Showing posts with label mystery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mystery. Show all posts

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Hypothetical

September 12


Hypothetical

Is my inability to understand what creates mystery?  If I were brighter, swifter, keener, would life be free of unknown communion?  Would comprehension eliminate revelation?  Would I lose perceptual apprehension by arming myself with knowledge of forethought?  Could I end mysticism through education?  Should I even if I could?



Sample other people’s assets

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OPTICAL ILLUSIONS


Like my new frames? I ask my sponsor
Who wrote your prescription?
Oh the lenses aren’t new just the frames, I reply.

You want to be seen differently,
but you want to see things the same old way?
My question still stands---
Who wrote you the script for those funhouse glasses
you have used all your life?

Did it ever occur to you the distortion is ground into the glass?
Remember some people need you to see things for other than what they are.
Unhappy families look great if you can’t see them too clearly.

It’s hard to know what to say to keep the peace--said Grandma.
She never took off her specs to see there was no peace to keep.
So I ask you again --The view of the world you base your choices on
who chose the color you see it through?


You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Why Not Home?


September 12

WHY NOT HOME?



Power is not production and production is not art.  I have to keep pulling the car over to the side of the road so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living.  But I still want to go home.  I will never give up these roadside excursions into the river of thought, though I do wonder why the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel?  Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed?  The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere as long as it’s at least five miles away.  Power is not production and production is not art.  I let it pour through me; it’s not mine to sort.


Learn to read God’s handwriting.

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Hypothetical


Is my inability to understand what creates mystery?
If I were brighter, swifter, keener,
would life be free of unknown communion?

Would comprehension eliminate revelation?
Would I lose perceptual apprehension
by arming myself with knowledge of forethought?

Could I end mysticism through education?
Should I even if I could?