January 4
THE FLOCK
Today I came to a place in the road covered with birds. The nearby fields, covered in birds, the
trees covered. As I approached, the
birds took wing. The flock responded to
my presence; each bird flew, the sky darkened with their flight; wave upon
wave, boundaries intact, taking action in the face of obstacle. The gift of instinct displayed for me as I
fly to my meeting, my instinct rehab. I
am learning my intuition; my sponsor spoons it to me from the steps. I suck it down never knowing what it is about
this process that makes me better, anymore then I know how grain and bugs make
birds fly. I have theories, things I
roll in my fingers when I’m nervous. I
get glimmers, things my Higher Power sparkles in my eyes for a treat. In truth, I don’t know ‘how’ I don’t need to
know, any more than birds need to know lift to weight ratios.
When I respond to life events, when I spend less time
self-concerned, I am so much closer to self.
“Aren’t we spiritually centered?” quips my sponsor.
“Yes,” I reply. “One day in a row, I’m going for the
record.”
“That’s all the birds have; you’re doing as well as they,”
she smiles and pats my back.
Say hello the next
time a bee seeks you out
*
One Singular Crowd
Isolation among the isolators
is replete with metaphor and theme.
Expectation blithers loudly
but is drown by the palpable inevitability of the outcome.
I pirouette in a room filled with dancers
but we do not touch,
we just spin near one another full view but little contact.
Yet I hear my heart beating in my ear
and know that I am alive.
The flush of neighboring cheeks
attests to duplicate conditions there.
We are moving together sometimes in harmony
but other times in antipathy, dependent all the same.
We are the army of independent meanings.
Individual cases sharing one slender goal
but that’s all that we need.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane
and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
