Know Enough to Clap

February 1

Know Enough to Clap

If I know I’m happy I can clap my hands, but if I’m happy and I don’t know it, what then?  Will my face display tell tale signs without whispering a word of it to my mind?  Will I whistle a happy tune therefore revealing my inner state?  If I can’t demonstrate my reality does it cease to exist?  Does my retarded ability to reflect my emotion condemn me to remedial society?  Is there any other society?  If I become well enough to reflexively feel and exhibit my mood will I graduate to the advanced class or be forever alone no longer having a place amid the emotional head bangers, hair twirlers and cobweb pickers?  Is it a choice of knowing happiness in isolation or confusion with a crowd?  Could I know?  Should I know?  Would I know?  Who knows?

Iron your will

*

THE DIFFERENCE

Falling and flying are the same, save the landing.
No matter what you do in the air, how well or how poorly
In the end, if you don't land, it's a fall
And if you do, a flight.

How we begin seems of ultimate importance
But is seen as a farce in the face of ruin.
The most promising of starts can be sucked ground ward,
Compass and instrumentation rendered useless, through lack of humility.

Piteous starts, starts without plan or goal
Are viewed as triumphs when safety has been captured from defeat.
Willingness is my aileron
It contributes to my lift in ways I cannot explain.

It smoothes the gusts of life which forever blow in my face
And willingness brings the ground up to meet me.
All I have to do is be willing
And stick out my feet.

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

The Difference

February 2

THE DIFFERENCE

Falling and flying are the same, save the landing.  No matter what you do in the air, how well or how poorly, in the end, if you don’t land it, it’s a fall and if you do, a flight.  How we begin seems of ultimate importance but is seen as a farce in the face of ruin.  The most promising of starts can be sucked groundward, compass and instrumentation rendered useless, through a lack of humility.  Piteous starts, starts without plan or goal are viewed as triumphs when safety has been captured from defeat.  Willingness is my aileron.  It contributes to my lift in ways I cannot explain, smoothes  the gusts of life which forever blow in my face, and willingness brings the ground up to meet me.  All I have to do is be willing and stick out my feet.

Use all your words.

*

Know Enough to Clap

If I know I’m happy I can clap my hands,

but if I’m happy and I don’t know it, what then?

Will my face display telltale signs

without whispering a word of it to my mind?

Will I whistle a happy tune

therefore revealing my inner state?

If I can’t demonstrate my reality does it cease to exist?

Does my retarded ability to reflect my emotion

condemn me to remedial society?

Is there any other society?

If I become well enough to reflexively feel

and exhibit my mood will I graduate

to the advanced class or be forever alone

No longer having a place

amid the emotional head bangers,

hair twirlers and cobweb pickers?

Is it a choice of knowing happiness in isolation

or confusion with a crowd?

Could I know?  Should I know?  Would I know?

Who knows?

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

What is Dear?

September 24

What is Dear?

I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life instead of being taught that life is dear, but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves.  I wish I had learned earlier to love the life I was taught to cling to, but I am grateful I have been bound to life long enough to find the joy in it.  I have found that knowing joy causes me to cling all the more, cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task. I am angry for what I wasn’t taught, but sadder still for what they didn’t know and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition.  I wanted better for them and they wanted better for me and this is the circle which closes around the dear that I hold onto.

Make room for running starts

*

FRUSTRATING IMPROVEMENT

Improvement is frustrating, lonely and yet exhilarating.

It somehow starts with moths in the stomach

And ends with warm soup satisfaction.

Struggling, waiting, followed by further struggle

Progress made by tugging one string then the other.

It is hard to accept scaling the ropes alone

But tottering assent is always this way.

Once at the top I realize how easily I could slide to the bottom

Sometimes friction is all that keeps me up.

Establishing a new altitude is challenging.

I must ground myself in a new way.

My talents hinder and aid me.

I must open the correct doors in my mind

And avoid the traps in the floor.

Stuttering through requirements and obligations

I transform but only slowly.

Earning each drop of comfort from a job just done.

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

Even at the Bottom

August 30

Even at the Bottom

Why is it that I feel G-d leads me to the path, but expects me to travel it alone?  In all honesty it feels more like G-d leads me to the stairs and I fall down them on my own.  I lay in a heap at the bottom, filled with self-reproach for the landing.  I forget that a power which draws me forward can also endure.  I did not come here alone, will not leave here alone; I am never alone, even at the bottom of the stair.

Pat-down unwanted thoughts

*

HARVEST TIMING

The harvest fits in the growing season

And the oak fits inside the acorn.

My sober mind fits right in my sober time.

The soul of everything rubs across

The hind leg of a cricket to sing.

The infinite machinery of the universe spins

But you stand there questioning

The existence of a Higher Power.

Well, that’s who you are

But I have only one question for you

Who else could have made

All the best tomatoes come from Jersey?

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

Like an Elf in an Empty Tree

April 17

Like an Elf Working in an Empty Tree

The chairs in the loft are empty, but I still hear the choir sing.  The bottle though it’s empty, still sometimes calls my name.  Though front pocket is empty and there is rolled up empty sleeve, still the nicotine haunts my dreams. On this empty road I travel, I still long for company.  The stillness is not all that’s empty, but I run to fill that spot.  Chaos is like a tapeworm it eats me from inside, but in the meantime I still believe it’s filling me. 

Curve around what is sharp on your tongue

*

HOW THINGS SEEM

Not everyone who pushes me down is my enemy

Not everyone who pulls me up is my friend

I have been seduced by the closeness of people

Who used me as their shield

When I have been held in a place of honor

The  point man of life

I forgot that made me the replacement target

For the one who stood behind me

I have been offended as I was thrown to the ground

The hands that shoved me I saw as my rejecters

I was spared the tragedy and peril of the thing which flew by my ear

Thanks only to the grace of a thrust in the right direction

Accurate appraisal is my weakness

Seeing thing for what they are is hard

Things are rarely how they seem

Know Enough to Clap

February 1

Know Enough to Clap

If I know I’m happy I can clap my hands, but if I’m happy and I don’t know it, what then?  Will my face display tell tale signs without whispering a word of it to my mind?  Will I whistle a happy tune therefore revealing my inner state?  If I can’t demonstrate my reality does it cease to exist?  Does my retarded ability to reflect my emotion condemn me to remedial society?  Is there any other society?  If I become well enough to reflexively feel and exhibit my mood will I graduate to the advanced class or be forever alone no longer having a place amid the emotional head bangers, hair twirlers and cobweb pickers?  Is it a choice of knowing happiness in isolation or confusion with a crowd?  Could I know?  Should I know?  Would I know?  Who knows?

Iron your will

*

THE DIFFERENCE

Falling and flying are the same, save the landing.
No matter what you do in the air, how well or how poorly
In the end, if you don't land, it's a fall
And if you do, a flight.

How we begin seems of ultimate importance
But is seen as a farce in the face of ruin.
The most promising of starts can be sucked ground ward,
Compass and instrumentation rendered useless, through lack of humility.

Piteous starts, starts without plan or goal
Are viewed as triumphs when safety has been captured from defeat.
Willingness is my aileron
It contributes to my lift in ways I cannot explain.

It smoothes the gusts of life which forever blow in my face
And willingness brings the ground up to meet me.
All I have to do is be willing
And stick out my feet.

The Difference

February 2

THE DIFFERENCE

Falling and flying are the same, save the landing. No matter what you do in the air, how well or how poorly, in the end, if you don’t land it, it’s a fall and if you do, a flight. How we begin seems of ultimate importance but is seen as a farce in the face of ruin. The most promising of starts can be sucked groundward, compass and instrumentation rendered useless, through a lack of humility. Piteous starts, starts without plan or goal are viewed as triumphs when safety has been captured from defeat. Willingness is my aileron. It contributes to my lift in ways I cannot explain, smoothes the gusts of life which forever blow in my face, and willingness brings the ground up to meet me. All I have to do is be willing and stick out my feet.

Use all your words.

*

Know Enough to Clap

If I know I’m happy I can clap my hands,

but if I’m happy and I don’t know it, what then?

Will my face display telltale signs

without whispering a word of it to my mind?

Will I whistle a happy tune

therefore revealing my inner state?

If I can’t demonstrate my reality does it cease to exist?

Does my retarded ability to reflect my emotion

condemn me to remedial society?

Is there any other society?

If I become well enough to reflexively feel

and exhibit my mood will I graduate

to the advanced class or be forever alone

No longer having a place

amid the emotional head bangers,

hair twirlers and cobweb pickers?

Is it a choice of knowing happiness in isolation

or confusion with a crowd?

Could I know? Should I know? Would I know?

Who knows?

Cadentia

September 13

Cadentia

The randomness of love is matched only by the randomness of loss. What slips into view or out of grasp whispers beyond my control. Like cookies baking in a nearby oven I long for the sweetness to be inside; even if it is simply in an olfactory way. The similarity of the pain of what I have and the pain of what is no longer mine haunts me; scares my security, rattles my hope, affects my sleep. For minutes make a life and moments are all it takes to remove the very same. In the end all that I know is that loss does not remove love and love does not remove loss.

Check your drawers for memories

*

SCREAMING LETHARGY

The screaming lethargy of being alive

after many years of wanting something else.

The exhaustion of pulsing, breathing waves,

waves of thinking.

Yet as tired as I am, I am.

Here without a doubt, I stand.

No crawling, for I have not fallen.

No climbing, for I have reached the plain.

I wait for the rain to wash over me.

The truth to run through me, time to pass by me.

Like a free trip to an unwelcome destination

I arrive with randomly packed bags and low expectations.

I am here now.

The train doesn’t seem to be moving on.

I might as well leave the station.

Nothing to do on the platform.

There may be points of interest

or flowers to be smelled.

I step haltingly and fear making any connection

to this unbidden place.

My name is unknown.

I befriend the lamppost, the birds, the street.

I am tired from travel,

Fearful of arrival.

Fury courses through my veins

but the weather is pleasant.

I might take off my coat and stay.