Offset

January 13

Offset

I often feel out of round and unmatched to my counterparts.  Awkwardly I sit unable to strike a plausible pose.  I want my asymmetry to seem chic.  I feel a victim of universal ugliness and gracelessly plod through my days.  Luckily offset thinking, the partner of my offset soul, saves me.  I see that I am uniquely useful, like a screwdriver set at right angles for use where a straight one could not reach.  I am counterbalance and compensation.  I may be lateral but I am also collateral.  I am an embellisher, beneficial in unexpected ways and shouldn’t seek to be inline with the multitude.  I am the new growth, the spur to the future.

Romance the noodles in your soup

*

GRAVITY WORKS ALL THE TIME

Limits and boundaries are a drag
I hate feeling tied to the ground
I know I could fly
If not for unseen forces

I sense myself lightening, smoothing
I drop my burdens, I pick up speed
Fourth dimension
Hell, I'm proverbial vapor trails

I should explain, when I get moving this fast
I inevitably wind myself into a position
Where my head is up my nether regions
A place it does not belong

I have slowly grown to love my limits
No restraint holds me back
In reality, I am supported, rooted as it were
I am not hydroponic, I can live in the real world

I am me
Encouraged by the wind and the rain
I am not a hothouse flower
I am truly free

I can walk where I was born to walk
I forget life has not been found outside my little world
And when it is
I am still better off being me

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/GX2RHrKvmT0

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

What's Mine is Mine

December 21

WHAT’S MINE IS MINE

I don’t always know how to get the dog off the baby.  The attacks are often sudden and always swift.  My shock at the reality delays my response, falters my steps and fogs my mind.  What should I do to disengage this assault?  What can I do that won’t make things worse?  How can I resolve this now?  The pain is almost unimaginable but yet all too familiar.  It all comes down to ownership.  I must admit this baby is me.  I have to face facts; this dog is my pet, I have fed, nurtured and groomed him and now I have to put this dog to sleep.

Explore the air not just the dirt.

*

A Thousand Windowed House

I am like a house with a thousand windows.

When I am lit up inside

you can see all the way through;

When I go dark

the reflection of the world around me is all

that is visible when you look my way.

My sprawling mind is what creates this effigy of me.

A tribute when I am well tended

and a fire trap when I neglect my duties.

If I learn to celebrate in all the rooms

this house is my home,

so I must practice; dance and sing in the hallways.

So I can pirouette into the rooms with full voice.

For what is the point of being a house

with a thousand windows, if I don’t live there?

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/R31c3Ax_Sw0

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

Climbing on the Arc

December 9

CLIMBING ON THE ARC

If time swings and the seasons swirl and I pulse out my existence, why does the bird's wing flap and the rain fall down?  If the song comes from my mother’s lips and my father tells his tales and I dance my heritage with each step I take, then why does the flower open to the bee and the swan trumpet her way home?  If everything pulls from the ground and reaches for the light, then how can I duck my head, hide my heart and pass this all off as a coincidence?  Am I less than the rain or greater than the swan?  Why can’t I just climb on the arc and let the continuum spin its web around me?  Well, you see I can, but will I?

Let little birdies speak.

*

What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind,

a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver,

how do I go on in its absence?

Or does it ever leave me?

Is this more like an excision than segmentation?

Is it similar to how I carry you with me

when I catch a resentment; only in a good way?

I don’t know that I can be truly divided up,

but I do know that parts of me

don’t belong exclusively to me anymore

and I believe this is all for the better.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/o1vQoGu2yOU

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

Fishing for Contentment

October 17

FISHING FOR CONTENTMENT

Fishing for contentment is a wonderful pastime but what is used for bait?  Is there a delicacy to dangle before contentment to lure it into my life?  Can I crumble the best biscotti and leave a trail to my door?  I don’t believe contentment swims around waiting to be caught.  I think it’s more like the wild yeast that finds its way to my starter.  If I put the ingredients in my life, contentment will rise to the occasion.

Renew your own understanding of the word NO.

*

Where do I live?

Fleeter of foot is my goal.

I race to catch the prize thoroughbreds as they flee.

I play chase, I win, I lose, I fall in the mud, I break my leg.

None of this does anything for the horses either,

they are loose and confused;

off  like a shot, but nowhere to go.

I buy better shoes, hire a trainer,

put reflective tack on the stallions and the mares.

In short I go broke.

I had the world of possibilities before me and it ran away;

all because I didn’t close the barn door.

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

My Moon

October 14

MY MOON

I anticipate the crowning of your face as you birth the sky.  Your rhythmic visitation sates me.  The gravity of my need keeps you close.  The tide of my heart pulls you from shore to shore.  We live in the sweet ecstasy of tethered love, our souls slingshotting across the open palm of heaven.  Your empathy for me transforms these shards of ice to a tender heart… satelliting.  I orbit you empowered by your kindness.  You are my moon.

Paint your face and print your profile.

*

Fair Fish

Tiny thoughts ping pong around my head

hoping to win a goldfish,

but what do I need with a five dollar fish?

How often do I pay too dearly,

for what is merely an animated ornament?

When I falter in self-esteem

I look to decorate my life through hostage taking

and other unfair practices.

I know I want to feel safe,

know that hiding gives the illusion of that.

It’s like the joke told about banging sticks

to keep the tigers away.

Does it work?  Yes, of course

as long as you are in a place with no tigers.

I can distract myself,

but I can not distract life;

life goes on and takes me with it, no matter my disguise.

Given this I can either spend my time

with a blindfold and a cigarette waiting for the end

or walk the midway and go ride the tilt-a-whirl.

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 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.  Petit-point 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

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

Bratzlav

May 15

BRATZLAV

If all the world is a narrow bridge, I must broaden my mind.  If all the doors close to the passage of a hallway, I must exit through the window.  Never again can I stay and shelter in a small and confining refuge.  A womb is a place to come out of; it is never a place of return.  I am not to seek over- exposure but I must ever widen the gate.  The brave face I show is the gift of a tight world owning me for far too long.  Fear is never meant to be larger than life and the world should never collapse around the sweetness of a smile.  Today carries us.  Tomorrow draws us.  The world is a bridge.

Carpet the memories that echo shame in your mind.

*

Underoos

Why is it that I store undies I never wear

in my panty drawer and leave no room for my favorites?

Why is it that I have things in cupboards

that have not seen the light of day in years,

but they are kept as sacred?

I don’t use my storage for me

it is saved for obligation to inherited obsession.

I live on the fringes of the only life I have;

I didn’t question this.

didn’t see it for what it really is.

I don’t live in my skin only my head.

I don’t enjoy today only plan for tomorrow.

After years at this address it is time for me to move in.

The mortgage is more than paid;

it is time to spend my inheritance.

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

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.

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

Just a Taste of Sunshine

September 20

JUST A TASTE OF SUNSHINE

The sunrise is so beautiful I want to taste it.  Like a child who needs to put everything in her mouth to really know it, I feel the need for a bite.  I want to participate in every way.  I want to blend with the color of the sky, join the horizon and dip beyond.  Look at me, who in the past sounded every retreat, now I leap toward life.  I stretch my arms to take it all in, merging with the continuum on this greatest of adventures.  The sun raises the charge and I lick my lips in anticipation.

Find the stop signs in your life.

*

Mercy

The rearview holds the vision,

the sad figure on the corner as I drive away,

all that is left to me are memories of God,

the rest I ejected and sped from as fast as I could.

I cannot face what is left

when I make God homeless and unloved.

Though living together was tough sometimes,

living alone is unbearable.

Nothing cooks right, cleans right, tastes right or smells right,

even the moon won’t rise right when I am strictly on my own.

And God wasn’t built for the streets,

that corner is not someplace my Higher Power fits in.

We are meant to be together

and apart the world spins off its measure.

Pitiful is what I am, so I swing around the block,

fling open the door and take pity on God and go home.

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?’

Transtions

May 5

TRANSITIONS

During the months of winter, the trees stand tall and leafless---static in their appearance, frozen in direction.  The insurgence of spring brings to life the truth.  The buds and flowers show the draw of their owners---the pull of life from the earth and sky.  Other trees have begun to restore the gifts so graciously given.  These leafless giants open themselves as home and sustenance to the surrounding community---returning favors and flavors, coming to terms with wholeness.  Celebrations of all I have call for me to give it all back, even during the time when we all look the same.

Always step out of the spotlight before it burns you.

*

Pinocchio as a Girl

I should be painting today

instead of reframing the future,

an unnecessary and ephemeral job at best.

Kind of like lassoing an unborn colt,

I try to put a rope around something that cannot get away.

Outcome hasn’t much to do with foregone conclusion

and wouldn’t I be better mixing colors and wetting brushes

than cutting slices from a pie in the sky?

But tomorrow seems more spacious than this crowded present

and I con myself into believing this is a harmless trip to the fair.

I lose my light, my thought, my sight with these thieving sojourns;

leaving me to creak around because all that is left is wood.

A Thousand Windowed House

December 26

A Thousand Windowed House

I am like a house with a thousand windows. When I am lit up inside you can see all the way through; when I go dark the reflection of the world around me is all that is visible when you look my way. My sprawling mind is what creates this effigy of me. A tribute when I am well tended and a fire trap when I neglect my duties. If I learn to celebrate in all the rooms this house is my home, so I must practice; dance and sing in the hallways so I can pirouette into the rooms with full voice. For what is the point of being a house with a thousand windows, if I don’t live there?

Host sympathy

*

Love Lets

Love melts the icicles in my heart

Allows the oxygen to my brain

Lets me work unfettered

Love pours the warm bath

Heats my bones

Lets my breath come easy

Love wakes me to sunrise

Beds me at dusk

Lets my body unfurl

Love builds me a pantry

Fills it with goods

Lets me eat my fill

Love rights my boat

Bails my bilge

Lets me sail on home

Love dresses me in safety

Undresses me in secret

Lets me see myself

Love opens doors

Closes windows

Lets me go my way

Love puts a penny in my hand

A dollar in my pocket

Lets me save the fare

Love burns your image in my brain

Holds you tight within my heart

Lets me dream of you

Hang On or Dance

August 21

Hang on or Dance

Because I felt ‘outcomes’ slipping through my fingertips I dug in with my nails, I schemed, plotted, worried, whined. Lack of power was my problem I thought, but what it came down to was, failure to acknowledge… accept… failure to surrender to the reality of powerlessness. The only thing I learned from resistance was an intimate knowledge of futility. When I embraced truth… the facts…when I live with the gravity of masses not fight against it; I began to enjoy the weather, knowing I did not pull the clouds or push the storm. I’m back in the dance of people moving about me, all keeping with the time, it is not mine to keep.

Befriend science

*

CHANNELING

It’s a full feeling to be a channel.

Only an empty feeling when it’s blocked

At the base of my spine

And God can’t go to my head.

The river flows through me and my banks will hold

Excuses dam me up

And leave a dry and lifeless basin

With tributaries taxed for uselessness.

Staying in the groove conveys my Higher Powers will

Without need of my furrowed brow.

A hose with no water running

Is a place for spiders to spin.

If I shut off the service I am a breeding ground

For creeping sadness and shocking misery

Compliance allow me the view

Of flowing strength and rushing joy

The greatest of which is living with intent.

Go where it's warm

August 17

Go where it’s warm

The intangible rightness of cohesion is difficult to explain. What is it that makes a group congregating into a congregation? What makes a rag tag tousle into a home group? It is the thing I yearn for, but dare not chase. I know this too makes a grub into a butterfly, yet private transformation seems necessary, where the change of masses is gratuitous. A thousand geese fly overhead; arrows of individual miracles, pointing the way to the meaning of it all.

Score your rhythm so you can reflect the music of your soul

*

THE DREAMER

What about the dreamer?

What about her, responds my sponsor.

You ask me about her like I was the one

Who pushed her off the cliff.

Are you saying I pushed her,

I questioned my sponsor.

Yes, that is just what I am saying.

Do you need me to sing it?

You wanted the dreamer to fly off,

To safety and happiness

And wanted her to take you with her.

In an attempt to grab hold of her ankles

And propel her to heaven

You threw her off the precipice.

Now she is broken and bleeding

Far from your sight

Your dreamer is damaged

And you ask about her?

Do you want to know what you did

And how to remedy it

Or were you looking to duck responsibility?

QUACK------

Michal Rovner

August 10

Michal Rovner

I have numbered all the blocks in my ancestral walls. This has enabled me to recreate them stone by stone everywhere I go. It all fits to create the tomb I now have to learn to leave. I must change the equation and reorder the numbers allowing these rocks to be recycled and find a wonderful useful life as a stairway out of this pit of despair. What was once an edifice to lives unlived is now able to facilitate elevation, a restoration of a level playing field. It was not wrong for me to catalog the stones and there was no way for me to leave them behind, but nothing matches the satisfaction of using them to build a life, except for the ability to live in it.

Take a look at yourself from a distance

*

THE SEDUCTION OF SOBRIETY

I was seduced away from my duties

As an alcoholic by the promise of sobriety,

Allegiance to my disease was sidelined.

Alluring stability and beguiling integrity

Curried favor with my desperate heart,

Pulling me from the arranged marriage of addiction.

How could I cling to the corpse of dependence

When sanity shimmered just out of reach,

Then not out of reach but within my grasp.

I couldn’t resist the golden flicker of life.

I had been bound to death

Unable to see an alternative.

My loyalty to loss and grief slipped from me

And I limped into the daylight,

Like the widow of the night.

I have been lured to my senses

By a love like no other,

The love of life.

A Year for Me

July 12

A Year for Me

The world is my mollusk and I am its pennyweight paragon, witty girl that I am. I have spent enough time surrounded by wet feet and confining shells, all held at the bottom of the sea. This is a year for me. I am going to climb over the rim of my briny brink and try myself against the fearsome winds of chance. Although souse is buoyant I feel strong enough to stand my ground. Time has come for life, open and raw, but I shall leave the clams to the casino.

Allow ticklish issues to make you laugh

*

HOLD THE LINE

Relax is not the same as give up.

Unwind is not fray.

Letting go doesn’t mean never grab hold.

It is important to have moderation in all things

Including moderation, exuberance and enthusiasm,

These 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 you sing more than one song in your life.

Change, interest and excitement are vital to my existence

If you take all the spikes and ridges

Out of your life line

It means you’re Dead.

Queens: More than a Borough

May 29

Queens: More than a Borough

My drama is bigger than yours. My drama can kick your drama’s ass. Well maybe not, but it sure is kicking mine. Like a rain soaked grave, I stand in this muddy hole, sides slick, unassailable and count the piles of tragedy ,all the while knowing it will bury me not facilitate a climb out. I attempt to display the face of comedy and yet the mask can not fool me, my true audience. I think if I can keep it all up on stage I will be alright, but then the point of theater is that everything is carried away in the minds of all who come and watch. Silence doesn’t help either for there is little worse than a bad mime and doing it well just makes me Lillian Gish. So, back to Bohemia for isn’t it all a rhapsody, though it would all be so much better if Freddy Mercury weren’t dead.

String your dreams together and let them fly

*

HOSTAGE DOLL

A doll stands wedged between two mailboxes

Naked and exposed,

The edge of the road passing her by.

She is there to pay for my self-loathing

I throw my treasures in the air

As skeet to be shot and shattered.

Hate is the obnoxious microbe

Which sours my digestion

And rids me of nutrition and affection.

I purge love and tenderness

I rip the covers from my playthings

And leave them to bleed.

I hide in my self-destruction

I put garish displays streetside

And cry my tears alone.

I cannot ransom to pay the price of fear

I must bring in the broken babies

And put hate out on the curb.

Martinizing

May 20

Martinizing

The price of upkeep scares me, it daunts me even. I pay the initial cost, I have bitten that bullet of required outlay; the continued charges for maintenance push my face in the mud until my ears clog. Avoiding the need of perpetual responsibility to things, relationships, life, doesn’t change the reality; rather it embeds in my skin a slick denial and an indignant retort to the drycleaners and shoe-shiners of the world. Waste and want play tag inside a misunderstanding of what is required of me; of what life requires in general. I must make quietude, draw a map and find my way to this psychic change; unfortunately all the little voices scream “Yes, you paid the price to see the show, but you don’t make enough to stay!”

Check your mileage so you know how far you’ve come

*

POWER

When power arrives

It comes complete with a blindfold

Mask and lullaby

I am blinded to what effect I have

Others can not see me

Only the unchanging masquerade covering my face

All my fears and apprehensions are soothed

By the melody singing in my ear

I am possessed

The hard thump of the bottom reaching up to get me

Is my sole hope of release

I can’t reason my way back from a trip with power

The isolation is too far reaching

My senses numbed

My thinking biased

Salvation as a cold smack is the jolt required

Fire takes fire

Power takes the same

Underoos

May 17

Underoos

Why is it that I store undies I never wear in my panty drawer and leave no room for my favorites? Why is it that I have things in cupboards that have not seen the light of day in years, but they are kept as sacred? I don’t use my storage for me it is saved for obligation to inherited obsession. I live on the fringes of the only life I have; I didn’t question this, didn’t see it for what it really is. I don’t live in my skin only my head. I don’t enjoy today only plan for tomorrow. After years at this address it is time for me to move in. The mortgage is more than paid; it is time to spend my inheritance.

Be kind when you win; be kind when you lose

*

PIROUETTES

I turn and spin, the world flashes as I go.

I am erect, proud of my self-possession.

I can stand the forces of vector rotation

Public opinion and gravity.

Sobriety has made a dancer out of me.

I sprint the stage and take my place.

I know the moves and trust, as best I can

The choreographer and choreography

I feel the wind move on my body as I revolve

The blur of existence spreads out before me

I can let it pass

To spot myself and keep my upright posture

The only place that requires my clear and unobstructed view

Is the line of sight from my sponsors eyes to mine.

One

February 14

ONE

One skin

One mind

One spirit

One day

If I live in more than my own skin, I am a body snatcher and ghoul. If I live in a duality of thought I am ejected, ostensively out of my mind. If I redouble my spirit the increase takes a dark cold turn and I am lost. If I try to live two days at a time the sand shifts in the glass and I am worse off in that hour than Dorothy.

This skin is all I can be in, as many times as I walk in someone else’s shoes it’s the skin I’m in. This mind is my only bequest, treasure enough to earn my keep. Free as this spirit is it is still tied at the heel and like my shadow it remains. And today is the only day where the magic works, witches melt and clicking my heels gets my attention even if it doesn’t always take me home.

Create competition-free zones in your life

*

COMING TO THE TABLE

For many years, decades even,
I stacked the table against myself and others.
I piles the sacred next to the trifles.
I deposited item after item and built towers to confusion.
After years of sobriety I sorted the piles in earnest.

I made a place for myself at the table.
It's amazing what I can accomplish with a seat and a surface.
Over months, tediously separating, the needed from the useless,
I made a place for others at the table.

There is a whole world of life I missed
While trying to keep myself safe from unrealistic expectations.
Expectations of who I am and what I can do,
What I should do and who I should do it for.

Having strong boundaries and a clean table is like a homecoming.
I am coming home to me.
The good games and happy meals had at this table
Are unexpected and surely welcome.

The wall I built held good times at bay.
Because I could not keep the flood of trash
From spilling in from every direction
I had to learn to hold my head up before I could look around.