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

Remembering

October 6

REMEMBERING

Remembering is the oxygen my brain pumps to my soul.  Remembering gives me mobility and traction.  Everything in my life that is positive depends on my remembering.  It keeps apathy at bay and complacency locked in some far off cupboard.  Remembering gives today the misty sweetness I have grown to love.  I can live to my potential and enjoy the process, watch misery move away.  I can dream the future every night because I remember who I am and what I am capable of.  Never can I be haunted, memory keeps me from reactionary visitation.  Though some fear the past, I know holding it in a close embrace allows me to dance to the rhythm of truth.

Think of names for your sneakers.

*

What Oliver Could not Know

One of the complications of being an orphan

is not learning about the failings and foibles

which visit themselves on all parents.

Living estranged from God has this same blind spot.

When you live with someone day in and day out

you understand their dimensions;

Depravation causes celebrity

and the casting of very large shadows

in some very odd places.

The intimate knowledge of a guardian

allows for relaxation and experimentation.

Isolation creates an overload of anticipation;

Fear of risk and the yearning for attention

swing a pendulum to the point of weaponry.

Familiarity is a breeding ground,

which means many things grow.

Life in a vacuum is devoid of life

and nothing grows up.

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

Peace Time

September 23

Peace Time

I have been to the wars and through the wars and now sit on the stoop and wonder; will I learn to live here in the world of everyday after having had to spend so much time running for cover.  Each time I return to what I believe is my home I sit and rock trying to pour my soul back inside from my hipflask where it was held for safekeeping.  I try not to spill a drop for it is worse than shed blood and harder to rebuild.  My soul has grown pale from confinement and lack of sun, but it still exists and for that I pat my back and suck on my Lifesaver; I could have done worse, was unable to do better.  I console myself with the knowledge I never started the conflict just learned to survive it.

Substitute action for apathy

*

REMEMBERING

Remembering is the oxygen my brain pumps to my soul.

Remembering gives me mobility and traction.

Everything in my life that is positive depends on my remembering.

It keeps apathy at bay

And complacency locked in some far off cupboard.

Remembering gives today the misty sweetness I have grown to love.

I can live to my potential and enjoy the process.

Watch misery move away.

I can dream the future every night

Because I remember who I am and what I am capable of.

Never can I be haunted.

Memory keeps me from reactionary visitation.

Though some fear the past

I know holding it in a close embrace

Allows me to dance to the rhythm of truth.

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 Storyteller

November 27

THE STORYTELLER

Funny stories I long to share with new friends have to be put aside while the core of this entity is built.  Mutual memory is the siding on a house framed in integrity.  Treading together through the past, we strengthen each other's perception; it's the only support that can be offered without time travel.  We take hands, then link arms, wander happily toward the future having the keys to history jangling in our fists; we can return whenever prudent or necessary.  We forge a fresh path and hope for a pleasant journey; between us we figure we have slain all the dragons.

Invest in idealism.

*

At The Dodge

I remember so long ago

when I would come and sit and listen;

soak in the poets and the Consort,

sop it all into the sponge that listened and sat.

I did not know exactly what they were doing

and I didn’t know why I was there,

but I went and had a soak.

Now so many years hence

I am the writer I never knew

and I know just what they do ,

because I do it too!