Friends of Bill W.

[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]

Originally Posted by 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

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
[ame="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"]Amazon.com: Sober On The Way To Sane (9781440417344): Sherrie T.: Books[/ame]
[ame="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"]More Lines From My Life: Sherrie Theriault: 9781448677207: Amazon.com: Books[/ame]

[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]

Originally Posted by 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

Truth.....

[girlin2une]

Originally Posted by 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

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