Birth of an Apple

October 24

BIRTH OF AN APPLE

When an apple gives birth what is the result?   Seed or sauce?  Crunch or crisp?  The act of creation is so much an act of sacrifice, how can it be limited to only one kind of delivery?  The children of effort produce fruit of their own; who am I to call them other than my kin?  How many times have I thrown over bluster for blizzard?  But snow is snow.  I can accept every squall if I keep clear and willing.  I may finish my days in a winter orchard if I spend my life picking not choosing.

Keep two lists: what you want and what you have.

*

Behind Closed Doors

The children of happy fathers make no sense to me.

I have known no such peace.

What is it to live in a world where there is a man

who likes you, someone who approves?

I feel like my chin would have always been out there to see,

no ducking, no need to hide,

had there been a good man to whom I could turn.

The dark circles under the eyes of my soul make me old,

old and different from those kids, mere children,

safe in a home with a happy man whose joy it is to be their Dad.

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

Life is Unfair

February 19

LIFE IS UNFAIR

Assuring myself I will not be permitted through the gate, I walk the perimeter, assessing the fence, looking for a place to exploit, a wire slightly high.  Trying to look graceful, I duck under the fence, telling myself I prefer life on the edge.  The water is less dangerous here on the fringe; I wouldn’t want to be swept away.  I stay clear of my peers.  I stand in the baby pool and feel confident I won’t drown, brushing from my conscience that I won’t swim either.

Struggling to the top of the pile or scurrying underneath is a blatant lack of humility.  Skirting the margin is the same.  Facing life and finding it unfair, I take to the world of exception and hope to slip through the cracks to a life of safety.  In that act I discount my talent and ability.  Worst of all, I disconnect from God.

Toy with your thoughts, play with your food.

*

Jenny

Though ignorance may be bliss,

living in the shadow of someone else’s

ignorance is sheer hell.

The confusion is bad, but the lies are worse.

Want to cripple a child for life

give it to a well meaning fool

who has the rule book to the wrong board game,

That child will grow to need crutches they don’t make

and medicine they can’t brew.

Dependent on misguided insanity the child will require

a miracle cure and may lack the ability to ingest it.

Best case scenario the kid makes a brave escape

into a world she can barely comprehend,

worse case she turns the rule book upside down

and reads it backwards to her own unfortunate brood.

Ignorance is always a twilight proposition,

half agreement the other half handcuffed nightmare.

Full consent is by necessity impossible

while blameless innocents is similarly unachievable.

The only suggestion I can make

from this side of the looking glass

is to pick your poison and plan your getaway.

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 Seamless Door

February 7

THE SEAMLESS DOOR

Tongue and groove fit tight; the pickled boards belie the passage.  Hinges buried deep, secreted inside the place with no words, the door remains shut, hidden.  The air, candy sweet, the space, filled with the unbroken stream of surreal childhood.  What can I tell you of this living snapshot?  Nothing but the haltings, stops and shudders of a life encapsulated.  Proudly, I walk from this train wreck only to find the tether stitched to my heart, my soul, my mind.  Flashing through the room, I weary and wonder.  I have often found myself outside this confusing destination, but never have I seen the door.  Always, I believe, this time I am free of it.  When I find myself again within this realm, I know it is something I can not be parted from. 

Then what of the door?  The undetected portal was spied by me one day while it swung in the breeze.  I saw the simple barn and the open loft door; I never thought my incubus to be housed in so plain a construction.  There the turmoil of my forward motion stored in the attic of the pony shed.  So many tragic contrivances are stored in such candid spots.  Accessibility is the beginning of approach; I take the stairs.

Remember willingness doesn’t need to float; it swims

*

Two Powers

The river and the bridge;

one force swift and roiling

the other stolid and stoic,

The first carries me away

and the other carries me over.

For the love of liquid, current and life

I have slipped in to the water

and washed; my life abandoned.

For love of upright contact,

terra bound movement and love

I cross the bridge.

Will I be deposited in the Ocean

or wend to the City and back?

Where is the greater power

in Surrender or Choice?

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 Price of Today's Ride

March 6

The Price of Today’s Ride

Much of my spiritual awakening has been spent separating myself from the nightmare of the past, reassuring myself that in fact, it, the horror, is over.  As my present has improved my reactions are still invested with, the hide or fly, coping of a child dealing with terror.  Things get better yet barricades are erected, departing flights secured.  Disengaging the clutch of fingers wrapped so tightly around the escape hatch takes a great deal of my short supply of faith and confidence.  Laying down my anticipatory reluctance in favor of optimism has had the breathtaking feel of pain, though in fact it was only the separation from a poisonous crutch and the vacuum it creates.  Allowing myself to see beauty at the same time as I deal with the truth of the past; standing in the full light of morning and not blocking out the brilliant ache of night is the outstanding gift my spiritual path affords me. 

Open stored creativity

*

ECHOES OF ACTION

Squares of light outline a patchwork on walls and ceiling.
Ripples of water formed this ancient glass.
Three hundred years these waves have shone through those panes.
Three hundred years these waves have held,
Like stability in a world of change.

Looking through the window
The City rams life down it's own throat.
The ripples are invisible,
Caressing currents imbed the glass
The wavelengths shining projections only with the street lights.

How much mundane activity is captured,
Only revealing itself surreptitiously.
What is not echoed from year to year comes to final rest.
My voice does not terminate at my mouth
How therefore can I consider a blunted end to my behavior?

Jenny

February 19

Jenny

Though ignorance may be bliss, living in the shadow of someone else’s ignorance is sheer hell.  The confusion is bad, but the lies are worse.  Want to cripple a child for life give it to a well meaning fool who has the rule book to the wrong board game, that child will grow to need crutches they don’t make and medicine they can’t brew.  Dependant on misguided insanity the child will require a miracle cure and may lack the ability to ingest it.  Best case scenario the kid makes a brave escape into a world she can barely comprehend, worse case she turns the rule book upside down and reads it backwards to her own unfortunate brood.  Ignorance is always a twilight proposition, half agreement the other half handcuffed nightmare.  Full consent is by necessity impossible while blameless innocents is similarly unachievable.  The only suggestion I can make from this side of the looking glass is to pick your poison and plan your getaway.

Rain encouragement down in your dreams

*

TIME IS HERE TO STAY 

I have passed my days emptying them. 
Like bread crumbs on a trail of rescue 
Expecting them to facilitate redemption 
And if not that at least retreat. 

I release an audible sigh 
As I let each evening slip to the path behind me 
The future I view as a cliff I am nearing 
I hope to be ransomed before the edge. 

I plan carefully how to stay in sync with revision 
Things must be resolved and revert 
But this is not the way. 
The past is there to be mined. 

Inert gold as well as land mines linger beneath the surface 
The days stream on. 
I am not nearing the limit 
I am shrinking from hope. 

I turn my eyes from expectancy with a shutter 
Deeply, I realize I must leave my fairytale life 
And walk away with my days in my pocket 
A treasure------mine to spend.

Mud Pies

March 7

MUD PIES

Mud pies and retro-childhood are for the hurt ones, small and angry inside me. They require care and special attention, but I can’t stop with them. Saving the children to starve the adolescents is a sad fate, and abandoning adults after bringing them all this long way would be indescribably cruel. I cannot work on healing all the while waiting for some ice floe to shove myself off on. There is never a time when I am not the responsible party for the people who inhabit my interior life. I live their reflection every day; there is no one-way mirror with which to hide unresolved issues, no rug to sweep them under; they flow through me like a river. I must return to them to breed new health as a salmon swims back to the waters of its birth to bring new life. I must brave the complexities of maturity; I cannot just sit in the mud.

Make a truce with your fears.

*

The Price of Today’s Ride

Much of my spiritual awakening has been spent

separating myself from the nightmare of the past,

reassuring myself that in fact, it, the horror, is over.

As my present has improved my reactions

are still invested with the hide or fly coping

of a child dealing with terror.

Things get better yet barricades are erected,

departing flights secured.

Disengaging the clutch of fingers wrapped so tightly

around the escape hatch takes a great deal of my

short supply of faith and confidence.

Laying down my anticipatory reluctance

in favor of optimism has had the breathtaking feel of pain,

though in fact it was only the separation

from a poisonous crutch and the vacuum it creates.

Allowing myself to see beauty

at the same time as I deal with the truth of the past;

standing in the full light of morning

and not blocking out the brilliant pain of night

is the outstanding gift my spiritual path affords me.

I Beg

August 7

I Beg

The embarrassment of need is a haunting guest who will not leave. I turn in a tight circle trying to find a way to detach this wart and move gracefully from the site of devastation, but it looms large and overshadows today’s possibilities and robs tomorrows gold. What I cannot do for myself, the magic I cannot yet perform, stands between me and contentment, stands there wearing your face; touching my mind with your fingertips. I pray that you are not the answer for I cannot depend on you, but I think of you and the little bell rings and I am hungry. Desire is a gift. Desiring you is the burden whose shadow I can’t escape. I close my eyes to the light you emit; I cannot close my heart. All that’s left is pleading; please come home and fill me or leave and lock the door and let me grieve in peace.

Treat your health like your job, treat your health like your investment, treat your health like your life; it is

*

ROCK BOTTOM PRICES

Marble topped dressers, dry sinks and wardrobes,

Stand in the auctioneer’s warehouse

Showing loving use and obvious value.

The hungry consumers peruse the merchandise

Looking for the perfect pieces

To fit their need.

Old men eating ice cream sandwiches pick their way through

The rows of tidbits laid out on the lawn,

Bargains to fill odd spaces and little desires.

So like out meeting places, people trying to refurnish their lives.

The cost to arrive may have been high

But once in, the market is more than fair.

We reclaim relics and we use them as road signs and warnings.

There is always someone around to carry large truths home

And no one has to go away empty handed.

We bid on our own survival by buying someone else a break.

Time passes easily as the one at the podium

Recounts the rock bottom prices.

Cicatrix and Love

July 18

Cicatrix and Love

The mark left by injury is indelible though it may heal, the consequence remains. This is also true of love. I am branded and changed by your affection. The improvement wrought in me does not leave when you do. If you stop loving me, can no longer remember my name, my face, my sigh; I am better for having had your love if only for a short time. Good medicine offers lasting results; the miracle of your love is my health. The blush in my cheek, the revitalization I feel is traceable to you, to the days you held me in your heart and the nights you held me in your arms. And though I want you back in my world the best of you lives on in my life.

Slice time with your thoughts and peer through the pieces

*

JUXTAPOSITION

Right next to this world is the globe that I came from.

The landmarks are similar but these spheres have little in common

The angle of refraction illuminates the place of my origin

The source of this light is legend.

On my home planet, the existence of sobriety is cast off as myth.

I held onto this tale with my heart.

I slipped the gravitational bonds of Crazy one night

By the glow of the ready button on the coffee pot.

Here and there intersect at only one point

A room with some chairs and a circle with a triangle.

The meeting was on step one

And it was a good place to jump in.

RAID !!!

May 30

RAID !!!

So, you stepped into a hornets nest and now how am I to respond? Blame you? No, I don’t think so, I mean you are the exterminator and some stings are to be expected, but this is far beyond even your honed ability to anticipate wasps. Cry, running from this ambush? Again, I decline I still want you after the war is over, even if I can not fight by your side. Protest, I try to refrain, I never want to make your job harder but I don’t want to leave the impression I have no concern, so I walk the fine line. Standing on the sidelines is harder than you think, I am helpless and lonely, not as exciting as your work and no comfort from this distance. I must hold my breath while you provoke the bees.

Stack your honest intentions as a hedge against a cold winter

*

TROJAN PERSON

I feel confused by the difference between love and war

The intensity and rush are too much

For my frazzled and betrayed emotions to sort out.

I feel like a Trojan person

I have all these children holdup inside

And they are waiting for peace and safety

So they can come out and sleep

For a time I allowed them to leave

For bathroom breaks one at a time

This was not a workable solution.

When these tykes would have a look around

They started to set fires and break hearts

Each child makes life a battleground

Fights and claws her way across the living landscape.

I must heal my insides from the center of my thoughts

Not send fragments of me to blend

With the unfamiliar and hostile world

Only when I can stand together

With my mind and heart safe within my being

Will I see a way to make love on my own terms

And leave war alone.