Rings of Color against Butterflies
Resistance I can accomplish directly; impedance requires magnetism from an alternating world. I can drag my heels and live life in a sandpaper shack making everything a chore, but what it takes to throw furniture in the path of progress, slamming doors and turning off the lights that is more than I can do on my own. This takes the cooperation of my disease and me, the monkey-hoop, which is effort and clever repartee. Look how well we do it, too. Distracting possibilities, staving off humanity and the humane, may not sound like much, but it takes up our whole day; goodness is such a persistent little grub. It takes a concerted effort to prevent it from chrysalis and failing that, still more determination to make sure it doesn’t fly.
Listen to music the way you walk through a garden
Math is the language which moves
Closest to the speed of my brain.
The language of recovery slows my thinking
So I am more than numbers and clicks.
I need not race my mind in an effort to win.
I am my prize.
The victory is mine if I can embrace who I am.
I can use numbers to figure whether I am more or less
But owning who I am must be given
To the talk of the soul and heart.
My nashamah is not an astral projection
To be theorized but the seat of my emotions.
The only way to discover myself
Is through deep and loving conversation
So I had best pull up two chairs.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault