February 23
Over Troubled Water
Though G-d might be
everything, for a long time G-d was a resident of an unknown country; a
theoretical citizen of a theoretical land. It took some time for me to spy yon
distant country and longer to realize what a miracle it was that I could see my
neighbor, holding my optics turned around the way they were. Turning over the binoculars came long before
introductions or interaction, but it was an important step in relationship
building nonetheless.
Having seen the island my
mind fled due to the trumped up stories about its resident. Open minded observation cleared up the
fallacies of ogres and super heroes, but this only told me who G-d wasn’t and
nothing of who G-d is. Direct knowledge
was going to require direct contact.
I began throwing tethered
balls of string across the channel that separates us and was shocked,
delighted, horrified to find that the far end would get tied to the far
shore. I threw twine next, then rope,
after a few successful repetitions I was able to shinny across for the first
time. Filled with fear and trepidation I
arrived on the apposing bank and stood shivering more from nerves than
cold. I saw no one and felt much. I didn’t stay long and swam back. The first plank bridge was simple and
straight. Having this link somehow
emboldened me to explore the land of my own country. With great regularity I found narrow
margins. I crafted a new bridge for each
slender passage. The more I learn about
me the more regular my connection to that inner land.
Like something shy of my
wrath, G-d made an illusive sight. The
more I calmed the more often the sightings.
We made acquaintance and then we made friends. I’ve widened some bridges and G-d has widened
others. We stroll together often hand in
hand. We talk and laugh, cry and
joke. Occupancy is fluid, times I live
on the island and others the surrounding continent sometimes we live together
other times we are one another’s guests.
All the days are not happy ones but we are always happy to be together
and more than that I will not ask.
Quarantine reluctance
*
DOMINOES
What happens to the dominoes that do not fall?
The show cut short by my sobriety.
The tiles stand front to back
The foul respiration will send them to their preordained destination.
I hold my breath as I glance over the display of generations
The design is set
Painstaking patterns lain with meticulous, ingenious deft.
Skill for falling, laying waste.
Sad pictures told and retold in speedy drops
The rhythmic fall of dominoes turning eight blocks to a corner.
Direction shifts
But the descending continues.
I cannot occupy this ground.
I must not upset the arrangement.
I cannot clear it from this world.
I must walk away from the upright mosaic.
A flower waiting to bloom with destruction
I have to move, climb the steep slopes
Vertical life,
Leaving the tumbling destruction for Yet.
Grasping the sides of the cliffs
I haul myself off the tableland,
A place set for a show of laying down,
I build my strength and keep off the well known flats.
This is a life apart
The game is there if I return.
It is a game no one can win.
What happens to the dominoes that do not fall?
The show cut short by my sobriety.
The tiles stand front to back
The foul respiration will send them to their preordained destination.
I hold my breath as I glance over the display of generations
The design is set
Painstaking patterns lain with meticulous, ingenious deft.
Skill for falling, laying waste.
Sad pictures told and retold in speedy drops
The rhythmic fall of dominoes turning eight blocks to a corner.
Direction shifts
But the descending continues.
I cannot occupy this ground.
I must not upset the arrangement.
I cannot clear it from this world.
I must walk away from the upright mosaic.
A flower waiting to bloom with destruction
I have to move, climb the steep slopes
Vertical life,
Leaving the tumbling destruction for Yet.
Grasping the sides of the cliffs
I haul myself off the tableland,
A place set for a show of laying down,
I build my strength and keep off the well known flats.
This is a life apart
The game is there if I return.
It is a game no one can win.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to
Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
