds take over the task,
then part to reveal the patchwork
of the middle ground.

We cross the Stateline without a sound;
a few more miles then touchdown.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/RQcqROgXhRY


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 7

ORIGINS


Pain-filled interactions with people better suited to be left alone changed me in the way of acceptance. Wretched relationships with people made it difficult for me to have a loving relationship with the world. I had imprinted as a fledgling on sarcasm and ridicule, bitter milk that starved my expectations of kind response. I could not greet the world eagerly. Having never embraced the world I failed to hang on as it turned. I slid on my face and hands. Mud covered, I try to keep an open mind and attempt a connection with this spinning orb.


Color your emotions.
*



Flight 548


What a happy flight wing to wing,
smiles, good cheer, the air is kind,
sweet, dry, easy to breathe.
I am so blessed.

I fly to destiny
watching the traveling baby circus
play around me.

Giggles and drool surround me,
infuse me with glee.
People wander the isle
looking like well loved characters
from long forgotten books and we soar.

Time does not pass any more quickly this way,
but it is similar to time in heaven
rather than time spent in hell.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/3cbyYoE_W-E

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 8

THE WAY I DO IT


Cooking by smell, parking by ear, recovering by touch. The latter has to be done this way; I cannot see into the black-box technology, which keeps me sober. Feel through the resentments, pain, sadness, joy; find myself under a pile of rags with a match in my hand. The many times the steps have saved me from becoming a human torch are balanced by the weight of the rope, woven from these same rags, that together we use to drag one another to safety. The savory scent of a meal, or the glee of front row parking can’t compare with the tender sense of a sober heart.


Write bad advice on tissue and wipe with it.
*

Master Mind


I was taught that it was my job to master fear;
raised in a religion swearing they could master death.
I used to spend all I had trying to create a master plan,
while trying to keep secure using a Master lock.

I have seen Master & Commander
and do not long for that burden;
in fact mastery is so much a snare and illusion.

Life is quite improved
when we each have an oar and we all row on.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/J9IaheHYzsg

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 9

CLIMBING ON THE ARC


If time swings and the seasons swirl and I pulse out my existence, why does the bird's wing flap and the rain fall down? If the song comes from my mother’s lips and my father tells his tales and I dance my heritage with each step I take, then why does the flower open to the bee and the swan trumpet her way home? If everything pulls from the ground and reaches for the light, then how can I duck my head, hide my heart and pass this all off as a coincidence? Am I less than the rain or greater than the swan? Why can’t I just climb on the arc and let the continuum spin its web around me? Well, you see I can, but will I?


Let little birdies speak.
*


What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind,
a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver,
how do I go on in its absence?
Or does it ever leave me?

Is this more like an excision than segmentation?
Is it similar to how I carry you with me
when I catch a resentment; only in a good way?

I don’t know that I can be truly divided up,
but I do know that parts of me
don’t belong exclusively to me anymore
and I believe this is all for the better.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/o1vQoGu2yOU

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 10

ELECTRIC CONNECTIONS


I step into a room and take its currency. Is the flow good? Steady? The pulse even and strong? Where are the power brokers and are they sharing the time or using their magnetic personalities to draw the current off others? I check the complement of resisters, examine their stripes and assess the possibilities. I pump in energy when I can and take when it is available. I keep in mind we are all transformers and change is possible for everyone as long as we make the connections.


Rich mistakes make good batter.
*



What’s that in the Pool?


Parts of the Rocky Mountains look like
algae bloom out in the Indian Ocean.
Parts of me look like parts of you
and here we go with oneness
being nothing more than
pattern recognition and optical illusion;
though I hope there is more to it than that.

My hurt might not be your hurt,
but I have a sense of it.
Likewise your hope may not resemble mine,
but it cheers you just the same
and we are all the better for it.

We needn’t replicate each other
or attempt imitation,
but recognition is a kind thing
and art is what we all have to share.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/ymX2yjLcpws

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 11

TAPERS


I wax poetic and burn the candle at both ends. I borrow from the beginning, I steal from the end, coming up short and feeling deeply cheated. I pass myself off as the time-keeper but am the time-pleaser, arch-traitor selling short the days and hours for approval, not fulfillment. I put away my true identity: mammal, human, the love of; I have exchanged it for the mask and cape of the Do-do-doer, a tragic figure of myth and legend who breaks the spirit of everyone who attempts the portrayal. In spite of this the roads teem with actors becoming caricatures of a life less lived. The world is more than a stage, and I must free powers greater than I to be more than an audience.



Laugh at old jokes and tell new ones.
*


Whose Oxygen Mask goes on First?


Desperation is the fuel which forges my resentments.
When I fear for my survival,
physical, emotional or financial
this will turn my response to your behavior into tinder,
sometimes gasoline and set our interaction ablaze.

Melt all which is steel strong between us
and create a molten mess
from which it will be a struggle to recover.

This is why,
taking good care of me,
attending to my life, and quelling my fears
is the very best way for me to protect you
from my attitude and save me
from a negative balance sheet during my 10th step.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/ZG5jJR7cY5M

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 12

BLEATING FORMALITY


Stupidity stalks me when I am tired, hijacking my mouth. I can put this off to pilot error or interruption of service on my neurologic pipeline, but truly I have been captured by senseless, irrational muttonness. I would love to say it was pigheadedness but, alas, I am not self-determined, I am a sheep. I open my lips and out pours the same plaintive cry as the surrounding herd. In addition, once begun, the wail is unending; it’s as if the bellows works on its own carrying a tune which blends with the entire wool-coated world. I shift and run with my position according to the movements at large. I am following the reactionary breed, dropping the specifics of my personality as one of the crowd; my brain is switched off and a quick veneer grows over my eyes. I can’t see, think, or speak for myself and yet it doesn’t occur to me to hit the hay. When as a petulant three year old I do fall to sleep in my tracks, I wake as myself with many bleating apologies to be made.



Put morbidity on a leash and never walk it alone.
*


Peter and I


This flight is not filled
with the giggling cherubs of my westerly flight,
but among the solemn children on this flight
is Peter, the oldest of four,
who is reading Tolkien
and marking his place with a two page wish list.
Christmas is coming and Peter seems confident.

I wonder if we are what we read
and ponder if I am what I write.
Poetry, stories, novels, declarations,
it all feels like arms and legs,
things I cannot move right without.

I live better when they are out and free.
I am free too, when they live on their own
and I am not their soul residence.

I have to rededicate myself
to the work entrusted to me
for so much living depend upon it.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/pIxhPgXDifU

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

[girlin2une]

December 9

CLIMBING ON THE ARC


If time swings and the seasons swirl and I pulse out my existence, why does the bird's wing flap and the rain fall down? If the song comes from my mother’s lips and my father tells his tales and I dance my heritage with each step I take, then why does the flower open to the bee and the swan trumpet her way home? If everything pulls from the ground and reaches for the light, then how can I duck my head, hide my heart and pass this all off as a coincidence? Am I less than the rain or greater than the swan? Why can’t I just climb on the arc and let the continuum spin its web around me? Well, you see I can, but will I?


Let little birdies speak.
*


What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind,
a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver,
how do I go on in its absence?
Or does it ever leave me?

Is this more like an excision than segmentation?
Is it similar to how I carry you with me
when I catch a resentment; only in a good way?

I don’t know that I can be truly divided up,
but I do know that parts of me
don’t belong exclusively to me anymore
and I believe this is all for the better.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/o1vQoGu2yOU

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

Resonance 💕

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 13

WHAT IS MINE


The cloud of snow slept in the tree overnight and poured from the branches with the morning breezes. Showers of crystal, dropping from a clear daylight sky, are telltales of intentions delayed. What was meant for moon time has been kept till sunshine, a treat for bright eyes and young hearts. How can I weep over altered destinations? Arrivals and departures are truly within the province of poetry and postcards, not things for worry or fretting. Putty is for forming into an image of my desire not the world. Time is a liquid substance I cannot decant at my will. Shoulds and oughts are parlor games for the bored and senseless. If I waste my life playing a game I can’t win I will fail to see what I can’t lose.


Work with someone who works.
*


Pretty Girls

Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules,
but I don’t know why.
The world is filled with people and rules,
crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception.

The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance
to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion
strikes me as odd, beyond survival
and this may explain so very much.

Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing.
Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye.
The universe supports us without end
but prejudice is our failing
and I blame it on the pretty girls


Vlog: http://youtu.be/lebYO9ADr0s

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 14

DO WE SEE



The old man walked down the road to see the end; I followed to glimpse the fruit of his pursuit. Does the highway come to rest or like the river just feed a greater sea? And time; will the clock stop him? Can he win the treasure hunt as the seconds tick away on the metronome? Will the slowing of his steps and the advancing of his age create a curve, which will prevent his accomplishment? Does this tag-along I am doing make me a part of his project? The road is long and its end may never come, only ours. When we take the road the road takes us. More and less is what we are and so too the road. I follow the contour of the ground, which curves around the world, spinning in our sky so we can all see the stars.


Reality builds contentment, fantasy disappointment.

*


Calm, Peaceful, On



Once I center my mind I can type in the dark.
All it takes is me present and willing to flow.
Limber up the learning curve,
press my fingers to the keys,

Let the story tell its tale.
Cease the interjections lest it all go stale.
There is nothing much to know,
It’s all inside, I just let it go.

Emptying this crowded vault,
I open up to prevent assault.
What to do when it hits the page;
marketing is all the rage,
but for this task I need a light.
To sell myself I must be bright.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/QpbtJlNkWto

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 15

GOOSE


I round this corner nearly every day. There in the field stands a flock of problems pecking the ground and flapping their wings. Uniform and regular, the honking and squawking is undistinguishable from yesterday. I ponder and squint; are these the same or yet another gaggle making their way along a migratory path? Trouble is feral, skulking the edges of the field but never sheltering in the yard. I must leave my hands off, knowing these are not mine. The feathers fly and I gather the strays acutely aware of the ticklish nature of this. Awkwardly I face the truth, no matter how much of a perplexity this is to me or to others, it is only geese.


Run because you want to and the starter’s whistle won’t bother you.
*


Crazy Time


Picking the right time to be crazy
seems to be the key to getting away with it.
Wanting to get away with it slants the field a tad.

What crazy is, changes from place to place,
which puts all the more emphasis on the timing.
The surrounding company and barometric pressure,
play parts and put on airs.

Lighting, lighting must also be involved,
I assure you I don’t know how
and can’t calculate the Ohms,
but I flip the switches in case it helps.

I have mapped for you a fair amount more than I know.
I wish you well on your attempt,
for crazy is a kindred club,
I would hate for you to feel inept.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/hbmrf8CaJnE

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 16

GOOD SAMARITAN PIE


The meal prepared from my cognition, the bread and jam of humility, salad of expectation, roast of determination and Good Samaritan pie, wait on the table to be devoured. The courses pass and come dessert my kindly intentions are cut to wedges and pushed from setting to setting. I can, with dollop after dollop, cover the requisite desires of this tart in an attempt to deny my addiction to fixing or I can serve up the plain truth. I help and help and wander down roads looking for lost puppies to return to their homes. I must admit my longing to lend support is sometimes half-baked, and if kept to home and hearth it might serve me better and make a sweeter dish. Assistance is best in proportion to the meal. I must live my life and save my pie till last.


Hold each other's hands but explore.
*
Touch Your Toes


Funny how we deal with feet.
I have seen a woman cradle hers
and treat it like the dearest babe.

I know some folks who shun their feet;
can barely stand to think of them,
let alone to touch them.

There are the Mani-Pedi people
who leave it in the hands of others.
I met a guy who soaks them soft
and tucks little bits of cotton
under the corners of his nails.

I know too,
the woman with the snarling crusty dogs
that serve to others as a warning.

My grandma warns me
not complain about my shoes
lest I meet the man who has no feet,
but I doubt I would fit in his.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/7eUgwQQ5ZPI

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 17

POPCORN FLAVORED LOLLIPOP


I can’t know it. I can’t believe it. The world of popcorn flavored lollipops is now being visited upon me. Both a surprise and a comfort, a popcorn flavored lollipop is given to me by the gas station attendant. A blast of sugar and salt waken my tongue. What can a mind do in the face of a buttered, salted bonbon on a stick? I wouldn’t have thought of it, not in a million years. This is somehow a source of hope to me. There are open-minded people living in the world around me. I often pray for creative thinking on the part of my Higher Power; I inadvertently dismiss the populace who is producing prodigies of ingenious originality and cunning. I want the world to be gifted with what sobriety has given me. Candy is not world peace but many great things start with a little sweetness.


Real rules can’t be broken.
*



Not My Best Friend

No matter how tightly I hug a lump of coal
I will not prevail in turning it into a diamond.
Some days I accept this better than others.

My desire may affect the coal,
but this affect is not diamond producing;
though it is stress producing.

I know it stresses me and chills me to the bone.
I had thought of coal as warming,
but the disparate love of coal proves to be anything but.

I have pinned my hopes
on what this lump had the potential to become
rather than acceptance of what it is and now.

I see I must light my own fire
and know the coal is not mine.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/KujCorrb7d4

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 18

WATER PROOF


What could water prove anyway? I get in the water and I get wet. I’m sure there is a theorem but a proof is highly doubtful. Naiads dance with tridents in their hands illustrating the beauty and danger of the waves but this certifies nothing. Juiceless arid dirt can make no claims either. I see the ducks take flight pushing the air with their wings and the rivulets trailing from webs. This is the thing to scoot beneath at the surface, take sustenance and pleasure, but never to become so saturated that the air is lost. Waterproof… is the way to go.


Give preconceived notions a place on the shelf or in the can but no place in your life.
*



Lame

I easily identify the big mistakes of my life,
but fail to recognize or report the little mistakes
that I make, mistakes, which cost me so much.

Repetitive irresponsibility has the effect of water torture;
drip, drip, drip and my peace of mind is worn away.
What can I say of what I refuse to see?

It was there all along like the view covered by the shade.
Who is to blame for not raising the curtain?
It may be me, may not, but I am the one who suffers,
I am the one who misses out.

Missing the opportunity to grow out of these
small deficiencies leaves me with a lifelong handicap
and I am not just speaking of my blindness,
but also how they make me lame.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/qcBxKOeyusw

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
Amazon.com: Sober On The Way To Sane (9781440417344): Sherrie T.: Books
More Lines From My Life: Sherrie Theriault: 9781448677207: Amazon.com: Books

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 19

ALMOST TWINS


You and I are more alike than different yet we cannot get along, though I ponder why this surprises me so. A cloud and a watermelon are 98% the same and no one would mistake them in a crowd or expect them to be companionable except in the way of two things existing in the universe. My expectation of liking you for our similarities is set up by my fear that I don’t like myself, but the joke is on me. My dislike of you is not a reflection of anything but time and space. My friends are the people who like me, not necessarily the ones who are like me. The president didn’t like broccoli without slurring its good name and I can dislike you without inferring you’re a vegetable.


Enjoy the approach as well as the work.
*

Scalene


Strangeness is attracting, I don’t try to deny it.
I have looked longingly at oddness
and every skewed thing.

Though I try to divert my gaze the acute angles
draw me back to peer again and again.
Strange attractors have an unexplainable beauty to me.

The wane charisma digs its hooks into my soul
and I carry it off like a burr stuck to my hide.
What does this say of me, I am not sure?

What does it say of the sidelong loves of mine?
Volumes, I think it speaks volumes,
all of it unknown to me.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/-O2YEH4nyRk


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 20

COOCOO’S NEST


I ran away to join the zoo hoping a life contained would calm me. The segregation hit me first; isolated exclusively with those of my stripe drove my thirst for diverse scents and opinion. Next, the monotony of the landscape bore into my brain. The well-meaning effort of the keepers bears the mark of folks who go home at night. The blandness of the food and music lent nothing to the experience, and antiseptic could drive anyone wild. The final blow, the one that struck constantly and coldly, was the stream of observers waiting to be entertained.


Embrace plain tools and fine minds.

*

Home Fires Burning

I have trouble living with myself,
that is why I live with you.
It takes my mind off the things I don’t wish to face.

What I can busy myself within your service
lightens the load of expectation heaped in my DNA
by my Higher Power and Fate.

Worry is time consuming
and I wile away hours fretting over you
and all your unresolved trifles
while turning my back entirely on my life.

I couldn’t be happier to have you,
though from the corner of my eye
I glimpse God packing your bags.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/EPIQNgKAmmY

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 21

WHAT’S MINE IS MINE


I don’t always know how to get the dog off the baby. The attacks are often sudden and always swift. My shock at the reality delays my response, falters my steps and fogs my mind. What should I do to disengage this assault? What can I do that won’t make things worse? How can I resolve this now? The pain is almost unimaginable but yet all too familiar. It all comes down to ownership. I must admit this baby is me. I have to face facts; this dog is my pet, I have fed, nurtured and groomed him and now I have to put this dog to sleep.


Explore the air not just the dirt.
*


A Thousand Windowed House

I am like a house with a thousand windows.
When I am lit up inside
you can see all the way through;

When I go dark
the reflection of the world around me is all
that is visible when you look my way.

My sprawling mind is what creates this effigy of me.
A tribute when I am well tended
and a fire trap when I neglect my duties.

If I learn to celebrate in all the rooms
this house is my home,
so I must practice; dance and sing in the hallways.

So I can pirouette into the rooms with full voice.
For what is the point of being a house
with a thousand windows, if I don’t live there?

Vlog: http://youtu.be/R31c3Ax_Sw0

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 22

CHANGE IN MENU


If God is drunk we pray for spiritual sobriety and strong sponsorship. If God is sober we ask for these things on God’s behalf and glory in answered prayer. It is amazing that the rain comes down if I dance for it or not. I can get this wonderful recovery just like the rest of ‘we agnostics’, I don’t have to shake your hand, wink my eye or say some special bit of poetry to have it. Just the same way that weather is and changes and deepens so too is my spiritual condition. It is there as I tread this path. I don’t have to mark the rows in my garden for the plants to grow. I wish for God a salad with two forks, we no longer need to share a bottle.

Dance with your skeletons.

*

Harriet Powers


Like a creature with a long tale
told in a hushed voice.
The whispers tell the story
with inflection and innuendo.

I slink away from the mirror
and the disembodied voices it engenders.
Thirty versions of my past spin away from me
in the eddies of time gone and misremembered.

I gather my fragments and tatters;
I thread my needle
and sit to quilt me into the present.

The odd assortment left from all which has worn out
or been pulled apart fit in a pinwheel pattern
and turn toward a better day.

The night is warmer for now I have it covered,
settled and safe, perhaps now I might even sleep.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/ojIx1wut2qY

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 23

TRUE VOICE


Some tears pour from my eyes and others from my heart. What once was a head-game and theory is now heartfelt and real. I have grown in my compassion, leaving qualification on the curb. Letters and notice mean so little in the full-out scheme of all the world; like fashion, what is true today, stood on and dependable, is next years joke and off-hand reference. The thump of the muscle deep within me is a compass I can trust. The daily tide of splash and rush can spring water to my face, but what rouses my spirit is much more. I needn’t worry for its receding or discount that it is faithful; it abides with me still and will keep me if I let it. Some sounds ring from my voice; others resonate from within, these are the ones that last.


Aim is as important as a strong arm.

*

Entrée Entrée


I am not one to order an appetizer,
I prefer the main meal.
Even if I carry the majority of the entrée home
I like to have it all there before me.

Knowing there is enough, might I want it,
means peace of mind
and I can relax and eat what I wish.
That’s how much I fear.

Fear opening my mouth to ask for more.
Fear not anticipating my actual appetite.
Fear of having nothing to show for my evening out.

What could it all be like
had I felt free of rules and public policy
that must be carried out in private?

I might never know,
but what I do know is
that I need to overcome this.

Not because of starving children near or far,
not to eliminate the science experiments
of mold growth and wilted lettuce in my frig,

But in order that I have a chance to have my desert
and eat it too
and leave the rest unordered.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/xKD5QInmQak


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

[girlin2une]

December 18

WATER PROOF


What could water prove anyway? I get in the water and I get wet. I’m sure there is a theorem but a proof is highly doubtful. Naiads dance with tridents in their hands illustrating the beauty and danger of the waves but this certifies nothing. Juiceless arid dirt can make no claims either. I see the ducks take flight pushing the air with their wings and the rivulets trailing from webs. This is the thing to scoot beneath at the surface, take sustenance and pleasure, but never to become so saturated that the air is lost. Waterproof… is the way to go.


Give preconceived notions a place on the shelf or in the can but no place in your life.
*



Lame

I easily identify the big mistakes of my life,
but fail to recognize or report the little mistakes
that I make, mistakes, which cost me so much.

Repetitive irresponsibility has the effect of water torture;
drip, drip, drip and my peace of mind is worn away.
What can I say of what I refuse to see?

It was there all along like the view covered by the shade.
Who is to blame for not raising the curtain?
It may be me, may not, but I am the one who suffers,
I am the one who misses out.

Missing the opportunity to grow out of these
small deficiencies leaves me with a lifelong handicap
and I am not just speaking of my blindness,
but also how they make me lame.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/qcBxKOeyusw

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
Amazon.com: Sober On The Way To Sane (9781440417344): Sherrie T.: Books (http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane)
More Lines From My Life: Sherrie Theriault: 9781448677207: Amazon.com: Books (http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life)



Truth.....

[girlin2une]

December 19

ALMOST TWINS


You and I are more alike than different yet we cannot get along, though I ponder why this surprises me so. A cloud and a watermelon are 98% the same and no one would mistake them in a crowd or expect them to be companionable except in the way of two things existing in the universe. My expectation of liking you for our similarities is set up by my fear that I don’t like myself, but the joke is on me. My dislike of you is not a reflection of anything but time and space. My friends are the people who like me, not necessarily the ones who are like me. The president didn’t like broccoli without slurring its good name and I can dislike you without inferring you’re a vegetable.


Enjoy the approach as well as the work.
*

Scalene


Strangeness is attracting, I don’t try to deny it.
I have looked longingly at oddness
and every skewed thing.

Though I try to divert my gaze the acute angles
draw me back to peer again and again.
Strange attractors have an unexplainable beauty to me.

The wane charisma digs its hooks into my soul
and I carry it off like a burr stuck to my hide.
What does this say of me, I am not sure?

What does it say of the sidelong loves of mine?
Volumes, I think it speaks volumes,
all of it unknown to me.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/-O2YEH4nyRk


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

Another excerpt I love!

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 24

RETRO ANTICIPATION AND SUNSHINE


The night after a victory I fret about the blocks. Will my stance be right? Will I leave cleanly? I have been first through the tape. I have won the race but yet I worry how I will start. Had I anticipated a win I might have handled the accolades better. Apprehension has a long half-life and feeds through the night on my gizzard and my dreams. Failure gives homework, there are rewrites and typos, but checkmate leaves an empty board and hands to shake. The long ride home is filled with recriminating thoughts of luck and fortune. By the time I arrive home the win is devalued and no longer mine. I must pry misgivings from the winner’s circle and enjoy. These moments in the sun are just as real as any others.


Draw pictures of monsters, then let them lay.
*


Hey Little Sister

Who pulls the trigger, you or I,
in this Shotgun relationship?
Is it more to the point
if you slit my throat or if I slit my own?

I only ask for the sake of expedience,
rudeness was never my intent.
I know we both wish this dilemma resolved
with due speed and precision where possible.

I am not as concerned with my survival
as much as neatness all around.
I hate to leave you with a mess.

I would tuck my tail and go,
but I have tried that before
and still we end up here.

So lets end this shall we
and hope that there are better worlds than this
to find after we have shattered the sugar egg
we used to live in.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/utiowwLtChI
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 25

ALCONAUT

Want to learn it fast but not deep? Just go to meetings and listen with half an ear. Call your sponsor only for her birthday and anniversary and tell her about all the things you are not doing anymore but none of the things you are. Skim the books for good quotes that sound impressive when they pass your lips but whose meaning has no chance of passing your heart. Find playmates and cliques, not a home group, and surely not a service commitment. Things fall out of orbit when they run out of juice and you will too. This program is not an air lock on the way to worlds unknown; it is a way to live in the world you know. There is no question that you have the right stuff. The question is, do you want what we have?


Hug your feelings, pat their heads, then let them go.

*


Einstein’s Apple

Time is a player in every play,
forever running forward
even as I try to claw my way into the past.

If I don’t provide a role,
time writes itself in
without regard for my intended plotline.

Like the weather,
time is by turns gentle and fierce.
I must pay attention lest I run afoul of it
and lose my life and limb.

Though time is an arc I see swinging in my mind
it is still the arrow shot
and I am simply the fool with the apple.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/FAR0HkT82Us

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 26

HEART HANDED


I pick up the pen in my heart hand and the blood of my soul pours onto the page. The words coalesce and clot into the binding phrases, sealed deals with my spirit's punctuation. Some days it is hard for my mind to keep up; the current is swift and deeper than I expect. The pulse of energy is amazing even to the mind it feeds. Like clouds racing the sky this power brings shade to some and rain to others. The reaction of the moistened varies, some pull up hoods and scurry away, others with upturned faces form a friendship with me. At the level of electrons, we have a molecular bonding, we are forever changed because I have picked up the pen and they picked up the page.


Chain yourself to wisdom.
*


Again Truth


Not wanting to speak the truth
doesn’t change the truth,
truth is funny that way,
it is not affected by my cold shoulder.

I snub it and it stands just the same.
I am the one who bends and withers.
Truth withstands the pressure that I never have,
the force of other people’s disappointment and regret.

I have sympathy or is it cowardice?
I tremble at the power of emotion and truth just carries on.
I do not want to be the truth or stand in its place;
for truth is not a beating heart
and I am too much a feeling creature,
but I will learn to keep the company of honesty and right.

And stand under the arching bough of truth,
because it is a shelter from the winds of change
and I need all the help I can get.

When I am tempted to shun truth in favor of expedience
I will try to remember that life is longer than I think
and if I don’t face the truth now
it is going to be in my face later
when I might be less prepared.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/OeEIHBwvnnA

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 27

SIZING GOD UP



God doesn’t need to be big. I only look for a big God when I feel very small. I turn to God as compensation for my feelings, as some sort of bolster to brace myself with. I have found when I am diminished in any way, God is tucked in a corner or pocket or drawer. I flee to the great out of doors and find earth, nature and wind but the God of my understanding is proportionate to my mental state. My partner is with me, near enough to hear the fear pour off my skin. God doesn’t run from me to adventures in the wild. I want to escape myself regularly but this is not my Higher Power's defect. I come back to God when I stop running from me. I face my reflection and recognize I am not towered over by a giant God; I am yoked with a power to share the load.


Enjoy the shape of things.
*



Disambiguation


This is what happens when you are stupid,
the same thing which happens
when you are smart yet afraid.

It doesn’t matter what dulls your sword,
your edge is gone.
Due diligence is required to hone it to first gleam,
what will it take to do it again
I don’t know and I rather not know.

If I can do the thing,
the thing which stands in front of me,
do it with whatever will I have
I am better off and stronger for it.

Better than to be the soft hearted genius
sitting in the corner or the soft headed idiot
standing in the street.

Mess is what comes from
retarded abilities or delayed action.
I can smell the problem and yet the lure
of staying is still so strong.

The pull-the push may not do the trick
to get me into a brighter head or willing body,
what works is what mostly always works; hunger.

I have to stop swallowing what is fed me
and go find the truth out for myself.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/p26JfqUHyEs

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