What is Dear?
I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life instead of being taught that life is dear, but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves. I wish I had learned earlier to love the life I was taught to cling to, but I am grateful I have been bound to life long enough to find the joy in it. I have found that knowing joy causes me to cling all the more, cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task. I am angry for what I wasn’t taught, but sadder still for what they didn’t know and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition. I wanted better for them and they wanted better for me and this is the circle which closes around the dear that I hold onto.
Make room for running starts
Improvement is frustrating, lonely and yet exhilarating.
It somehow starts with moths in the stomach
And ends with warm soup satisfaction.
Struggling, waiting, followed by further struggle
Progress made by tugging one string then the other.
It is hard to accept scaling the ropes alone
But tottering assent is always this way.
Once at the top I realize how easily I could slide to the bottom
Sometimes friction is all that keeps me up.
Establishing a new altitude is challenging.
I must ground myself in a new way.
My talents hinder and aid me.
I must open the correct doors in my mind
And avoid the traps in the floor.
Stuttering through requirements and obligations
I transform but only slowly.
Earning each drop of comfort from a job just done.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault