Liberty Hope?

July 3

LIBERTY HOPE?

If you had to choose, would it be liberty or hope?  Liberty is highly recommended, but without hope, how would you know you were at liberty?  Transversely if you have no liberty, how could you have hope?  Removal of liberty removes the possibility of hope.  So, why ask for a choice to be made?  Well, that’s the joy of liberty.  I am free to ask anything and you are free to imagine anything and hope for more.

Plan a diet for your fears.

*

Tyler’s Truth

The snow is dying,

pouring itself into the creeks and riverbeds.

sacrificing its crystalline structure and community

for the ubiquitous oneness of liquid.

drawn by the gravitational lure of the ocean.

Unity conquers the frozen individuated whole.

pulled from coast to coast the sun tempts the water’s life,

the sea gives up her soul to the sky

to be reborn as snow once more.

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

Surf's Up

November 16

Surfs Up

The first time I arrive at the beach the tide is a shock to me.  I had no way to anticipate it.  As the days pass I calm, realizing there is a rhythm and that the sea won’t escape the shore.  Over time I begin to anticipate the movement and then rely on it.  I learn to live with the in and out nature of the water lapping the lip of sand; what it brings and what it takes away.  I am human.  I adapt.  I survive.  How do I make the jump to blessing the moon?  How do I touch the divine?

Forgive your common errors, make note of the uncommon

*

ENDLESS PASTA

Having limits, in a seemingly limitless universe,
makes me feel horribly inadequate.
I am a sad little creature
in the face of overwhelming tasks.

Pressure and unwarranted ego
compress my ability and eager disposition.
I am forced to see there are choices
outside my qualifications and willingness.

Going on in the face of crushing requirements
extrudes my life force into a plateful of capellini
Lying exposed with no gravy to keep me warm
it is hard to realize in this world of wonder and delight
a plate of naked spaghetti can’t do it all.

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

Symptomatic Bouquet

July 21

SYMPTOMATIC BOUQUET

My bouquet of symptoms took root in alcoholism.  I displayed these blossoms to few.  I thought I could keep these problem posies to myself.  No need to worry, everyone has a bit of manure in their lives; mine will hardly seem strange.  Planted in addiction, things grew in a dramatic way.  Pruning became unworkable; drastic measures were required.  Uprooted and exposed, these virulent stalks created the need for help from better gardeners than I.  Thinned and repotted, these character traits have fruited with many a lovely harvest, none of which could have happened had I been left in the family plot.

Make your mind a womb you can return to.

*

Rules

There are rules about breaking rules.

You can do it this way, but must not that way.

Cross this line and you get dragons;

cross that line you get a good natured slap on the wrist.

Beneath the reflective surface of law

I have found many shoals and sandbars;

rocks and outcroppings,

layer upon layer of blue depth I can only partly chart.

I also find inquiries in this matter meet with the

same reaction as asking about: yeti, crop circles,

or what was kept in Uncle Author’s spare room.

Those willing to talk about it I often fear to hear from

and the reluctant to speak I fear to pursue.

You see this investigation is just another thing

from under that sea.

Two Powers

February 6

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 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?

Ignorance and greed are the same thing aren’t they?

*

THE SEAMLESS DOOR

Tongue and groove fit tight.
The pickled boards do not 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 haltings
Stops and shutters
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 cannot 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 may tragic contrivances
Are stored in such candid spots

Accessibility is the beginning of approach.
I take the stairs.