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

Wales

July 14

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.

Curl your fingers into the tangles of life and hang on

*

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---too bad

But don’t lie instate just to keep them from feeling

Their trip was a waste.

Just because the crypt has been purchased

Doesn’t mean you’re 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.

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.