“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.
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