Escaping through the Ceiling

April 24

ESCAPING THROUGH THE CEILING

Up and away is my motto; upwardly mobile is my goal.  If I can flee without leaving a track, I’m clean.  No heart-wrenching walk down the aisle or the lane.  No dust on my shoes.  No possibility of stumbling.  Grace at all cost.  Empowerment through elevation.  If I must leave my human plane to attain this, so be it.  Give up my natural rights, such is life.  But, yet, if I lose my bonds to earth what did the leaving gain me?  I arise to appear better; as a result, I appear not at all.

Hold your hand then touch your face.

*

Imperturbable

Perfectionism is a cover,

a blanket of lead;

hard to move and rich with poison.

What it tries to hide

is my unwillingness to struggle and strive.

It’s not a fear of failure,

but the horror of success after a long hot pursuit.

If I can stall on the intricacies of the first move

there is no further movement.

If I can fail before I begin

there is no sweat, no stain, no stink.

Catastrophe is no bother,

but skinned knees are my undoing.

Winning is not so important to me;

my unfortunate goal is to look untroubled.

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

The Seamless Door

February 7

THE SEAMLESS DOOR

Tongue and groove fit tight; the pickled boards belie the passage.  Hinges buried deep, secreted inside the place with no words, the door remains shut, hidden.  The air, candy sweet, the space, filled with the unbroken stream of surreal childhood.  What can I tell you of this living snapshot?  Nothing but the haltings, stops and shudders of a life encapsulated.  Proudly, I walk from this train wreck only to find the tether stitched to my heart, my soul, my mind.  Flashing through the room, I weary and wonder.  I have often found myself outside this confusing destination, but never have I seen the door.  Always, I believe, this time I am free of it.  When I find myself again within this realm, I know it is something I can not be parted from. 

Then what of the door?  The undetected portal was spied by me one day while it swung in the breeze.  I saw the simple barn and the open loft door; I never thought my incubus to be housed in so plain a construction.  There the turmoil of my forward motion stored in the attic of the pony shed.  So many tragic contrivances are stored in such candid spots.  Accessibility is the beginning of approach; I take the stairs.

Remember willingness doesn’t need to float; it swims

*

Two Powers

The river and the bridge;

one force swift and roiling

the other stolid and stoic,

The first carries me away

and the other carries me over.

For the love of liquid, current and life

I have slipped in to the water

and washed; my life abandoned.

For love of upright contact,

terra bound movement and love

I cross the bridge.

Will I be deposited in the Ocean

or wend to the City and back?

Where is the greater power

in Surrender or Choice?

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

Wrong as wrong as wrong can be

November 13

Wrong as wrong as wrong can be

To be wrong in my family and in my past meant to be tortured and I prefer death to torture, so being wrong meant death or longing for death.  I tried never to be wrong as a way to stave of the desire to leap from tall buildings; I did not turn into superman, wonder woman or mighty mouse through my efforts.  I did turn into someone else; I became a cartoon of a real person, two dimensional and overflowing with irrational color.  Now I see how wrong, wrong can be. Wrong is not an allowable excuse to be tormented.  It can be the turning point for knowledge if I choose or the stairway to something deep dark and ugly; my choice, always my choice.

Quilt your stories and sleep under their protection

*

ASSURANCES OF GULLIVER

Poor Lilliputians and my egg shaped conundrum.
At least they have the strength of their convictions
When I have only pondering to share the space between my ears.

What sense could the world make if there is no right way
And each person is free to open the egg from either end
Or leave the thing intact, having instead maybe a bagel.

I have been looking for the combination to unlock the universe
When possibly it’s an egg shaped thing with no doors or locks
And all that’s left is to break in or out.

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

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Chickens and Eggs

April 15

Chickens and Eggs

Who is more sober the early riser or the long-timer?  How do we get here and what does it mean.  It all starts with a day, which is good because this is more than we had hoped for, sometimes more than we could do.  Then it moved into an ever escalating game of can you beat this, each day an improvement over what had been accomplished the day before.  For years the standard bearer is the pain or relief of the very first in this string, orbs of 24, yet here stands the question, “Is the essence the last pearl you touch or the total of the strand, which makes it real?”   I don’t know for sure.   Sobriety is like light; is light made up of waves or is it made up of particles and the answer is invariably yes, for it is.  And what you need and how you look at it seems to make the determination, scientific method or no, the watched is affected by the watcher and vice versa.  The end is a day round and imperfect as any and what is strung between the beginning and the end is what you’ve made of it.

Never underestimate bitterness

*

ESCAPING THROUGH THE CEILING

Up and away is my motto

Upwardly mobile is my goal

If I can flee without leaving a track

I'm clean

No heart wrenching walk down the isle or lane

No dust on my shoes, no possibility of stumbling

Grace at all cost

Empowerment through elevation

If I must leave my human plane to attain this, so be it

Give up my natural rights, such is life

But yet, if I lose my bonds to earth

What did the leaving gain me?

I arise, to appear better

As a result, I appear not at all

Two Powers

February 6

Two Powers

The river and the bridge; one force swift and roiling the other stolid and stoic, the first carries me away and the other carries me over.  For the love of liquid, current and life I have slipped in to the water and washed; my life abandoned.  For love of upright contact, terra bound movement I cross the bridge. Will I be deposited in the Ocean or wend to the City and back?  Where is the greater power in Surrender or Choice?

Ignorance and greed are the same thing aren’t they?

*

THE SEAMLESS DOOR

Tongue and groove fit tight.
The pickled boards belie the passage.
Hinges buried deep
Secreted inside the place with no words.

The door remains shut, hidden.
The air, candy sweet.
The space, filled with the unbroken stream
Of surreal childhood.

What can I tell you of this living snapshot?
Nothing but haltings
Stops and shutters
Of a life encapsulated.

Proudly, I walk from this train wreck
Only to find the tether stitched
To my heart,
My soul, my mind.

Flashing through the room,
I weary and wonder.
I have often found myself outside this confusing destination
But never have I seen the door.

Always, I believe this time I am free of it.
When I find myself again within this realm
I know it is something
I cannot be parted from.

Then what of the door?
The undetected portal
Was spied by me one day
While it swung in the breeze.

I saw the simple barn
And the open loft door.
I never thought my incubus to be housed
In so plain a construction.

There the turmoil of my forward motion
Stored in the attic of the pony shed.
So may tragic contrivances
Are stored in such candid spots

Accessibility is the beginning of approach.
I take the stairs.

Escaping Through the Ceiling

April 24

ESCAPING THROUGH THE CEILING


Up and away is my motto; upwardly mobile is my goal. If I can flee without leaving a track, I’m clean. No heart-wrenching walk down the aisle or the lane. No dust on my shoes. No possibility of stumbling. Grace at all cost. Empowerment through elevation. If I must leave my human plane to attain this, so be it. Give up my natural rights, such is life. But, yet, if I lose my bonds to earth what did the leaving gain me? I arise to appear better; as a result, I appear not at all.


Hold your hand then touch your face.