WALKING JOY HOME
I make sure to walk joy home not because I doubt her ability to find it alone, rather because it gives me extra time with her. I used to fear joy, that I would be intoxicated by her presence and lose my well-hardened grasp on realism. Now I see that without joy in my life there is no realism, that it was only cynicism masquerading in its place. Joy is simple and unassuming. I often confuse her with ecstasy and scoot away in shy terror. Joy is nice to have around. She is not just a party animal; sometimes I invite her over for a cup of tea. When we are done I take the winding path to savor every step up to her door.
If you can’t lay down your burden move it from hand to hand.
When I experience trauma or drama
my heart and soul return to the toddler state;
I feel the urge to stay up and push forward.
I resist help and rest.
I try to override animal need in favor of intellectual prowess.
Bleary eyed and red-faced, I soldier on,
only managing to make my life into a ceaseless fight.
My charm and wit wear thin; then wear out.
I need to recharge my batteries,
need to hit reset and restore my default settings.
It is hard for me to accept that I must lie down
in order to get up again.
Restoration is impossible to achieve from my battle stance.
Resilience is a bouncing ball.
What I want to rise I must first throw down.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault