Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 26



HOW THINGS SEEM


Not everyone who pushes me down is my enemy and not everyone who pulls me up is my friend. I have been seduced by the closeness of people who used me as their shield. When I have been held in the place of honor, the point man of life, I forgot that made me the replacement target for the one who stood behind me. I had been offended as I was thrown to the ground. The hands that shoved me, I saw as my rejecters. I was spared the tragedy and peril of the thing that flew by my ear thanks only to the grace of a thrust in the right direction. Accurate appraisal is my weakness. Seeing things for what they are is hard. Things are rarely how they seem.


Grow tall with your grain and the years will grow around you.

*


Would You Rather a Lamp?

I am a girl filled with expectations.
Like a ginger jar filled, stuffed caulker block full,
though the filling is the part which is unpredictable;

It could be match books, or seashells,
acorns or all those pretty capsules.
This makes me erratic and sometimes volatile.

Are you strong enough or far too sane
to stay and help me sort the contents?
It’s lonely work without a witness or a spotter.

I rather be alone than with you reluctantly,
so please try to shuck that husk and remain.
Yes, I am sometimes capricious, but I try never to be cruel.

I know sometimes you convince yourself
that leaving me to my own devices is the wisest of courses,
but don’t be fooled;

You disappear due to your weakness not strength
and the worst part about the price of abandonment
is that everyone has to pay it.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 27



SERVICE AND SACRIFICE


The difference between life and death in my recovery is the equal difference between service and sacrifice. If I offer you what is in my hand, fine. If I also give you my fingertips, I am lost. Service lightens the load in my heart; sacrifice removes my tools for living. When I go into debt for your existence, the cheer and optimism is sucked from my awareness. My eyes go dead and soon I follow. The cingulotomy of obligation crucifies my future and murders true hope and love. Service feeds my heart and yours. Renovating makes space. It builds the muscles for joy and contentment, pumping and refilling my plate with spirituality.



Wriggle your toes and flex your mind.
*



Perkiomenville

Being actually alive does not feel as good as I imagined
the relief of not being dead would feel
therefore I have anxiety and dread,
or is it disappointment.

I feel like a failure when I am in the process of trying
I want to throw the pieces in the air and run.
Does this mean I’m weak
or does it mean I am frightened?

Is there some heavenly host of other reasons
why my crêpe paper soul twists and turns
in the breeze of the marketplace?

Some part of me was auctioned off
and its removal left a psychic scar
that even equanimity cannot ease.

I am all things wonderful and yet there is this flaw,
this toe tied thread which holds me back,
holds me down with painful accurate precision.

I look for the knife with which to cut it
all the while wondering if this will turn it into
a toe tag or a price tag.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 28



CHAPTER AND VERSE


I remember being trained and rehearsed for finding the words which would release my soul from bondage. The scrupulous concern for detail pointed me to heaven. And yet I drank. Inside these rooms the path is wide, judgment is suspended and I have the right to be wrong. The penalties for error can be great but the privilege and risk are mine. As in all things, the extremists come. They have come to this place, too. Thumpers hound and belittle, threaten and cajole. They tell page numbers like punch lines and narrow the field at every opportunity. I can’t stay sober sitting on my old stool and I can’t maintain this desire by their chapter and their verse.


Notes are numbers, so count out your time and sing your song.

*

Jane Street

The space between wanting to live
and not wanting to hurt
is the alley in which I live.
This lane is not as narrow as you might think,

In some places there is room for parking on one side.
Since I reside here more often than not
I have filled it with many of the appliances,
which allow me to pretend at life.

It doesn’t afford a truly clean or cheerful locale,
but there are laughs, sometimes flowers in the spring.
Finding my way out of this is tricky.

When unlocked I find these are backdoors to commerce
and though better than being sold wholesale,
retail is not what I was hoping to find
as I wrest myself from a confined existence.

I have heard of those who
drive through plate glass ignoring the structure.
I think this is less workable from the back.

What is left when I can’t bully or climb?
I guess I will have to throw my hands up and pray.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 29


WHEN A SNAPPER CROSSES THE ROAD


What should I do? I see the soggy green/gray lump creeping the macadam too slow to survive for long. The surge in me, to aim and end the duckling eater's life, is a short-lived but palpable surge. My Disney style justice is dismissed but heard from nonetheless. Shall I pull over and assist? This turtle is as ill equipped for this stretch of road as I am ill equipped to aid in its conveyance. Should I reach with fingers or toes to something I know can extend its neck and sever me from parts I hold dear? The ever-present missionary in me has spoken and is silenced. In fact, what I can do is slow down and give wide berth. I know this creature is a danger, but never more so than me.


Plot your graph and measure your curve.
*


Terry Bradshaw

When someone wants to take the easy way out
I condemn them for wanting ease
and fail to register that they want out.
I hear a whine when in fact it’s a cry.

A challenge is rarely passed up by the able bodied,
but must be foregone by the injured.
Carried from the field is no personal victory,
not a goal for sure.

When I would rather watch than play
I need to check for wounds not inflict them.
It is not natural for me to sit in the stands,
but accusation is never the way to get me on the field.

Suit up when I’m whole and hide when I’m not.
Absence is a fallback position for the fallen
I have to help myself to get back up.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 30



PINK CLOUD

When the pink cloud lands in my valley, my task is to walk. The pleasure of its presence can never outweigh the practice this cloud affords me. I walk in a haze of cherry blossom lightness; the future is a blur I do not fear. Forward motion seeds my inertia; my gyroscope is set. When dark clouds gather and the way is overshadowed, I will keep on. When the test begins and I must proceed in the obscurity of night, the lively steps of pink-cloud days will cheer and empower me. I can embed my future with right action and bank the confidence I feel today, saving it for the rain swept days that come to everyone. Progress is positive even when made in bliss.


Get a cozy blanket for the times when the answers don’t come.
*


Reguess

When in my sarcasm
I suggested that you ‘guess again’,
I realized that you were in fact guessing,
guessing about everything,

Guessing in order to create a process of elimination,
a tool on which I now recognize you entirely depend.
Guessing as a way of life is a tragedy.

I’m not saying that trying to know every last thing in the world
is an acceptable alternate goal, but to reach an adult age
and not even be able to work your way up to a possible hunch
is scary, scarier than even my sarcasm,

Which at this moment seems interminable,
but I’m sure you guessed that.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 1

HOLD CARD



My bottom pulled my hold card to the table top. I turned it over and found I have a bit of value. Each time I turned over my will, my value increased. After many spins, the face cards appear; I’m the Jack, the Queen, the King. I revel in the time and practice it has taken to get here. I play my hand and take my chances. I have been privileged to pair with wonderful sober partners who turn themselves over and transform before my eyes. The years raise the ante and I play close to my chest. The stakes are high and if I turn in the wrong direction, I can be the Joker once again.


Smell your meals before you eat them.
*
Leap Day

When winter is almost at an end it becomes beautiful;
a theoretical thing, which though it may hurt you,
can not hurt you for long,
therefore is safely appreciated by mere mortals.
You don't have to beg for God's own protection,


Time has become a friend and winter only a show.
I will soon wake from this chilling fright,
will in fact thaw from it in short order
and needn’t fret though chilblains
still catch at me now and then.

I can stand at the window
admiring frost and ice formed lace;
intricate patterns whose beauty will soon be lost to me,

Put away in favor of crocus and daffodil.
The terrible loveliness of soon to pass trauma
is not lost on my hyper-vigilance
I grasp it, I just can’t seem to let it rest.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 2



THE MEAL


Home cooking is the key. I want to order in, have my life delivered to the door. The takeout menus entice me. From three courses on china to burgers handed through sliding windows, it all sounds good and I request all for take home. But this is not the way. I must light the flame and chop the veg. I can’t have a life prepared by others. I can share recipes and suggestions; this is help not displacement. I can stand and cook with others and together make the feast. I cannot sit and wait to be served. I stand at the range while the sauce simmers and it comes clear; I am my own meal.


Nothingness won’t necessarily consume you but it does block the view.


*
TWC


I wake early and watch the lazy rain
fall in slow fat random drops.
I view it with silent awe,
only part of my recently somnolent mind bewildered.

Dawn advances toward me and I register a new concept:
snow, it is snow; the sky had been,
too dark to allow me to see the white,
all I could comprehend was the fall.

The lighter the sky becomes
the more the precipitation behaves like snowfall.
I muse this to my sponsor and she laughed,
“Well, we all misname things in the dark,
Sweetie, lighten up and give yourself a break.”




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 3

REALLY RAINING



“Why do people ask if someone is really sober?”
“They’re checking for the winners, I guess,” responded my sponsor.
“But what does that mean?”
“Well, when the clouds roll in and the next thing you know it’s really raining, you can clearly discern the difference between that and just a shower. The commitment of water saturates the atmosphere and the rain is the undeniable certainty. That is what people are looking for and they ask to discover if the person even comprehends the concept.”
“What do they do if the person is really sober?”
“Stand next to them and soak it all in.”


Have double paned windows to insulate you from cosmic rays or constant criticism.
*



With and Without


With my sponsor-
Without my drinking buddies

With my Big Book-
Without my contrived dogma

With my home group-
Without my dysfunctional family

With my step work-
Without my mental masturbation

With my sobriety-
Without my insanity

With all this I can live-
Without all that



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 4

DESSERT

I have to be my own appetizer; I have to be the thing that entices and intrigues me. I must be the roughage, the salad full of color and variety. The entree must be me, as well. The things that sustain me, the meat of my life, I have to supply and swallow down. I can be all this. I run to the sweetness of others but this cannot be my source of sustenance. The greater part of me needs to derive from me. I can set the table and fill it with the fullness of who I am. I am enough and others are dessert. Twinkies will never be sufficient. They can only be a treat.


Make sure your work area is well ventilated.
*
Yield Don’t Stop


If I let amazement stop my progress
I will become landlocked instead of becoming free.
Picture wagon wheels planted in Kansas
when the destination had been California.

Yes, the plains are great,
but if that was not my aim it is a far cry from heaven.
Arriving at any haven is tempting;
when it crosses to captivating then to captivation,
here is where the problem lay.

Steps six and seven changed me and this is good.
If I allow this to halt me this is disaster.
If the wheels fall off the wagon I walk.
If I grow too tired to walk I pant with my friends
and we carry each other, we don’t stop.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 5

TRANSITIONS


During the months of winter, the trees stand tall and leafless---static in their appearance, frozen in direction. The insurgence of spring brings to life the truth. The buds and flowers show the draw of their owners---the pull of life from the earth and sky. Other trees have begun to restore the gifts so graciously given. These leafless giants open themselves as home and sustenance to the surrounding community---returning favors and flavors, coming to terms with wholeness. Celebrations of all I have call for me to give it all back, even during the time when we all look the same.


Always step out of the spotlight before it burns you.
*




Pinocchio as a Girl



I should be painting today
instead of reframing the future,
an unnecessary and ephemeral job at best.
Kind of like lassoing an unborn colt,
I try to put a rope around something that cannot get away.

Outcome hasn’t much to do with foregone conclusion
and wouldn’t I be better mixing colors and wetting brushes
than cutting slices from a pie in the sky?

But tomorrow seems more spacious than this crowded present
and I con myself into believing this is a harmless trip to the fair.
I lose my light, my thought, my sight with these thieving sojourns;
leaving me to creak around because all that is left is wood.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 6

STREET SIGNS

Hanging out on the corner of Disillusion Boulevard and Grief Road, then returning to that special spot on Despair Avenue, was my daily routine. I made the circle and never looked far afield. Widening my circuit allowed me to find Anticipation Place and Hopeful Terrace. I pushed my search and found roads, whose existence I never fathomed, intersecting, creating areas of intrigue. Optimism Court interfacing with Realization Way is the fairest of my finds, but many a fine street corner has me lurking, catching stray sunshine and encouragement. I make my home wherever the hospitality is available and return less often to the dark and stifling places of the past. Happiness is where you find it. Just make sure to read the signs.


Exponential growth is a little thing that affects you in a big way.
*
A Good Ship

Recently my life has taken on a surreal quality.
I stand in front of myself
as if I were a business to be run
or a project to be undertaken.

The intensity, uncertainty and drama
seem to be on the wane.
There are choices to be made
and outcomes to be determined.

This is all work and numbers,
nothing at risk below the skin.
My heart is secure, true love its protector,
faith its inborn light.

I am docked in safety harbor;
the waves may rock me,
but my anchor holds me fast.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 7

K-TURNS


I do not believe in a universe that makes complete sense. I often find myself trapped because the things I pull into no longer feel firm. I attempt K-turns in alleys far too narrow for the maneuver. I can’t back myself through the passages I plunged into willingly. My faith doesn’t compute in reverse and I find this disconcerting. I may walk into the face of fire but find it impossible to turn my back on the flames. Today, a one-way faith is fine as long as I am moving forward.


Allow talents to unfold like spring leaves.
*


The Little Black Dress


The holes in my pockets cause me to feel naked.
Though it is an inside pocket
and no one can see I still feel exposed,

My thinking changed and for that matter chained,
one link looped through the next.
I start with a hole in my pocket
so I know I can’t stay in this dress all day.

I know I will need the storage later as time wears on
but I can’t change now
and I don’t want to waste time putting on my tights.

My legs are cold. I fly from room to room.
I gather my keys, but forget my phone.
I am bare legged and unreachable,
overexposed due to a hole in my pocket.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 8

THE SHINY THING
The starling stands with the candy wrapper in its beak; the cellophane flexes in the breeze. Here is my life. I have the shiny thing in my possession. What do I do? Do I give up my intended tasks to attempt dominance or control of the shiny thing? Do I release this thing of intrigue and beauty? I am drawn to the shimmer and sparkle but shudder at the price. The world is filled with shiny things. I can enjoy them but leave them where they lay.


Play the tune but change the lyrics.

*
More Than a Fedora

I have no explanations only expletives,
I wish I had something to say
that you wished to hear,
but that is not current events;

Foul humored broadcasts are what fill the air this day.
Bad temper is tempting,
but I can no longer be satisfied in this way
nor is this a performance that you care to witness.

I will play FCC to my ruminations
curtailing this colorful darkness for my benefit
and the clearing of the air.

I have never shied from dramatic vocabulary
and I do not now,
but throwing out words is waste
and I am learning to conserve.

I don’t have to leak my power
I can cover my head
and close my mouth.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 12



MY SOBER HEART

The heart I have today is not the heart I have had all my life. Cells age and are replaced. I slough off what I can no longer use and rejuvenate with fresh layers. My sobriety is the same. Past step work is revamped and approached in innovative ways. Yesterday's prayers are replaced with today’s; today’s meditations will be dispelled by tomorrow’s. The function remains the same but it is constructed with brand new work. Service I render is always for my sobriety but I work to strengthen various quadrants. My heart is not as young as it used to be and vigorous action remakes it new each day. I rebuild my sober heart continually because forever and today I have the mind of an alcoholic.


Time your thinking so it can fire your mind.



*
No Stone Left Behind


An anchor attaches at the lower extremities stabilizing me,
an albatross is the thing weighing me down from the top,
it tips me, throws me to the ground.

I must remember to choose ferrous instruments
over long necked birds.
Often it’s not the amount of drag, but where it’s affixed.

There are so many variables,
so much to think through, yet I often react
and pick up what seems as harmless as a flock of sea gulls

And turns out to be worse than an iron maiden.
Leaving not tern unstoned is bad,
but do I really have the time to do it the other way around?


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 13



QUEEN’S COUNTENANCE


I know the 7 P’s of preparation. I set the table for those I know. The unexpected arrive clothed in time and tradition. They seat themselves at the table with the naked. They become mute. We prattle and pose, rarely glimpsing the goals sitting at the unset seats. What we need to become is far from what we are. I can not even call it other. It is within when we make room and ether when we won’t. I can wait and try but the juice is deep with the pulp. I get myself in line for the future and wait for the clothes offered by my guests. I sit the emperor and rise the queen.


Hear the sweetness in your own voice; taste the salt in your own tears.
*

Madame Alexander


I am, too naïve;
if you show me kindness I will believe you,
follow you, obey you, so, I have rules.

These rules do not protect me,
but they do make a box for me to seal myself inside.
Where I will ship myself, stack myself, hide myself,
well, that I do not know.

I pull the flaps down
and pray not to have to make any real decisions.
I fold my arms and close my mind

Believing I could never adequately open it enough
to safely live in the world outside of this closet.
Here I sit wondering what to write on this label
in order to be left alone

All the while longing for true love
a thing never given to a quivering china doll
shut up in a carton at the bottom of a wardrobe.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 14



THE LONG VIEW

The long view requires an enduring embrace of the past. It requires a great love of people, the race and individuals. I cannot see what we do and flee. I can own what happened, what happens and what is to come if only so I can ratchet improvement into my own behavior. I can see and feel and change, cringe if I must, but go on. The horizon is there to set the stage. It hangs there long and low. It stands guard for the life there is to live. I will view it and use it as my gauge. Keeping perspective is the key. I know it for what it is and that makes me, me. The short sight and the long view. My open arms hold it all; my sight brings it all into my heart.


Floss between the permanent ideas in your mind.


*
Life Events in Burlap

Two left feet in a gunnysack allows no forward motion
and creates only a windmill that screws us into the ground.
There is more perspective, front and back, more view,
but nothing to do with it, nowhere to go.

We are better off as book ends than this awkward foolish pairing.
You go your way and I go mine works fine if we are cut lose,
if any one person can be free of any other.

You offer to change your perspective if I change mine.
I smile, almost laugh at the idea of two right feet in a gunnysack
and no improvement in sight.

This is not grade school, not field day,
I must turn to you or you to me and nothing else,
no fair is fair, no turn taking.

Because my past is not your future
and your future is not my past.
Face forward on both accounts and then we run the race.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 15



BRATZLAV


If all the world is a narrow bridge, I must broaden my mind. If all the doors close to the passage of a hallway, I must exit through the window. Never again can I stay and shelter in a small and confining refuge. A womb is a place to come out of; it is never a place of return. I am not to seek over- exposure but I must ever widen the gate. The brave face I show is the gift of a tight world owning me for far too long. Fear is never meant to be larger than life and the world should never collapse around the sweetness of a smile. Today carries us. Tomorrow draws us. The world is a bridge.


Carpet the memories that echo shame in your mind.
*



Underoos



Why is it that I store undies I never wear
in my panty drawer and leave no room for my favorites?
Why is it that I have things in cupboards
that have not seen the light of day in years,
but they are kept as sacred?

I don’t use my storage for me
it is saved for obligation to inherited obsession.
I live on the fringes of the only life I have;

I didn’t question this.
didn’t see it for what it really is.
I don’t live in my skin only my head.
I don’t enjoy today only plan for tomorrow.

After years at this address it is time for me to move in.
The mortgage is more than paid;
it is time to spend my inheritance.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 19



URBAN LANDSCAPE


“I am taking this giraffe to the penthouse. Do you suggest the elevator or the stairs?”
“Why do you choose these complicated tasks to fill your days?” asks my sponsor.
“You think this is beyond my abilities?”
“I didn’t say that. I do believe either you or the giraffe is likely to get bent out of shape. But that is only the most obvious of observations.”
“What if I told you being disproportionate is both of our natural states?" I asked.
“I know that, too. My darling little lamb, you may be a contrast to the multitude, but why make it harder? Why not a ranch with cathedral ceilings? Bay doors even?”
“You are taking out the spirit of adventure,” I say.
“Baby, you may have confused frustration with excitement,” says my sponsor.
“Yes, but you have forgotten the view.”


Put three buttons on a shelf.
*


NaCl


I work arithmetic instead of telling you to stop.
I make a light remark and never take a stand
until I have worked the numbers
and believe that the weight of suffering is on my side.

I store in the cellar the salt I found in my wounds
and label it, with names, dates and corresponding critique,
all waiting, hoping, I will never need to disclose them,
but keeping them accounted for just in case things go badly.

I believe there is no chance for error with silence
and no wrong when I have backup in the basement,
but I need to table the salt and risk my reality.

You can’t hurt me worse than I do
when I pour old salt and create new wounds.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 20


STRETCHING

Stretching is not equivalent to change. Limbering is nice and warms the muscles, body and soul. Over-reaching, over-compensation is trauma; it distorts the symmetry and breeds erroneous thinking. Extension beyond the bounds sets me up for a fall. I misinterpret touching with fingertips with a firm and able grasp. I don’t step forward because I believe I have a hand on things, failing to see how this is different from an embrace. The sinew tears and the fabric of my life is destroyed. I lean forward but I go nowhere.


Open an old letter and read it with a fresh mind.

*
Inspection

My disease paid a discourtesy call on my bourgeoning sobriety.
Peeked in to look for cracks in my foundation,
weaknesses to exploit.

I recognized the patch job I had toyed with
would have made the easiest of targets for this eroding thug.
I am ever so grateful that I cleaned off all the bricks
and made new mortar.

Built on bedrock my re-laid block
will withstand the indignity of the pounding prodding sickness
which used to inhabit this once dilapidated space.

I can keep the villain at bay
and live my cozy life thanks to a true level
and the handsome turn of my trowel.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 9



ROLES


“You don’t have to give up playing God because it was a bad thing to do," said my sponsor in her most gentle voice. “You have to give it up because it doesn’t work. In a world seemingly spinning out of control, you, brave child, stepped up to the plate and took a swing. That is heroic, not demonic, but impractical nevertheless. You have to be your own full-time job even when it feels like there are other jobs left unfilled. You don’t have to run around finding the feet that fit those empty shoes, either. Maybe those empty shoes are just bait for a bad trap. Keep on your journey and I think you will come to a place where the work is being accomplished by a surprising cast of characters. You will be free to stick to the role ahead of you.”


Taste your thoughts carefully and spit out the rancid ones.
*

Out Standing in My Field

Trying to remove expectations is like trying to unseed a field;
it is damn near impossible until something crops up,
though when it does I must act swiftly lest things take root.

Tedious as it is weeding the fields
of unreasonable expectancy saves me from
so much frustration later on.

I don’t recognize it
but expectations are like little dictators forever ruling me,
leaving no room for God or direction,
not to mention flexibility or change.

Tap roots dive for the vein
and my life depends on fleet elimination of unsuitable desire.
I can want. I can strive.
I can not leave expectations to grow in my garden.



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