In the Comfort of My Room

January 17

IN THE COMFORT OF MY ROOM

I sit and panic concerning the future.  I have come through hell, built a safe and satisfying life, but it will all end soon.  I can feel it.  The tide rises in my soul, the blood red tide of self-doubt and degradation.  I fail to see my strength, or intelligence.  Hell, I can’t even remember the sheer willingness, which has carried me this far.  All I see are shreds, tattered little bits of my hopes and dreams, scattered by the breeze of fate.

What is the point of me being in this sweet space if I’m going to intellectually turn it to a dungeon?  Why set out fluffy pillows only to frighten myself daily with thoughts of their removal?  How can I pray for safety and practice personal terrorism?  With an open mind?  No!  My mind is closed to the double side of life.  I know the destruction but forget the glory.  I have washed ashore in the land of love and support.  I need not drag my mind and spirit to the nether world of hopelessness.  I’ve been to the dark places.  My task is to warm in the sunlit today.

Make an anagram of your name, which empowers you.

*

Hades

There is strangeness to the dark.

A velvety comfort

when my paranoia is not alive

with ice crystals and contempt.

Cocoons of light create hives of life

in an otherwise isolating phenomena.

Pressing to my skin I can wear the night out

as a jewel, a talisman for the hope I dare not share.

Pixies and faeries inhabit dawn’s wee hours

but the black blank stretch of space

is home to things quite different.

Unspeakable in their face I allow them to pass.

Should I be carried off my return is eminent

for half the seeds remain.

Not wholly ransomed I live only part time in the sun.

When the shadows fall there is the oddness of home

I can neither embrace nor deny.

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

Echidna's Child

August 25

Echidna’s Child

The difference between perplexed paranoia and procrastination is sometimes a subtle distinction.  The confusion which swirls, confounding me along my trudge, gets the name of procrastinator.  I am not at all sure I should continue to call it by that name.   I believe that quite possibly I am an internal chimera, a blend of creatures, both mythic and fantastic, striving to live as one functioning specter, in a world too hard for a disparate visage as myself.  When I am most myself, when the goal is pure and true, I work with a will.  When I am making deadly compromise and risking my soul for social ease or the approval of the keepers, my dragon heart rebels and I am struggling against the fire in my stomach and fear screaming in my head.  I don’t know how to eliminate the conflict, but for now I will attempt to stop calling myself names.

Beware of hopelessness it has a big imagination

*

WATERLINE

The interface of water and land is compelling.

Soothing but dramatic I’m drawn to this transition.

I stand and watch the lap, lap, lapping of the liquid to the land.

The gift of one place to another calls me.

Change and transition exhilarate my senses.

Whether it is rock or sand, river or sea,

I feel the pull to watch life in response.

Boundaries are beautiful.

Borders allow safety and recreation not just risk.

When I embrace this in life I embrace it in me.

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

Autumn

August 25

AUTUMN

The falling leaves slap my hand as I ride the road at fifty miles per, my arm dangling

The trees are shedding their masquerade

Exposed they stand stark, stripped

Naked to the soul

The growth of this year's yearning waves on the fringe

I can follow this lead

Remove pretense not clothing

Stand before all who have an interest in seeing me

Unashamed of my wants

And the things I reach for

I can cast off the uniform of evolution

And enjoy a long winter of truth

Do what you do.

*

Echidna’s Child

The difference between perplexed paranoia

and procrastination is sometimes a subtle distinction.

The confusion which swirls,

confounding me along my trudge,

gets the name of procrastinator.

I am not at all sure I should continue to call it by that name.

I believe that quite possibly I am an internal chimera,

a blend of creatures, both mythic and fantastic,

striving to live as one functioning specter,

in a world too hard for a disparate visage as myself.

When I am most myself,

when the goal is pure and true, I work with a will.

When I am making deadly compromise

and risking my soul for social ease or the approval of the keepers,

my dragon heart rebels and I am struggling

against the fire in my stomach and fear screaming in my head.

I don’t know how to eliminate the conflict,

but for now I will attempt to stop calling myself names.

Halloween

October 31

Halloween

“Why does self-centered fear wear a costume that looks so much like ‘other people’s opinion’?” I asked my sponsor.

“For the same reason that booze masquerades as ‘a good time.’ How would you ever fall into a pit which used no pretense? Naked ambition attracts far fewer devotees than addicts of ‘must make Mama and Daddy proud’ or the ‘doing better for my kids crowd’.”

“Ambition is not all together bad!” I crow.

“Neither is fear in its proper scale, but fear cloaks itself to seize more than its share of your life, just like any parasite. So take your spring tonic like a good kid and keep the worms at bay.”

Don’t bother licking the self stick stamps

*

FLORAL ECSTASY

I could eat fields of buttercups
And drink down ponds of water lilies.
Wear foxgloves and a pair of lady slippers
I could wrap myself in bridal wreathe
And under pin with nettles.

I could rise with the roses
Lay with the lilies
Shade with the sage
Sing with the trumpet vines

Run away from home
With a Turks cap on my head
And a pansy in my pocket
Until the four o’clock say
Its time to come home.
For evening primrose and then bed.