February 25
Exceptance
“I want G-d’s will for me,” I sigh to my sponsor.
“Except for this and except for that,” is her trig
response. She knows me, knows I have
exceptance. “You have a list of exclusions, a list that dams up the works.”
“Well, trust is hard,” I splutter.
“Trust is not the issue here,” says she. “You don’t feel
acceptable and exceptance is what follows.”
“Whatever could you mean?” my broken bluster leaving only
this plaintive whine.
“You believe you’re not good enough for G-d or anyone and
cross everything off the list in an attempt to duck blame or shame or some
other nasty thing. You are good enough
kiddo, get that and everything else is good enough, too. At least good enough for now and now is all
we have. Accept that.”
Include water in your life
*
TOP
The chipped paint of the red stripe
Gives the illusion of fading to rose as it spins
The edge, painted thalo green, in it's intensity
Reflects the windows of the room.
The bead, purple and gleaming
Affixed to the stem holds the cuff
With it's two opposed openings
The cord recoiled inside.
Underneath, protected from easy observation
Resides the point, lathed and faultless
The turning weight is carried and balanced
Perfectly on this nib.
The hum, spiraling and melodic
Comes from the table as well as the top
The aptness of form and function
Grace and harmony
In spite of it all
The only thing
Which truly matters
Is who pulls the string.
The chipped paint of the red stripe
Gives the illusion of fading to rose as it spins
The edge, painted thalo green, in it's intensity
Reflects the windows of the room.
The bead, purple and gleaming
Affixed to the stem holds the cuff
With it's two opposed openings
The cord recoiled inside.
Underneath, protected from easy observation
Resides the point, lathed and faultless
The turning weight is carried and balanced
Perfectly on this nib.
The hum, spiraling and melodic
Comes from the table as well as the top
The aptness of form and function
Grace and harmony
In spite of it all
The only thing
Which truly matters
Is who pulls the string.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to
Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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