Distillation

July 13

DISTILLATION

I came into these rooms with a mixed mental make-up and a polluted physical chemistry.  I have been transformed but only into tiny droplets.  The drops are not dramatic but the process is.  Distillation of my thinking is a powerful thing.  A volatile act of concentration takes place as my brain boils over and the sane is separated from the profane.  Purity is a spiritual gift, the result of vaporizing my old thoughts.  Many times the night distills the dew and I am quickly refreshed; other times I must cook for quite a while.

Exact a toll for crossed boundaries.

*

Wales

It is safe for the houses to sleep in the streets,

but not for me.

I cannot follow that which is so right and regular

for mundane things.

I am a jagged piece and it is hard for me

to find my place.

The sun comes though everyone’s windows

and peeks around the blinds left down.

I must mind my manners

and not be a nuisance or a bother;

draw no undue attention to my brightness

carry a basket to hide it in.

And while every river can drown its sorrows

in the rush of the downhill sweep to the sea.

I must stand here stock cold sober

and bear the pain appointed to me.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

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

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

Trouble with Geometry

July 3

Trouble with Geometry

You are not allowed to get into trouble on purpose, that’s the rule and if you do you will get no sympathy that’s the corollary.  Life is too hard to go looking for trouble, running toward danger, whining about self-inflicted pain.  The unspoken law of risk taking is that failure is dealt with in silence.  Writhing on the ground after sticking your head in a hornet’s nest, leaves me and the world I know to be speechless in your presence.  I know you desire consolation from me.  All I know to say is that your actions are incongruent with your life.

Stir the atmosphere in your room

*

DISTILLATION

I came into these rooms with a mixed mental makeup

And a polluted physical chemistry.

I have been transformed

But only into tiny droplets.

The drops are not dramatic but the process is.

Distillation of my thinking is a powerful thing

A volatile act of concentration takes place.

As my brain boils over

And the sane is separated from the profane.

Purity is a spiritual gift,

The result of vaporizing my old thoughts.

Many times the night distills the dew

And I am quickly refreshed,

Other times I must cook for quite awhile.

Distillation

July 13

DISTILLATION

I came into these rooms with a mixed mental make-up and a polluted physical chemistry.  I have been transformed but only into tiny droplets.  The drops are not dramatic but the process is.  Distillation of my thinking is a powerful thing.  A volatile act of concentration takes place as my brain boils over and the sane is separated from the profane.  Purity is a spiritual gift, the result of vaporizing my old thoughts.  Many times the night distills the dew and I am quickly refreshed; other times I must cook for quite a while.

Exact a toll for crossed boundaries.

*

Wales

It is safe for the houses to sleep in the streets,

but not for me.

I cannot follow that which is so right and regular

for mundane things.

I am a jagged piece and it is hard for me

to find my place.

The sun comes though everyone’s windows

and peeks around the blinds left down.

I must mind my manners

and not be a nuisance or a bother;

draw no undue attention to my brightness

carry a basket to hide it in.

And while every river can drown its sorrows

in the rush of the downhill sweep to the sea.

I must stand here stock cold sober

and bear the pain appointed to me.

Distillation

July 13

DISTILLATION


I came into these rooms with a mixed mental make-up and a polluted physical chemistry. I have been transformed but only into tiny droplets. The drops are not dramatic but the process is. Distillation of my thinking is a powerful thing. A volatile act of concentration takes place as my brain boils over and the sane is separated from the profane. Purity is a spiritual gift, the result of vaporizing my old thoughts. Many times the night distills the dew and I am quickly refreshed; other times I must cook for quite a while.


Exact a toll for crossed boundaries.