I asked for the key to my problems. My expectation was a metal instrument with which to unbolt the lock to my desires. What I was given was a systematic explanation of the symbols on the plan of my life. This has been a wonderful gift and I have benefited greatly, but first I had to stop brooding about the loss of my wished for trinket. Putting names on my map helps me stay off cliffs and out of rivers. The code is broken; I can decipher direction and intent. The compositions of life’s offerings fit and harmonize in unimagined ways and create archways strong and unbending, giving me access to reefs of beauty and rest. I asked for the means to open a door but gained entry to the world.
Don’t lug excess baggage, ship it.
A guitar with 28 strings generates much sympathy
from the cords which were not strummed.
Pluck is contagious and inspires much harmony and verve
in the vicinity in which it shows face.
Sympathetic strings vibrate in response to the jangling
around them but are tuned to their own notes.
Much distortion adds to the depth of the sound
created by this throng.
Can you hear my life?
How a disturbance in my life rings
in the lives which surround me?
How I twitch and chime when things are twanged
in the lives of my neighbors, my friends, my kin.
We make the music of care,
the discord of reaction.
To every move there is a sound,
to every sympathy a harmony.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault