Juxtaposition

July 28

JUXTAPOSITION

Right next to this world is the globe that I came from.  The landmarks are similar but these spheres have little in common.  The angle of refraction illuminates the place of my origin.  The source of this light is legend.  On my home planet, the existence of sobriety is cast off as myth.  I held on to this tale with my heart.  I slipped the gravitational bonds of crazy one night by the glow of the ready button on the coffeepot.  Here and there intersect at only one point, a room with some chairs and a circle with a triangle.  The meeting was on Step One and it was a good place to jump in.

Put a leaf on your tongue just for fun.

*

Clap

I know how to put my hands together,

but I am unable to clap.

It’s not that my palms can’t locate each other;

it’s that I cannot find the beat.

I sing; lilting rhythms rolling from my tongue.

I keep time and drum the tattoo of jingle dress dance songs,

but when my hand comes against its mate something is off.

Faltering nuance plays havoc with my exuberant desire.

I want to join the crowd in syncopated applause,

yet my brain drops out.

Because the gap is too far to leap

I must walk around to the other side

and by then I’ve lost the moment,

the world has moved on without me.

I used to think I needed to run my routine a little faster,

but now I realize I need to learn to leap the gap

and trust the beat to find me.

Graft

July 27

GRAFT

The bottom has been cut out, my underpinnings stripped from me.  Budding ambition whittled down, transplanted, saddled onto the rock like stock of other people’s sobriety.  Taped to the leg of my sponsor I heal and grow.  I splice my thinking with the rich ideas of improved living.  I cling to the cleft; divisions made from the people, places and things of my past leave me split, primed for fresh growth and opportunity.  Never again do I need return to the sordid acquisition of power or control.  There is no gain when I am bolted to position and influence.  Graft is graft for good or bad.  I don’t have to grow where I was planted.

Subtract your assets from your defects.

*

Un-imbedded

This week I have decided to be braver

about where I invest my time, not all of it mind you

but a portion of my diligent yet strangely unproductive time.

I have to say I am realizing that I hide

in pretty much every area of my life

and that is no way to live

and a really bad example to offer.

The worst thing about hiding is it doesn't keep me safe;

it just subjects me to different evils.

It reminds me of that poor reporter

who was imbedded in a tank.

He died from not moving, his blood pooling and dehydration,

so the tank kept him from getting his head shot off,

but killed him in a different way,

so in the end he wasn't safe and neither am I.

I believe in prudence as a good policy, I do,

but there is much that could make me

stronger, happier, better,

if I lift my head a bit and reach out my hand.

To Sloop

July 26

TO SLOOP

When I was a tanker I carried such a heavy load.  The diesel cycle ran, combustion occurred at regular intervals and my internal temperature was terrific.  The fuel sprayed and things went round and round; the cost was high.  Now my principal means of propulsion is the wind in my sails.  Conversion was difficult, and though I found the rigging and mast a fascination, the ballast was a heavy load to bear.  The price of stability is responsibility.  Cargo is something short-lived, to be cast off at the next port.  Incumbent discretion is welded to my keel and will go with me to every harbor.  As a tankard, liquid was transported or consumed; as a cutter, dependability keeps me tacking into the wind.  Now, my outlay is low and my rewards are high.  I carry only what I need.  I am free, a sloop upon the sea.

Map your body.

*

Keds

If I gave a child a pair of sneakers

would I refuse to help them to tie them on?

Would I want this kid to wear them open,

tongues hanging out, laces dangling and dangerous?

Or worse would I want the child

to have to lug the sneakers around;

the kid feeling the need to treasure the gift

and protect it from use or wear?

I hope that I would not be this sick,

misguided or deranged.

I have to say that I have given up believing

in a crazy God.

But this doesn’t mean that I can’t

drive God crazy with my insane behavior.

I have to stick my feet inside my shoes

and lift my foot for help.

I must open my mouth to ask,

then pay close attention so I can learn

to do it on my own;

all the while not beating myself up

that I can’t do it already.

The Living Dream

July 25

THE LIVING DREAM

Throwing yourself into the river in pieces drowns you as crumbs.  Casting aside love and longing makes you less in your heart, and your soul stops beating.  Pitching your tent with critics and complainers leaves you out in the cold on warm summer evenings.  Crest the hill to meet the rising sun; orbit the constellations without hesitation.  Petitpoint the pictures in your mind, then set them to music.  The world is your dream.  Live it into reality.

Picture your voice.

*

God

I need help.

I need help availing myself of the help

You have provided me.

I am embarrassed to lack the ability

to complete all the steps necessary

for achieving the goals you have set before me.

I see now that it is always my turn with you

and I can stop standing aside

believing that I have had your attention

and must now do without.

I do not want to ask for more;

I don’t want to seem greedy.

I forget that you know my heart

and that you trust me.

I am going to make that a two-way street,

maybe a four-lane highway.

I need help,

thank you for being help full.

Love,

Sherrie

Wake

July 24

WAKE

Don’t worry that you might spoil the procession by getting out of your coffin. You don’t need to lie there waiting for the lid to close.  People will walk past saying, “so sad,” and “too bad,” but don’t lie in state to keep them from feeling their trip was a waste.  Just because the crypt has been purchased doesn’t mean you are ready to go.  There are still opportunities to dance.  Don’t die for love, glory or pride.  Don’t die before your time.  Death is only an honor if you lived every preceding second.

Learn to use your appliances well.

*

Speak!

Are there songs a bird must not sing

while communing with the flock?

Do fish learn to restrain their expressions

while schooling?

Or are we the only animal

versed in the language of taboo?

I wonder when I hear the cows

lowing in the night are they giving whispered voice

to things they longed to moo about all day.

I know what to keep inside,

things too flamboyant for out of doors.

I understand to keep body and soul together

I must keep down and hush,

But when I complain to my pup

does she comprehend or is it

just blah, blah, blah,

in her world of, ‘speak it like it is?’

Quick ------ Sand!!!

July 23

QUICK------SAND!!!

“Don’t ask me how deep the quicksand is,” said my sponsor, “it’s your job to get out of it, not to quantify it.”

“I’m not sure how to get out.  Will you come and get me?” I ask her.

“No, Darling.  If I get in we will both be down for the count.  The only chance we have for me to help you is if I stay out of the morass with my feet planted firmly on solid ground.”

“What if you can’t get me out?” I cry.

“I will go get more help.”

“What if all of AA can’t get me out?”

“Angel, my hope is, that if there was no way out, you wouldn’t even know you were stuck.”

Limit your limits.

*

Before Ophelia

Young women drown themselves before Shakespeare

immortalized, memorialized Ophelia.

But having a poster child changes us.

Cautionary tale or rallying cry,

Ophelia is a hand to hold on dark cold days

when the light is hard to find

and everything seems bent toward destruction.

Not that I think she solved anything

with her despondent act

just that she stands in the familiar frame

I find myself in from time to time.

When I imagine I’ve invented the wheel

it makes it harder to step down and walk.

Ophelia’s fate makes it easier to get off depression’s bus

and find my way back home.

Hold the Line

July 22

HOLD THE LINE

Relax is not the same as give up.  Unwind is not fray.  Let go doesn’t mean never grab hold.  It is important to have moderation in all things including moderation.  Exuberance and enthusiasm are wonderful in their season; too much and I could get an adrenaline addiction.  Make sure your song has more than one note and make sure that you sing more than one song in your life. Change, interest and excitement are vital to my existence.  Like my sponsor says, “if you take all the spikes and ridges out of your life-line, it means you’re dead.”

Give allowance to yourself.

*

The Landscape of Words

Paint takes time to dry;

I work with words.

I say azure and you are there with me,

even if I am far from this mortal coil.

My pigments stay fresh as long as you know blue,

as long as you can hear me, read me, see me.

I paint 6X8 cell and we are imprisoned together,

trapped,

till I tell you of the key I slipped into your shoe.

I love the flow of watercolor,

adore the mushy paste of oil,

but nothing beats the world we paint

and repaint here on this page.