HELP FROM STRANGE SOURCES
I can not get my mind wrapped around the places I find help. I struggle with believing I have been helped; I struggle with disbelief at my own resistance. I am helped daily by many tiny things seen and unseen. I realize now, I was injured by the same tiny things when I was misaligned with my Higher Power.
The sun rising, the tiny star I circle in this great nothingness, it makes my whole day. The air hanging around just in case I need it, which I often do. The people who live with me (a mean feat), work with me, those who exist here with me, keep my ship on course. How very sweet of them to do mostly right every day of their lives. What a help that is. The whole ecosystem and all the weather: what would I do without it? But this is on a good day.
On a bad day, the sun is in my eyes, scorching my skin. The air is too still or well, the wind is always a problem. And People, people are an endless plight. People do things to hurt, annoy and irritate me. Full intent, targeted to me, my life, my wants destroyed. Bugs seek me and I am followed by the darkest cloud, every day, all day lurking.
I am so thankful for a sponsor and a tenth step.
Name your tears; honor them for who they are
Everything in the world happened before I was born
and the cinders sift through my fingers.
Accomplishing cohesion of the ashes
is a goal I have not yet achieved.
Cremains precious but meager
are a difficult building material,
shifting due to emotions and wind,
I find they stick too well to my lungs
and not well enough to anything else.
Tears help, but I will not cry forever.
I must draw from a fresh water source
and wet the powdery scratch I have inherited
and form the world anew.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault