Friends of Bill W.

[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

[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

[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 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

[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]

Originally Posted by 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

So Beautiful, LeftWriteFemme.

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

It's a privilege to call you friend




Much loves y'old-timer you!