A sloth is known by the number of its toes not its name or love of art or music. I can’t prevent foolish labels. The oddest attributes draw attention and acclaim from the scorekeepers and flag-wavers of the world. Going my way in this life I am seen by clock-watchers as timeless and by trumpeters as soundless. I am not defined by these. The number of my toes or the time I keep, the sound I make, is more than who I am. An explanation of me will not fit on an index card, nameplate, or job title. As long as I stay clear of these traps and classifications I am safe. If I buy in or fall down my sum and total will neatly fit on a toe tag.
Stand in your own light.
Not everything which is birthed arrives here alive;
sometimes struggle is answered with stillness.
I love thee in thy loss
for there is no life to love thee in.
Hope can be a bubble that breaks
returning to whatever it was before that perfect roundness
and yet the roundness is not a mistake.
Reflected beauty is beauty all the same.
Some sparks aren’t meant to become flames,
but their glow still warms my eye.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault