Home to Hope

May 26

HOME TO HOPE

Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days and I have trouble finding my way home to hope.  Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk.  Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail.  I am lost.  Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention.  I wander deeper into a dismal wood.  How can I chop my way free?  Dejection dulls my senses; I am blind to solemn assurance.  I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky.  Skepticism passes like storm clouds, I may feel the rain for a time; necessity reigns on both sides of every street but still I can crawl into my bed.  Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.

Hop right after you put your foot down and you can skip most of your problems.

*

Estranged

After long years I have made my own acquaintance,

friendship is on a far distant shore.

I know who I am and can recognize myself

on the street or in a crowded room.

I have a legitimate sense of wariness

of the  afore mentioned persona,

nothing too nasty, just a discomfort.

She is not someone I would bring home,

maybe not even share a meal with

but I can stand her, minus intimacy,

minus any deep empathy.

I feel an awkwardness in acknowledging her,

strange as this might sound.

She is no one to be ashamed of,

not a truly bad actor

Yet the reports say she doesn’t live up to her potential

and I have it on personal authority

that she actually surpasses it on most days

and keeps this a closely held confidence.

And there it is, I know her secrets

but I don’t keep her.

This is what makes me strange and her stranger.

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

Rex

August 31

Rex

Hungry dogs who love me anyway, dance around waiting to be fed.  If they didn’t love they would take bloody bites and I don’t forget it.  These puppies have teeth, like cigarettes I want to smoke but don’t.  And meanwhile back on the farm I seek to quiet the whines and barking of the unfed, malnourished familiarity which writhes at my ankles and jumps at my knees.  I can no longer pat my disquiet on the head and expect it to stay or heal.  I must hunt down the beast which bothers me and feed the meat of it to the pups.  I must not leave the lopers to quarry my burden if I want to remain master and leave them to be pet. 

Rip yourself away from distress

*

DO YOU HEAR THAT SOUND

I was running on empty

And thought I was getting along that way

But the smoke gave me away.

My life had caught on fire

And I burned to the ground.

I thought nothing had been apparent

Until it all lay in ashes.

My sponsor said, No-------

We all knew when your tank ran dry.

The sucking sound could be heard for miles around.

I asked her, if that were true,

Why I hadn’t hear it myself?

She said, she guessed,

I had my denial turned up to loud.

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

The Throng

February 6

THE THRONG

The more people I meet, the more vehemently I do not believe in God. The tidal wave of human ignorance hits me and the sheer and repetitive force of it is more than my single souled craft can bear. Cyclical, coincidental tragedy coupled with purposeful meanness, barbed with arrogance and misaligned fear hold my child's faith under a scalding bath of realism. What to do? I do not know.

The fragility and perniciousness of life war with each other, though loss wins out. What can I use to keep myself from withdrawal into despondent hibernation? Looking for glimmers of goodness in the sea of overwhelming depravity is not cutting it with me. Mystery as an explanation is not working either. I am not a retarded five-year-old; I am a despairing thirty-eight-year-old and I am tired of game-playing and coyness. I want a God to arrive, not with explanations, but solutions. I am not looking for a punishing parent to send errant persons to bed without supper. I am looking for the equation of repair, the dance steps to healing. I am yearning for a global twelfth step, a universal attunement and galactic spiritual awakening. And by the way, I want it now.

If you can’t write, sing.

*

More Than Less

There is a difference between

doing G-d’s will and winning,

though sometimes they look the same.

Skin deep appearance or monetary prowess

share no border with the will of G-d,

but these can stack as transparencies

seeming invisible to the uninitiated practitioner.

The organs exist and blood flows in the living thing

and the shell is hard, lifeless; though it glints.

Success can be the mantel of right compliance

or the shroud of something deadly.

I mustn’t be pushed or pulled by the desire

of accolades or acceptance,

nor shall I flee into a trap for fear of ridicule or rejection.

The lacerations of emotional infliction,

unloving judgments and imprudent fallout

cause me to flinch in the face of changing focus

and relinquishing hope of control.

I am powerless over everything and responsible to everything.

Anything else is incidental

and with loving help will work out if I do not panic.

Ah, to love myself as G-d loves me.