Also a Gift

October 10

ALSO A GIFT

Sadness is as life affirming as joy, but in the same way that people eat together but defecate alone, joy is encouraged in public and sadness is a private matter.  Happiness is embraced and discouragement relegated, even though personal experience shows disappointment is often a point of growth.  What beauty and change stem from disillusion, but still it is hard to look directly at grief and not flinch away.  The temptation to feign pleasure and leave sadness swept under the carpet is strong.  It is an unwelcome job to be the defender of grief, a job that should be unnecessary, in the same way that the valley between the mountains is unnecessary to defend.  We are not giants who can step from one mountaintop to the next.

Try a new game for body, mind and laughs.

*

Ping Pong Balls and Possession

I keep an aquarium with a goldfish on my counter

and sometimes he splashes my work

proving to me that the thing I think I have contained

often has a mind of its own.

I have heard that goldfish don’t remember much,

but mine always knows which side of the tank

provides him a view of me.

Memory may be reflexive.

Assumption possibly is as well.

I must keep a fresh account of what is within my grasp

and what can swim away.

I have heard the many fish tales

from the part of me that likes to lie.

The scales shimmer and lure me to pretend control

when in truth it is all just a game of chance.

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

John Grisham

November 29

John Grisham

My time hovering low over the ocean has filled me until I am ready to drop.  The weight of what is inside me bears down; I know with the slightest cooperation I will become a rainmaker.  I am mostly fine with this; I know from whence the rain was derived and I can let it fall in peace.  What I don’t know how to handle is the acknowledgement.  The difference between what I know and what you might think is vast and if I try to dissuade you I sound disingenuous or fraudulent.  I have to get my head around the part I play and accept the roses when they come.  I don’t understand how this looks from offstage or what it means to those who watch.  I hope they will enjoy the work but never mistake me for the playwright.

Greet the day with open eyes

*

BLEATING FORMALITY

Stupidity stalks me when I’m tired
Hi-jacking my mouth and my mind
I can put this off to pilot error or interruption
Of service on my neurologic pipeline
But truly I have been captured
By senseless irrational mutinous.

I would love to say it was pig headedness
But alas I am not self-determined, I am a sheep
I open my lips and out pours the same
Plaintive cry as the surrounding herd.

In addition, once begun the wail is unending.
It’s as if the bellows works on its own
Carrying a tune which blends
With the entire wool coated world.

I shift and run with my position
According to the movements at large.
I am following the reactionary breed
Dropping the specifics of my personality
As one of the crowd, my brain switched off
And a quick veneer grows over my eyes

I can’t see, think or speak for myself
And yet it doesn’t occur to me to hit the hay.
When as a petulant three year old
I fall asleep in my tract, I awake as myself,
With many bleating apologies to be made.

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

Picard

October 28

Picard

The little tin whistle I yearn to play squeaks in my head warning that I have no time to learn and a tin whistle though slender is not easy.  I think if I had a magic wrinkler for time I might learn, I remember characters that have, but I rethink this and remember I don’t want to win the lottery again.  I am too good at too many things and have no time to enjoy their full round pleasure.  I have no need for additional longing or extended guilt.

Print your fingers

*

I DON’T SEE HOW

This is the smallest of the fragile excuses I use
To keep from doing things to make me happy.
Petty in a way I would never be with others
I rake my desires and tiny hopes over the coals.

Tired platitudes are plated up as first serves
By my short order short sightedness
Protecting crusted over nonsense
And living the life of a lockout
Not even a squatter on the fringes of my dreams.

I stumble in my efforts
To see hope, joy or my purpose,
Ignoring the fact that I must step from the box
Before I can see the horizon or more.

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

To Sloop

July 26

TO SLOOP

When I was a tanker I carried such a heavy load.  The diesel cycle ran, combustion occurred at regular intervals and my internal temperature was terrific.  The fuel sprayed and things went round and round; the cost was high.  Now my principal means of propulsion is the wind in my sails.  Conversion was difficult, and though I found the rigging and mast a fascination, the ballast was a heavy load to bear.  The price of stability is responsibility.  Cargo is something short-lived, to be cast off at the next port.  Incumbent discretion is welded to my keel and will go with me to every harbor.  As a tankard, liquid was transported or consumed; as a cutter, dependability keeps me tacking into the wind.  Now, my outlay is low and my rewards are high.  I carry only what I need.  I am free, a sloop upon the sea.

Map your body.

*

Keds

If I gave a child a pair of sneakers

would I refuse to help them to tie them on?

Would I want this kid to wear them open,

tongues hanging out, laces dangling and dangerous?

Or worse would I want the child

to have to lug the sneakers around;

the kid feeling the need to treasure the gift

and protect it from use or wear?

I hope that I would not be this sick,

misguided or deranged.

I have to say that I have given up believing

in a crazy God.

But this doesn’t mean that I can’t

drive God crazy with my insane behavior.

I have to stick my feet inside my shoes

and lift my foot for help.

I must open my mouth to ask,

then pay close attention so I can learn

to do it on my own;

all the while not beating myself up

that I can’t do it already.

Suddenly

March 23

Suddenly

Creeping realization has never been my experience with G-d’s handy work in my kitchen. I start out making a mess and I find in short order that G-d has made a meal; fit food for apt hunger. I could throw myself into the kneading and shaping, but without the yeast which is so freely given I have no bread; only a lump that will choke me in the end. Even my very own abilities are gifts I was incapable of offering to myself and are only found here in my possession through sheer grace. I have woken up with my face saliva glued to the table top far too often only to discover my Higher Power doing and I am grateful; for without that action I would be un-done.

Learn to live with the shadow of the moon

*

HOW RED IS RED

I check my color and contrast
I paint the setting sun
Add a bit of yellow
And fill to the edge burgeoning poppies

Add more blue and paint the blood
Which pools around my mind
The equalizer of all my mental conversations

Too much is never enough, as the story goes
I pursue my shades and signatures
Too much for the fingers and not enough for the toes
I disregard fraudulent crimson

I scale the mountains of intention looking for perfection
The leach of my addiction drains the other colors from my rainbow
My sponsor asks only one question
"How red is red?"