When I was a tanker I carried such a heavy load. The diesel cycle ran, combustion occurred at regular intervals and my internal temperature was terrific. The fuel sprayed and things went round and round; the cost was high. Now my principal means of propulsion is the wind in my sails. Conversion was difficult, and though I found the rigging and mast a fascination, the ballast was a heavy load to bear. The price of stability is responsibility. Cargo is something short-lived, to be cast off at the next port. Incumbent discretion is welded to my keel and will go with me to every harbor. As a tankard, liquid was transported or consumed; as a cutter, dependability keeps me tacking into the wind. Now, my outlay is low and my rewards are high. I carry only what I need. I am free, a sloop upon the sea.
Map your body.
If I gave a child a pair of sneakers
would I refuse to help them to tie them on?
Would I want this kid to wear them open,
tongues hanging out, laces dangling and dangerous?
Or worse would I want the child
to have to lug the sneakers around;
the kid feeling the need to treasure the gift
and protect it from use or wear?
I hope that I would not be this sick,
misguided or deranged.
I have to say that I have given up believing
in a crazy God.
But this doesn’t mean that I can’t
drive God crazy with my insane behavior.
I have to stick my feet inside my shoes
and lift my foot for help.
I must open my mouth to ask,
then pay close attention so I can learn
to do it on my own;
all the while not beating myself up
that I can’t do it already.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault