February 17
PIGS
“Never try to teach a pig to sing. It wastes your time and annoys the pig.”
Talking to a chrysalis about flight is like talking to a
fetus about dry land. Descriptions of
future events and possibility are lost in the translation. To the uninitiated, these realities sound
like gibberish and flights of fancy or foolish dogma. Yet, I am drawn to talk of these things,
imagine and describe them. I am changed
by this procedure. I am transformed in
the details. When I can accurately depict
it, I am taking the stride into living it.
I am my own pig. I have taught
myself to sing and have wasted no time at all.
List your
favorites so you don’t forget yourself.
*
Suzy Q’s Mother
Through process of elimination
I have had to learn who G-d is and who G-d isn’t.
When it comes down to my understanding
everything incomprehensible is off the table
and what is left is mine, all mine.
I can’t fathom an all powerful G-d;
therefore my G-d is not all powerful.
I cannot begin to comprehend a vengeful G-d,
as you might have guessed; my G-d is not vengeful.
Because of these constraints I have
a non-omnipotent G-d, one with limitations and bounds.
This doesn’t mean I love my G-d any less
in fact it may be why I love my G-d so very much.
And G-d loves me with a Mother love
that trails me to the depths and heights of the path,
but like any mother, she can’t do everything.
My G-d is accomplished and wonderful,
but there are days that I need things,
which lay outside my Higher Power’s area of expertise
and I must turn to help beyond our little circle of two.
This is not easy at first.
We both feel awkward in the attempt,
but Suzy Q lives two houses down
Her mother still has her hook shot from college
and since my mom’s experience of basketball
is that it’s the court you walk through to go play tennis,
I ask Mrs. Q with help making the three point shots.
I don’t have to understand Suzy Q’s mother,
I leave that to Suzy.
I just have to ask for help,
learn the jump and go home when I’m done.
It’s nice to be able to slam dunk,
but there is no place like home.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane
and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
