The Landing

June 19

THE LANDING

Risers and runners lift from where I stand.  Here I make my decision.  I climb and face the challenges of my life.  Each new test returns me to this square; the steps ascend in every direction.  No matter how many times I have scaled this set of twelve, I must start anew with even the slightest change of direction.  Like facets on a diamond’s base, the flights emerge from the tiny base and hold the world of possibilities within their meticulous surface.  I look into these precious mirrors to see who I am and where to go, though none of this would be possible without a place to stand.

Chart the constellation of your features.

*

In the Beginning is the End

I wonder if the road would show the reflection

of its end would I walk down it still.

I always decide that I wouldn't want to miss anything,

not even the most painful things,

yet this may simply be a flaw in my upbringing.

An overvaluing of survival.

What of you?

If the knowledge of beginning and end

were within your grasp would you begin?

Would you flee the end?

This end or every end?

Or is it the beginning that you fear?

And why not, for doesn’t every beginning

hold within it every end?

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

Missing

March 23

MISSING

The good times we never had but should have, the pleasantries I endured waiting for the pleasure.  I remembered your potential with fondness.  The days, weeks and years I waited for you to grow to me have passed, and yet--- time is what I have, not you.  Hope is a wonderful thing until it turns on me and bites.  Images I built have tumbled and colors wash from your portrait.  I carefully remind myself it’s the idea of you I miss, not you.

Practice your manners on yourself.

*

Water Buddha

The longer on the river I am

the less I fear the river.

I still don’t know what lay ahead,

anything may wait for me

just around the next bend,

but I fear this less and less.

Experience is a great foundation

no matter what you are building

or in which direction.

I’ve gotten my sea-legs,

a sure sign of the mind cooperating

with the realities the body is experiencing.

I have learned to avoid some forms of trouble

and anticipate fortune more often.

Further on could be a waterfall, ocean or dam;

I will contend with any or all, come what may,

for when it comes to riding the river

I have learned the most important thing:

I don’t need to push.

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

When I was Young

February 1

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

I’m sure it will come soon, a time I can be a carefree innocent.  Worn and weary, I slog through the painful over-awareness of what was considered my childhood.  What can I do but hope things will get simpler as I age?  My sobriety takes years from my face; lines slip from me and I feel the weight lift from my shoulders.  My tender branches, twisted with the constant force of wind, bud and flower in the shelter of recovery, holding themselves in their own embrace.  Colors seep to the windows of my mind, form pictures and carry me to a new world.  Through limpid pools I dive as I look to the mirror.  Serenity, a rebounding of life fills me, and I am the gentle girl I missed so long.  Longing for my loveliness, I cry at the sight of my baby one.  I have not yet taken my place on the swing but I have been down to the edge of the playground and run barefoot in the sand.  I will be who I was to be; it’s late but it’s better.  I know well enough to enjoy it as it comes, treasure it for every sweetness.  I will come into my youth.

Listen for a bridge that calls your name.

*

Principles before Personalities............and Gratitude!

As with everything I have to be careful

of how I infer meaning.

You say ‘Principles before Personalities’ and I hear,

Their principles and Their personalities,

immediately I’m on a tear.

How different if I think of ‘my’ principles and ‘my’ personality.

When I face it this way it is reflexive;

I embrace my principles and my personality falls into step.

I am safe and sane therefore gratitude follows

just as the topic suggests.

Good orderly direction is elegant when I don’t reverse direction.

There is an obvious way to pet the cat when I accept that

we get along fine, when I don’t………well, need I say more?

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

Again Truth

December 31

Again Truth

Not wanting to speak the truth doesn’t change the truth, truth is funny that way, it is not affected by my cold shoulder.  I snub it and it stands just the same.  I am the one who bends and withers.  Truth withstands the pressure that I never have, the force of other people’s disappointment and regret.  I have sympathy or is it cowardice?  I tremble at the power of emotion and truth just carries on.  I do not want to be the truth or stand in its place; for truth is not a beating heart and I am too much a feeling creature, but I will learn to keep the company of honesty and right.  And stand under the arching bough of truth, because it is a shelter from the winds of change and I need all the help I can get.  When I am tempted to shun truth in favor of expedience I will try to remember that life is longer than I think and if I don’t face the truth now it is going to be in my face later when I might be less prepared.

Make the bed so that it is an invitation at the end of the day

*

Essentials

What is essential....is the correct amount of pressure as I press my lips to yours.

What is essential....is the way I slide my arms around your neck and slip my fingers through your hair.

What is essential....is the scent that rises from the nape of my neck as you kiss it.

What is essential....is the moan you illicit from my soul

What is essential....beyond the toe curl and the secret smile is well founded trust, also admiration.

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

Triumph

November 23

Triumph

G-d and I are experience junkies; part of why I am here is so G-d can take me for a ride, but also for the treat of G-d tucking into the sidecar and letting me take us out for a spin.  I am G-d’s audience and G-d is mine; though we are not peers we are comrades.  Life is a serious business I am sure and profit and loss are always there to be considered, though I can barely describe to you how much being in love with my creator is a joy, but even better is being the apple of my creator’s eye.

Put resistance on the rack and stretch it

*

MOSAIC

I couldn’t prevent this plate from shattering
   so I saved all the pieces, loosing none.
I laid them edge-to-edge and made a design
   then secured it with thin-set.
  
Pieces of pattern framed with grout are seen
   as they never could be when this dish was whole.
I am part of this construction
   more than just handing china onto the table.

Integrity has been lost
   but replaced with fractured openness
The plate has lost personal unity to become
   an ingrained part of my personal archeology.

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

Where do I live?

October 18

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 don’t close the barn door.

Sometimes raise your value by stooping

*

OPEN HEARTED GRIEF

Tell a tale of openhearted grief
And closed-minded terror
Bend the limits of misery.

Pour over the damned feelings and tired excuses
Level the cupful of measured terrene
And wipe the drooling face of denial.

The children will not dance tonight
The grass is wet with their tears.
The dogs circle the encampment of desire
And come to sleep when we are settled.

Silly ruffled whimsy won’t carry the freight
But the bus pulls into the drowsy station
Filled with tea lites and pantomime.

The story will close with a hand on the doorknob of hope
An eye on the jelly sandwich of contentment.
Whisper the lullaby to the ones who stay to hear it.

Morning cracks the shell to daytime.
Shattered pieces litter the night
Tremors shade my peace of mind.
Sum up the analogies of broken hearts and twisted minds.

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

Have Faith

October 4

Have Faith

Strange and wonderful tragedy takes you away from me and I don’t know how it is that you return, but you do and I thank G-d, but I’m not sure it was G-d’s idea that you went away or that you came back, though, I am sure, He missed you every bit as much as I did.  I revolve the freshness of you in my mouth like candy; I swirl, but don’t want to crack it open.  Honeymoons are for people who live comprehendible lives; we fly to each other and cling like raptors plummeting to the ground.  You leave your mark upon me I do the same for you; we are none the worse for the wear.  I stand in the gush from the hydrant, soaked in the pleasure, forgoing the safety.  The world may burn down again tomorrow, I remember that it has before, but I am wiser for the singeing and weathered with soot in my eyes and charcoal piled roundabout my legs, yet I’m still standing and you are back from the dead and I think of you as Lazarus.  And now we will live the comedy for life is what lay ahead, we took the hit of death before its time and so must be off the hook for the rest.

Try not to long for Santa

*

FISHING FOR CONTENTMENT

Fishing for contentment

Is a wonderful past time.

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.

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

In Plain Sight

August 2

In Plain Sight

When there is a problem, I hide.  As the good places diminish I end up standing behind a pole.  The trouble with this is that something always sticks out.  I try weight loss, I suck in my tummy, I try to blend with the scenery.  Once spotted I act nonchalant; “I’m just hanging around with my skinny friend; nothing is the matter,” attempting to cover with a casual aside what is apparent to everyone but me.  I would be better off parading naked than endeavoring this piteous disguise.  I can’t fool the crowd and trying to makes a fool of me.  What I have forgotten is that clarity and diligence removes the target from my back and makes me invisible to almost everyone.  When I solve my problem I solve this problem too.

Permit anxiety to drip off you and flow away

*

WALKING JOY HOME

I make sure to walk joy home,

Not because I doubt her ability to find it alone

Rather because it gives me extra time with her.

I used to fear joy.

That I would be intoxicated by her presents

And lose my well-hardened grasp on realism.

Now I see that without joy in my life there is no realism

That it was only cynicism

Masquerading in its place.

Joy is simple and unassuming,

I often confuse her with ecstasy and scoot away in shy terror

Joy is nice to have around she is not just a party animal.

Sometimes I invite her over for a cup of tea.

When we are done I take the winding path

To savor every step up to her door.

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

Let God Do What?

July 11

Let God Do What?

I hesitate to let go to G-d because I fear that G-d doesn’t like me, or likes me now, but doesn’t like me all the time.  I think I got this belief from being the only child of parents who don’t like children.  It never mattered how good I was, how smart or thoughtful, well informed, helpful, I always ended up being treated like I was a burden, someone to be endured.  If only I was likeable, I would think to myself and try recreating me to become….what?  Finally I settled on indispensable, if I could make myself necessary, then my life would be okay. People would need me therefore they would want me.  What I discovered is that people who can’t live without me end up resenting me.  By the time I was so important to others I was no longer important to me, so I didn’t need G-d’s help because I didn’t need anything, I didn’t exist.  Over time what I have settled on are a few truths: People who don’t like kids shouldn’t have them.  And I need G-d’s help to learn how to want to be here on this planet since I was not brought to earth by people who wanted me.

Title your dreams

*

SYMPTOMATIC BOUQUET

My bouquet of symptoms took root in alcoholism

I displayed these blossoms to few.

I thought I could keep these problem posies to myself.

No need to worry

Everyone has a bit of manure in their lives.

Mine hardly seem strange.

Planted in addiction things grew in a dramatic way

Pruning became unworkable,

Drastic measures were required.

Uprooted and exposed these virulent stalks

Created the need for help from better gardeners than I.

Thinned and repotted these character traits

Have fruited many a lovely harvest.

None of which could have happened

Had I been left in the family plot.

Do Not Enter

June 23

Do Not Enter

Putting all the mess securely behind that door is no protection.  If the keys are changed will I be able to open it?  If the locks retumbled will I crack the combination?  Like a demon sealed within a womb emergence is inevitable either upon this mortal plain or cellularly encoded and reborn at a later date.  Prison is what holds captive the innocent, evil is always at liberty.  Walling off my parts and pieces severs limbs and destroys thinking.  Loads of cheesecloth is what I need; filter and refilter, catching all debris.  Putting the toxic things to better use and making myself free.

Respect experimentation

*

ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT

Arrested development was bad enough

The living death sentence it imposes

Is completely unacceptable

My childhood ran down the hill

Away from the mountain of confusion

Which is life in this society

My ability to mature was damaged

And what I learned to do was mutate

I could move laterally but never grow up.

I became the goose being grown for its liver

All the honk and squawk in the world

Couldn’t change my plight

I don’t have to understand how I was let out

Of the prison of addiction

As long as I don’t go back

I’ll never fear breaking out in handcuffs

Or getting locked in my crib.

Poe-etiquette

June 17

Poe-etiquette

Cosmic questions cross the sky,

I wonder but don’t ask why

I pitch the tent, but don’t stay the night

I borrow money and don’t pay the rent

I sooth myself but can’t be content

I earn my keep though it is all been spent

The real true meanings are pushed away,

Has ready tragedy come to stay

Forever darkness, no more light of day

Cheerful greeting left to lay

All the poets bring their knives

For blood letting’s become their prize

Here I sit and tend the boat

Rocking dingy out to moor

I play the Raven, black and poor

I dare not speak it but in my mind sing “Never more”

Be wary of magical thinking

*

RECOGNIZABLE NONEXISTENCE

You will never take time to tell the truth

You will always take time to tell a joke,

As you run from your life

I see the familiar vapor trails of an unlived life.

When I flee my life through caretaking

I leave the same mist of unfulfilled desire behind me

I look at your potential

And the damage you do by not being here

I turn the magnifying glass on me

And search for the same trends.

I feel abandoned by you

The you, you never were

But always should have been

I pray for the key

Which will get me on the other side

Of the door you never opened.

I hope to live life

As it is

Rather than the comedy

It can never be.

Down to the Watership

June 15

Down to the Watership

The immoderate champions immoderation; the glutton recommends consumption, more often than not a drunk will pour you a drink  It is part of the social norm to conform to the addiction of the day.  If we are all high we laugh at each other’s jokes and there is less finger pointing about the mess.  When we are all in this together we sink or we swim, but we mustn’t look around.  Like the rabbits who cannot ask, “Where?” We try to look at ease with dying and contented with our lot.  More must be better for we can’t survive on less than what we’ve got.

Design trees for your secret garden

*

WATER BABIES

Timeless babies bobble in their underwater positions

Voiceless cherubs bounce and wink

The river of their wisdom to my feeble mind.

The noise of silence wrinkles and tinkles

As the waves crash soundlessly above.

My head fills

I must surface but beg not to lose my connection

When I break the tension of top-side sobriety

I turn these angels to screened-off faithfulls

I must owe all I have to these aquatic infants

Every hope, all my fear is held to test in the face of,

Swimming heroines and their embryonic grave.

Suit Up, Show Up

March 17

Suit up, Show up

I stand naked, paralyzed, unable to reach my intended destination or any destination at all.  Goose flesh is no real motivation and I am reluctant to use the prod having only produced resistance and reversals with past applications of this weapon.  Entreatment might work if only I could find the right one; then again anything might work if it were a fit.  Covering my all-together is an action; taken judiciously it sometimes is all the arrival I can manage, taken disingenuously it precludes the chance for any further forward motion and may create set back or retreat.  I should not attempt to hide fear with wardrobe though I can try to warm it.  Façade building is best done with a bottle in tow

reality is best faced with a sponsor by my side.

Acknowledge pain, acknowledge joy

*

                                  OLD BEARS

Cold and Despondent
Nothing comforts me like the bear of early sobriety

Bought on a day I thought I would shake apart
This fuzzy old guy has been a display item,
For many years now,
Tucked to the corner with the lace edged pillows and folded shawls.

Jittery and Sleepless
It's easy to panic.

I turn and see the amber eyes waiting for my embrace
His body clothed in a hand knit child's sweater made by a friend
The warmth of this snuggle is more than comfort
It is also the acceptance of loss.

Quelling the dramatic highs and lows of the beginning cost many things
And the depth of this is not lost in the moment.

Alone in my bed the passageways to the future appear to me
I must rest and then walk on
I cannot stall or simper, plain work is before me
And simple old bears a consolation.

Resistance

March 8

Résistance

Resisting tough love is approaching long run action with short run thinking.  I hate to set the toddling babe down lest he fall, but in the end if I do not put him down he and I will both be the worse for it.  Whether I see a forest or I see trees depends so very much on my perspective, also on my willingness to delay the prevention of minor scrapes to eliminate the need for permanent scaring.    The theme is greater personal responsibility and less irrational fear. Guarding tomorrow’s possibilities by not hamstringing them today through the resistance of tough love saves lives, it saves mine.

Raise the roof on your thinking

*

PICTURES & FRAMES

I paint my way into the corners of the frames.
Each picture I fill diligently,
Color, texture, all the tricks I use.
I work hard to get the desired effect.
I hold nothing back, I put heart and hopes forward.
I load my brush with pigment,
I propel my tongue out of my mouth,
I use it for balance like a kangaroo uses it's tail.
Stroke after stroke I layer the image
My depiction is fresh to me,
I bring the green, the red, the blue,
All of them flow from me.
The canvas fills, my soul soars through the tinctures
Then the disappointment begins,
The complaints, the lamentations,
The perspective is off.
I can't seem to contain this scene
Within the confines of this gilded prison.
I readjust, I tilt my head
I paint from the bottom up, then the top town, No---No.
I must pick up a new canvas and frame.
The oak, burnished and honeyed brown.
I cast to the side the gilt and sculptured casing.
I lay it along the wall with the others.
The many discards of my life
As yet the obvious has escaped me.
The tint, the hue, the angle
Size may diverge but that is all.
I have recreated the same scene
In all the frames,
In all my attempts,
I have painted only one picture.

Heart Handed

December 26

HEART HANDED

I pick up the pen in my heart hand and the blood of my soul pours onto the page.  The words coalesce and clot into the binding phrases, sealed deals with my spirit's punctuation.  Some days it is hard for my mind to keep up; the current is swift and deeper than I expect.  The pulse of energy is amazing even to the mind it feeds.  Like clouds racing the sky this power brings shade to some and rain to others.  The reaction of the moistened varies, some pull up hoods and scurry away, others with upturned faces form a friendship with me.  At the level of electrons, we have a molecular bonding, we are forever changed because I have picked up the pen and they picked up the page.

Chain yourself to wisdom.

*

Again Truth

Not wanting to speak the truth

doesn’t change the truth,

truth is funny that way,

it is not affected by my cold shoulder.

I snub it and it stands just the same.

I am the one who bends and withers.

Truth withstands the pressure that I never have,

the force of other people’s disappointment and regret.

I have sympathy or is it cowardice?

I tremble at the power of emotion and truth just carries on.

I do not want to be the truth or stand in its place;

for truth is not a beating heart

and I am too much a feeling creature,

but I will learn to keep the company of honesty and right.

And stand under the arching bough of truth,

because it is a shelter from the winds of change

and I need all the help I can get.

When I am tempted to shun truth in favor of expedience

I will try to remember that life is longer than I think

and if I don’t face the truth now

it is going to be in my face later

when I might be less prepared.

Do We See

December 14

DO WE SEE

The old man walked down the road to see the end; I followed to glimpse the fruit of his pursuit.  Does the highway come to rest or like the river just feed a greater sea?  And time; will the clock stop him? Can he win the treasure hunt as the seconds tick away on the metronome?  Will the slowing of his steps and the advancing of his age create a curve, which will prevent his accomplishment?  Does this tag-along I am doing make me a part of his project?  The road is long and its end may never come, only ours.  When we take the road the road takes us.  More and less is what we are and so too the road.  I follow the contour of the ground, which curves around the world, spinning in our sky so we can all see the stars.

Reality builds contentment, fantasy disappointment.

*

Calm, Peaceful, On

Once I center my mind I can type in the dark.

All it takes is me present and willing to flow.

Limber up the learning curve,

press my fingers to the keys,

Let the story tell its tale.

Cease the interjections lest it all go stale.

There is nothing much to know,

its all inside, I just let it go.

Emptying this crowded vault,

I open up to prevent assault.

What to do when it hits the page;

marketing is all the rage,

but for this task I need a light.

To sell myself I must be bright.

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.

Nuzzle's Offering

November 20

NUZZLE’S OFFERING

Like a vegan kitten who wrestles long tailed leaves and twigs, subduing them and dragging these prizes to the feet of human parents, I fight paper tigers and bring the tatters as tribute to my Higher Power.  These bloodless battles are pure practice; future wars may not be as clean.  I can not enlist my God to fight these skirmishes; I would never believe in one that I could.  I accept Deus as creator and cheerleader, but champion, no.  Foliage and foes are mine to fight.  The spoils, I bring back for pats on the head and bragging.

Talk to things other than people.

*

Triumph

God and I are experience junkies;

part of why I am here is so God can take me for a ride,

but also for the treat of God tucking into the sidecar

and letting me take us out for a spin.

I am God’s audience and God is mine;

though we are not peers we are comrades.

Life is a serious business I am sure and

profit and loss are always there to be considered.

I can barely describe to you

how much being in love with my creator is a joy,

but even better is being the apple of my creator’s eye.